I'm going to tell you the story of how my baby boy, child #4 was born. Before I do, we need to have little chat, a big ol' fat preface.
I told you about my grand plans of having a hypnobirth. My mind and heart were so set on this. I had practiced, visualized and 100% expected this would be the perfect birth I had imagined. When I say perfect, I don't mean perfect. I just mean I knew it would happen as I had envisioned and planned.
I had my birth plan that I had lovingly written out at my kitchen table one night. I tucked it away in a bright green folder and placed it in my packed and waiting hospital bag. Then, once at the hospital, I went over this birth plan with the nurse that checked me into the labor and delivery floor. Looking back, I wonder if L&D nurses ever have to practice their nods and polite assents to a fresh faced expectant mother as she goes over her "plans" about how her birth is going to go. I wonder if they try not to imagine this chatty, put together woman as a disheveled heap of fatigue and damp strands of hair hanging in her face at the end of it all. You know, so they can be professional and not laugh in her face when she says under no circumstances is there to be any discussion about pain.
I know every birth is different, I know some women actually have a good experience giving birth, but this written plan I had brought with me -- forget about it. Not one thing went as I had envisioned, practiced, imagined or planned. I'm not exaggerating either. Nothing. Nil. Zip. Nada.
So, the question is, was I disappointed?
I believe the act of bringing another life into this world is so monumental, so important, so grand and significant that if you allow yourself be disappointed on how your personal experience went, I truly believe it can make some permanent, albeit unintentional, scar on your heart and maybe even effect that little spirit you just helped usher into this life. That's my personal theory. So although NOTHING went as I wanted it to, I felt I had to let that go in the moment it happened. So as I relate my story in upcoming posts, know that my heart is well.
There were literal hours dedicated to this natural, hypnobirthing malarky. (Ok, I still think hypnobirthing is a legitimate and successful way to have a baby, and although my heart is well, I can still be snarky.) I had grand plans for a quiet, peaceful, drug-free birth. So to tell you toward the end of it all, in the 11th hour, I was in an operating room, identical to the one the triplets were delivered in via emergency c-section, with a room full of people hovering around me in surgical masks, you'll know what a feat it was to let go of my months and hours of preparing for the exact opposite of how things went.
Which is why I wanted to have this chat before I relayed the story. Just so we're clear about the injustice of life and no matter how in control and well thought out your plans may be, you're never really in charge. At this point in my short experience of being a pregnant person, then mother, I really shouldn't be surprised by this. Because I seem to get this lesson in so many different ways, and each time it's always a light bulb moment. I suppose I'm grateful for a patient God who still cares to teach this stubborn, slow learning daughter that I need Him every hour.
Next post will be part one of this harrowing tale of triumph, heartbreak and water breaking birthin' fun. I'll sum up 21ish hours in a couple posts. I'll leave you with a shot of what I looked like on the last day of being pregnant with my little (or not so little, as I will soon tell you) baby.
And this guy... I said, show me your "I'm ready to be a dad for the 4th time" face. This is what I got...
I believe he was telling me he is ready to rock?