a birth story

Dear Livia,

You were born.  That is the most important part of your story, that you were born alive and healthy and crying.  It doesn't really matter how you got here, just that you did.  But I will tell your story anyways, so I can remember and hopefully one day you can understand how truly special your birth was.

You were born on July 27th, in the middle of one of the hottest summers we've ever had.  The earth is dry and cracked.  Plants are shriveled up, the grass is brown and dead.  At the end of my pregnancy, everyone commented on how horrible it was to be pregnant during a heat wave.  I didn't agree--it was wonderful to be pregnant with you, to feel you growing and kicking every day.

You were born on the opening day of the 2012 Olympics.  We spent the first hours and days of your life watching the best athletes in the world compete and win and pour their hearts into something they are passionate about.  Kind of funny considering we were laying in bed or on the couch, doing NO physical activity and your mom is very non-athletic.  But that's what I wish for you--that you find something to be passionate about and pursue it with everything you have.  Your dad is convinced that you will be very athletic since we watched so many sports during the first few weeks of your life.

At the end of my pregnancy, you started being 'stubborn.'  The nurses think you are going to be a very strong-willed little girl.  You would turn sideways, then turn head down, then back to sideways.  The doctors warned me I might have to have a c-section, which is something I wanted to avoid, because I wanted you to come into the world in the most gentle way possible.

As it turns out, your birth was far from natural, and I agreed to every intervention that was suggested.  I just wanted you here with me.  And you know what?  It was still a birth.  In the past, before I knew what the worst case scenario could be, I probably would have been disappointed with the way you were born.  And in some ways, I still wish you could have been born naturally.  But I know that we made the best decisions possible and we had a successful birth. 

Because you kept flipping around in there, we scheduled an induction for Friday, July 27th.  If you were turned transverse, the doctor was going to try to turn you one last time and then start the induction.  If you were head-down, we would proceed with a 'normal' induction.  It was so strange during those last few days, to know what day you were coming.  I couldn't wait, I didn't know what to do with myself to pass the time.  Your Grandma and Grandpa came over on Thursday night from Illinois.  Everyone was so excited to meet you and see your sweet face!  We were also really nervous, and remembering the last time we were at the hospital, to deliver your sister Kayla, who didn't get to stay with us.  I really just needed a different outcome, I wanted everything to be different for your birth. 

Friday morning we got to the hospital at 7:00 a.m.  You were turned head down!  I was already 3 cm dilated so everyone thought it would be an easy day.  Of course, you had other ideas and weren't quite ready to be born.  The doctor broke my water and started pitocin to get contractions going.  Dad, Grandma and Grandpa were there with me and I was so happy to finally be in that place, getting ready to give birth.  We had a wonderful nurse who knew I wanted to try to have you without an epidural.

One more intervention that I agreed to was having an internal monitor on your head, to make sure you were always ok.  The nurse assured me it wouldn't come off, and Dad and I were enjoying watching your heartbeat on the monitor.  The nurse stepped out for a minute, and all of a sudden the monitor dropped to zero.  Just that quickly my own heart sank and Dad was really scared too.  We had made it so far and were so scared that we could lose you too.  The nurse came in and saw how scared we were, and fixed the monitor, that you had wiggled out of somehow.  You were still ok.  That was the only time I really felt like we might not get to take you home with us.  

Labor didn't get started as quickly as we thought, and I was still very comfortable up until about 12:00 pm.  I could feel the contractions but could easily breathe through them. I listened to music, sat in a rocking chair, bounced on a birth ball.  By 2 pm I was at 6 cm and as they increased the pitocin, I was in more and more pain.  The next few hours were very hard physically. I got through each contraction just trying to focus on the fact that each one was bringing me closer to seeing you.

Four hours later, I was in a lot of pain and couldn't relax through my contractions anymore.  I found out I was still at 6 cm and that was very discouraging.  All of that hard work and we weren't getting any closer! I decided to get an epidural, hoping that it would relax my body enough to help you descend.  I knew that with each intervention I was getting farther and farther away from the natural birth I had envisioned.  I did relax some, and we watched part of the opening ceremony of the Olympics.  Those images will be forever linked in my mind to your special day.

However, by 8 pm I was still at 6 cm, and your head really wasn't coming down at all.  The doctor came in and together we decided that you would be born by cesarean section.  I think they would have let me keep trying if I really insisted, but by that point I knew you had been through a lot (all day of really strong pitocin contractions) and maybe you were telling us that you needed to be born by c-section.  I was physically and emotionally exhausted and I needed you to be born safely.  I don't feel I was pressured into the c-section at all.  I did have to mourn my ideal birth experience, but in the end, your birth was my ideal, perfect birth. 

Once we got back into the operating room I felt very vulnerable.  The extra epidural they gave me didn't seem to be working.  The test "pinch" didn't hurt, but I did feel it.  The test "cut" DID hurt and all of the doctors and anesthesiologists were very surprised that I felt it!  My emotions started getting out of control when they mentioned they might have to put me to sleep.  Thank goodness for an anesthesiologist named Lenny who  saw that emotionally I could not handle that, and told everyone that they would be removing my epidural, giving me a spinal, and letting me see my baby be born.  That whole process, then waiting for them to re-sterilize everything, seemed to take forever.  Your Dad was right there watching the whole thing and we were both just anxiously waiting for the big moment.  The nurse turned the volume on your heartbeat monitor to the maximum during that time to try to help calm me down.  I knew you were ok but I was still so scared that something was going to happen in the last minutes or seconds before we got to meet you.

Finally, everyone was ready and at 9:14 pm, you were born.  You were breathing and crying and pink and a big, healthy baby.  It was the best, most special moment of my life and it couldn't have been any more perfect.  I saw your perfect little (BIG!) body and you opened your eyes right away.  You were just a few feet away from me as they cleaned you off, weighed you and did your measurements and footprints.  Your dad got to hold you right away while they stitched me up.  You and dad went to the nursery for about 20 minutes and you got your first bath.  I was so jealous that I didn't get to hold you first, but I did need that time to recover from surgery.

The best moment

When they brought you back, I got to hold you for the first time. I can't describe that moment, it was too special.  Holding you alive and breathing and perfect healed a large wound that losing your sister created, gave me hope, and opened up a whole new channel of love in my heart.  And every day since then that I have held you and cared for you and loved you has been so right. And bittersweet, because having you here makes me sad that I never got to take care of your sister in the way I get to take care of you.  I don't think I will ever fully understand why we had to lose her, but I know that having you here is a gift.

My sweet girl, that is the story of how you were born.  Except it's not just your story, it's also a continuation of your sister Kayla's story, and my story, and dad's, and everyone that loves us has a part in this story, and in your life.  You are so very loved by many, many people.  You are special, and smart, and beautiful.  (And stubborn!)  Just getting to dream about the possibilities for your life makes me cry, but in a good way.  I hope that someday, many years from now, I will tell you the story of the day you were born, because it means we will have had the wonderful gift of raising you into adulthood and beyond.  We love you!

holding my girl for the first time