My birth story 2.0: Zali

I was 40 weeks and one day. Yesterday we had ‘special persons day’ at Knoxie’s kindy where we went in for morning tea and played with him for a bit. Today, he put his beloved Sylvester cuddly into my baby wrap and proudly wore it around the house, patting his bum as he went. Last night, he gave his baby doll a bath.

I feel like he probably knew. The weeks leading up to Zali’s birth were really, really hard. His behaviour was showing allllll sorts of underlying feelings. He was scared. He didn’t quite know how things were going to look. He knew that I might need to go to the hospital at some point. 

That morning as I was walking out the door to drop him at kindy, I started feeling some cramps. My Mum was visiting, and we were going to go out for coffee- but I had said I might be in labour and wanted to be by myself. Then I changed my mind. I picked her up and she spent some time doing my washing while I flitted around with butterflies in my tummy (and tiny hands twisting my inside every 10-15 minutes).

It was obviously my second birth, and I knew I was going to go quick. I mean, the first birth was pretty efficient in the grand scheme of things- I was pretty convinced that this was going to be ‘wham, bam, thank-you ma’am’.

But I began having contractions at around 7am, and I was still getting about the house, doing jobs, calling kindy, cleaning up, with very inconsistent contractions at around midday. I honestly thought it would be a 3 hour, in & out birth. Mum & I had watched two blockbuster movies (well, I definitely wasn’t sitting on the couch), my husband had been at work all morning and had brought me back some chips and gravy from the surf club. I had been so excited, but I was starting to feel a little disheartened.. What was taking so long?

It was a Friday, and the drive to the hospital was about half an hour. My husband decided we should probably go before we got into traffic. My contractions really ramped up once we were in the car, so I thought we were finally ‘on’.

I used to work at the hospital I birthed at- and I knew that, at 4pm on a Friday afternoon, I would run into all of the Social Workers I had worked with who would have been on the same walk as me on the way to the car park. I sat in the carpark, stalling, texting my friend. She reminded me that everyone finished at 430, so best to make a run for it now. Lol. Run. 

I made it across the bridge (if you know my local hospital, you know “The Bridge”- where I saw many a labouring women curled over the handrail, nervous partners rubbing their backs as they huffed through a contraction) and our midwife met us at the doors of the Birth Centre.

Then I cried. I cried and I cried walking in there. It was an epic emotional release. After being excited, nervous, frustrated all day- I let it all out. It was where I birthed Knoxie. It was nurturing, inviting, warm and confronting. It was lit by candles (battery operated, Susan) and fairy lights. There was the smell of essential oils and some relaxation music playing.Once I started crying I don’t think I stopped for a little while. My midwife checked me and asked if I had been having lots of pain in my back. Yeah, I guess so, I thought. She told me my daughter was posterior- which meant her spine was against my spine, so she had to try to turn before she came down. That’s what she’d been doing all day, trying to get into position. I cried some more. I knew about posterior births- they were hard, and painful. I am in for it, I thought. My midwife gave me a stretch and sweep and told me I was something like 4cm, I can’t remember- but I remember being really sad and deflated.

But, something happened. Then it all kicked off. It was on like Donkey Kong- my contractions started coming harder and faster, and before I knew it, my waters had broken and my midwife was asking me to hop into the bath. I was stalling, because hadn’t she said we will get in the bath at the last minute? Why does she want me in there now?

But I did follow orders, and I hopped in the bath. I had maybe one more contraction, then she was coming out. I started yelling “her head is coming out!” and they told me that no, it was her sac. The next contraction and she was out- not totally en caul, but the midwives had to wipe it away from her face. My husband caught her and passed her through to me, just as he had with our son.

I was elated. We both were. How, after such a long day, had everything gone so smoothly? I was calm, focussed, and I was using my husband for support way more than I had the first time. I hadn’t even considered pain relief. It was painful, I am not for a second saying “oh it was just like period pain”- it hurt. But I could handle it. I wasn’t scared. I was strong.

Zali’s birth was amazing. I can’t believe how lucky I felt. I sat there in the bed, falling more and more in love with every second that I stared at her.Then I realised, the show’s not over- you gotta deliver your placenta, love. After having a retained placenta last time, I was nervous- but out it came with a few more contractions.

I did tear, first or second degree I think. I wouldnt have known, except they said I needed stitches. The anaesthetic didn’t work. I felt it all. Isn’t this the cruelest thing about birth? That you go through all that like a fucking warrior, then they come back at your bits poking about and sticking fingers and needles in there?

Anyway- that’s not the note I want to end on. I felt nothing but positive about our daughter’s birth- although it was longer than I had expected, it was manageable, I got through it without pain relief, we had no complications, and I was home that night eating Maccas at 10pm with a brand new baby on my chest.