The First Day of Spring

Forgive me in advance, this post is long. And the tone is perhaps more like the book I've been working on, rather than what I usually post. I haven't gone all intense, but the last few days have been really intense.

A friend of mine promised I’d have an easy birth. I had to. She said that since I had such a hard time getting pregnant and so many challenges throughout the pregnancy, that I’d have an easy birth and an awesome child. She was right about one of those. 

There’s a stillness that 3:30am brings. The light is soft and the world is asleep. Noah and I were awake, trying to assess the situation. We thumbed through the birthing class books—charts of early labor, signs of water breaking. I paced the room, throwing last minutes items into our hospital bag. I knew this was it. She was coming. But I also needed dental floss. And seven different hair things. And five different beverages. You never know what you might be in the mood for mid contraction. We labored at home until I felt like I couldn’t walk anymore. We wanted to wait until 6am to call the doctor. Let him have a good night’s sleep. We didn’t know what was ahead. I was supposed to see him for a regular appointment at 9:15am— it was a week before my due date. I told him I could hold off until the appointment so he could tell me if I was actually in labor. He said why? Go to the hospital. So we did. By 7:30am we were checked in and I was checked out. I stayed in the dress I was wearing. Not sure why. I waddled around the room and bounced on the exercise ball. I answered simple questions. Did I want an epidural? No. Did I want a jug of ice water? Yes. The rest is a blur peppered by intense visuals. 

Noah and I and two nurses watched my contractions on the monitor and couldn’t figure out why they were coming so fast and close together. The birth class lady said I should “rest between contractions” but I never had space. They came one after another and the nurse said, “everyone’s labor is different.” I remember looking at Noah desperately, crying, “I’m not getting a break! The lady said I would get a break!” As if I didn’t get the free cookie with the lunch special I had ordered. Where’s my cookie? So I breathed and Noah counted and reminded me that our baby was coming. 

My parents showed up by late morning. Dad wanted to make small talk. Suggested turning on the TV as I wailed in low guttural agony. He ate some M&M’s as he tried to figure out if March 20th was indeed the first day of spring. I yelled at him to stop talking and that was the last coherent thing I remember saying. He was quiet from then on, and the air in the room became intense. An hour or so later our good friend and camera man showed up. Welcome to the shit show. Are we really going to document  this? Our final ending is finally the beginning. 

By mid afternoon I was 9 cm dilated. The rapid successions of the contractions perhaps helped me progress so quickly. The doctor was called. A table full of “instruments” was wheeled in, covered by a blue paper cloth. For a moment I wondered if there were sandwiches underneath.

Dr. G came in and I started to push. The expectation for a speedy delivery was evident. I was in position. It was just after 3pm. But the more I pushed the more that expectation dwindled. At about an hour in the doc took off his scrubs and said, “I’ll be right back.” “Where are you going?” I asked, thinking, aren’t we kinda doing something here, man? “I’ve gotta call my wife and tell her I’m going to be late.” 

It had already been about an hour. How late for dinner was he going to be? I felt a little guilty— but I also felt a burning in my privates that cannot be explained. 

Another hour passed and I kept going through the same routine. The doc would instruct me to push longer and harder, counting to ten. The nurses pushed my feet towards my head and I pushed with everything I could. Over and over again. Two hours in we discovered Momo’s head was turned funny and stuck in my pelvis. The head nurse and the doctor exchanged subtle glances that told me this was not good. I kept pushing. I asked what I was doing wrong—what I could do differently. He offered me pain medication, he offered to vacuum her out but I shook my head. I wanted this my way. Nothing has been my way, and the pain seemed like some kind of transformative physical manifestation of the last four years trying to make a family. Wanting it so badly. Being so close. Feeling so scared yet so determined. Thinking about her. Our baby that we didn’t know. That we couldn’t imagine. That we wanted so badly to come but couldn’t find. The whole labor experience seemed to be this physical manifestation of our journey. How it started with just Noah and I. Confused in the darkness at home, the stillness of the early morning light. Then we went to get help, we went for medical interventions. We had our expectations and then we learned to let it go. My family came to support. My parents have wanted this so badly too. Their first grandchild. They’ve been searching for four years too. Then it seemed like we were getting close, only to be told we’d have to keep pushing. By hour three a team of nurses surrounded the bed. There had been a shift changed, but the previous shift didn’t want to leave. They wanted to see how this was going to end. So did I. I was surrounded by 11 people. New faces popped into view in the rare moments my eyes were open. These women, holding my legs, cheering me on, telling me lies to keep my fight up—just one more push! These strangers came together to help me pull through, just like all the friends I’ve made on IF Island. Friends I’ve never met, who shared a piece of themselves and their stories, friends who have cheered us on these past few years. I heard one young nurse in training ask if she could stay, even though she needed to clock out. Yes, but she couldn’t do anything, she just had to watch. She nodded and became part of the cheer squad. 

I thought that ring of fire moment was only supposed to last a few seconds, or minutes. I though that once the head had crowned, that it would pop out, like a ground hog signaling the first day of spring. Her head didn’t pop out. It wedged in and I pushed and cried and I saw the doc and nurse exchange glances again and I told myself to push her out before something bad happens.  And I did. And the few things I felt strongly about on our “birth plan” fell apart. I couldn’t hold her right away, something was happening. There was a lot of blood, but isn’t that labor? Only parts of my placenta were coming out— what’s placenta accreta? The doctor apologized as he dug up into my uterus to scoop out what he could of the placenta and I screamed. From the corner of my eye I could see her. Momo, writhing under the warmer, greenish in color but moving. Noah talked to her, looked at her, put his finger in her tiny hand as the doc explained to me that I had to go into surgery. I had to have a D&C, possibly a hysterectomy. The room became chaos. We had to go now. Noah was given the choice to stay with the baby as she went into the NICU to have her breathing better checked, or to stay with me. He looked at me with love and terror and I said, “stay with the baby,” and then I was gone. I signed consents under twilight of anesthesia and then woke up freezing and shaking, alone until my sister showed up. She’d driven from up North, seven months pregnant and sat with me until they let me see Momo, for the first time. She was beautiful. 7lbs 8oz of sweetness. 

I’m not really sure where the last five days have gone. Much of it was spent in the hospital. I couldn’t move for two days. I had a balloon in my uterus, that emptied blood into a bag, but I still had my uterus. My mantra that’s gotten me through IF Island continued to play in my head. This too shall pass, it’s not going to be this way forever, however painful it is now. 

We were supposed to go home on day two but stayed for what end up to be two reasons. My recovery and Momo getting jaundice. She spent night in the NICU and I cried and cried as Conner Oberst singing You are Your Mother’s Child played on a loop in my head. The last day in the hospital was a nightmare, but then it passed. As I was wheeled out of the hospital by a man named Jose, he cooed over Momo. “She’s so cute,” he said, and she smiled, the little flirt. And Jose said, “She looks just like you when she smiles.” “Thank you,” I replied as I started crying.

Yesterday I ran around taking Momo to doctors and for blood work— I’ve been trying to figure out how to feed her and wondering if I’m a bad mother if I don’t use Honest Co. dish washing soap. I’ve been watching Noah fall deeper and deeper in love with his little girl. Last night I asked him if he felt anything about not being genetically related to her, and he said, “even though he didn’t make her, she was his.” He felt that 100%. But we did make her. We made her from our hearts and our guts and our love. She is 100% ours, and oddly enough looks like my sister and has Noah’s feet.

Today Momo’s poop changed from black tar to mustard seeds. My body is working, my milk has come in. I’m anxious about feeding her and sometimes feel insane and then I look at her, the little Buddha she is, and try to take a deep breath. I haven’t slept at all since last Thursday and my body is a wreck but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. Because Momo is finally here.  Arrived on the first day of spring.

Comments

[devon]

Oh why I read this at work, I have no idea. I can not stop crying. A huge congratulations is in order!! You are so amazing and so very strong!! Momo is perfect, absolutely perfect!

[Don't Count Your Eggs]

Thank you so much for sharing your own stories and for understanding. I go back and forth between feeling like the birth is now in the past and all that matters is that Momo is here and healthy and feeling like OMG what just happened. Each one of us has to honor how we feel and I think the lessons on letter go just keep coming. Will write more about the birth later in the week. Thank you all again so much.

[Cecilia]

Maya, I have read your post several times and cannot stop crying. I'm so happy Momo is here, and that you are ok. I had an eerily similar complication at the birth of my first child, I lost 3 litres of blood and the doctors told me it was touch and go. That I should thank my lucky star that I am alive. And I do, but at the time I didn't realise how close I came to not seeing my daughter grow up. Those days in the ICU with the bakri balloon still haunt me, and it took a very long time before I could even think about getting pregnant again. And when we finally thought that we were ready, we couldn't get pregnant for years so we had to go the IVF route (which is how I came across your blog). I ended up getting pregnant on the second IVF attempt and now have a healthy baby boy, but the pregnancy made that terrible birth (and near death) experience resurface and I was diagnosed with PTSD. It was an enormously tough pregnancy, mentally, and I had to have a c-section in the end just so the doctors could ensure the same thing wouldn't happen again. My only advise to you is to deal with the trauma of your birth experience now, because it will come back at some point and it's awful when it does. Momo is perfect and I could not be happier for you and Noah. Thank you for writing this blog and sharing your intimate, personal struggle.

[Molly (The Modern Belly)]

I've been checking your blog every few days to see if Momo is already here, and it's so exciting to read that she's now 8 days old! Your birth story was so touching, like the the story of your entire journey. I hope that in the days to come your body will grow stronger and stronger, and I'm sure that having lovely Momo around will play a huge role in your recovery. You did it, Maya. The happy ending to your IF war story is finally here, and I can't put into words how excited and happy I am for you and Noah. Congratulations!

[Lauren]

Good job, mama! I don't know if you read my birth story, but I came within one minute of a hysterectomy -- I wasn't eligible for the balloon. With everything we've been through, yeah, we deserved an easy go of things. But as you and I both know, it doesn't work like that... Anyway, our girls are awesome! Momo is exquisite, congrats to you all xo

[Kerry]

That is one singularly beautiful baby. And one amazingly tough mom! Thank god you are both healthy and safe after such an ordeal. Lots of love. Miracles are everywhere!

[Susan]

Congratulations, Maya, Noah, and Momo! Welcome to the world! There's a book (On the Day You Were Born) that I read over and over to my daughter after struggling with infertility, a 30 hour labor, and breastfeeding "discomfort" - it just seemed so soft and true. Everything came together to bring her into the world, hard times came but then they went away and now you have her, your family, and all the amazingness ahead.

With love,
Susan

[Deb]

Maya, I have been following you since soon after I got my first DOR diagnosis and started looking for stories of other people going through what I did. I think you had just learned of the availability of what was to become Momo when I found your blog.

Thank you so much for the honest, detailed birth story. Throughout your journey, you've been so open. That openness has give others (me, for one) a real sense of not being alone.

I am so glad that both you and Momo are ok.

She is absolutely beautiful. And I have to say I see a strong family resemblance! I know it's odd for me to say so, and I'm not sure how you'll take it. But she's beautiful, and looks a lot like you and Noah!

Congratulations.

[M]

Oh my, she is beautiful, I, too, cried reading this post. Congratulations on the fruits of your courage and plenty of happiness.

[Kitten]

Wow! I cried tears of fear and happiness reading this. Your daughter is so perfect and precious. Congrats!

[Adriana]

Wow!! Well done!!
Trust your instincts. Sleep when baby sleeps. Tell people what you need. Meals dropped off at the door are best. Visitors that keep it short and sweet. Cry when you need to. Kisses, kisses and more kisses. Don't push yourself to do too much too soon. Rest and take good care of yourself. ❤️

[Cody]

She's beautiful - congrats to you all. Glad you're home and happy as ever ;)

[Kate]

I've followed your blog for so long; your story has brought me encouragement, hope and determination. We welcomed our miracle baby 3 months ago on our last IVF attempt. Same as you, I was determined to be the author of my birth story and dreamt of it going perfectly according to my plan. Ha! I ended up a few days after discharge going into septic shock, and spent an entire week in the hospital without my sweet miracle. They brought in cardiac, infectious disease, the hole mine yards. It was the scariest and loneliest week of my life. Soak up every little snuggle all while taking careof yourself. Congratulations! Momo is perfect!

[Anita]

Ohhh Maya. So many Congratulations, best wishes and much love your way. I am on a babymoon in Acapulco and logged on just to check on Momo and you. Cried when I laid eyes on this cutest spring baby. Hugs to all of you. So wish to hold little Momo. Noah looks so tender and proud. So so happy for you guys. God is great and we are so blessed.

[Lou UK]

Huge congratulations. Thankyou for sharing this story of hope, and the photos. She is gorgeous and we are all sooooo happy for you xxx

[Jody]

Congrats! She is perfect, so are you, now text me back!

[Amy]

I have been following your blog for a while now, and this brought tears to my eyes. We too struggled with infertility, and I wanted a "redemptive" birth with my son. It felt like the only things I had control over were the circumstances of my labor/delivery, but then that, too was taken away. I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and induced at 36 weeks. I labored for 30 hours with close to 3 hours of pushing. It was more than 6 years ago, but I still remember with crystal clarity the moment when my baby's heart rate crashed and the dr. calmly told me that if I didn't push the baby out that moment, she would have to use the vacuum. I became superwoman in that instant. I pushed so hard the doctor said she almost had to go across the street to catch him.

We are all superwomen - even those with easy pregnancies and "easy" deliveries. But you, mama, you are amazing. Thank you for sharing your story so publicly. I admire your determination and your spirit and am so happy for the birth of your healthy, beautiful baby girl.

[Lindsay]

I read this post about 4 times since 6 this morning trying to absorb all the details of your birth story. I love birth stories, and I think it's especially because of our shared fertility struggles - it's the culmination of the months and years of blood, sweat and tears to get to that moment. My heart was racing as I read about your laboring and the scary moments afterward when you had to be raced to surgery. I truly hope that everything is OK with you - remember to take care of yourself and rest even though the world completely revolves around her right now.
When I got to the part about the 11 people in the room I instantly thought how much I wished I could have been there too, cheering you on to the finish line. But I was there in spirit. We all were, even though we didn't know that you were going through it at the time.
You will be on a roller coaster of emotion for at least the next few weeks. That is normal. Please just remember that when you are doing the very best you can, you are being a great parent. There is no manual on this and you have already proven beyond the shadow of the doubt that you are a wonderful mama.
Congratulations on your beautiful, amazing baby girl.

[J]

Way to go! She is absolutely perfect in every way. What you have done is nothing short of amazing. Happiness and love to the 3 of you.

[Mie]

Congrats Maya and Noah on Momo's arrival!! So excited and happy to visit the blog after a while to read such great news!

Thank you for sharing your birthing story too; so amazing what you did! Momo is so precious and I know you guys will fall deeper in love with her with each day even as the amount of sleep you get dwindles. :P So so happy for you guys. Enjoy parenthood! <3

[Sus]

Congratulations!!!! I've been following your story since early last year and though I haven't commented as much, your story is so touching and beautiful, and you're absolutely amazing for going through everything you did! I had tears of joy when I read that Momo had finally come. I can't express how happy I am.
I can't wait to see more updates about Momo, I hope you will continue writing about your experiences. I'm just so very happy for you!!!

[Amy]

So so wonderful that Momo is here, congratulations!! She is just beautiful xo

[Lindsay Monnier]

I'm laughing and crying as I read this and just overwhelmed with happiness for you three! You are truly an inspiration to me Maya!!!

[Jojo]

As if the universe needed more evidence of your strength and awesomeness. You are amazing. I can only imagine your joy but hope you remember that after such a trauma it takes a while for the fear and shock to truly subside. That and 9+ months of hormones leaving your body makes for the perfect storm of emotions. The joy will keep getting strong, don't judge yourself along the way. Xoxo

[Samantha]

I agree with Carla, BF sucks to start. I think for me, around six weeks it finally clicked and we both seemed to get it. Hang in there! Don't worry or stress about it though, the only thing that really matters is that Momo eats - no matter how you decide to feed her.

She is so gorgeous, just perfect!! Congratulations on becoming Mama!!!

S Xx