Olivia's Birth Story

It's been awhile, but here is Olivia's Birth Story!

We found out I was pregnant back in early March, with a due date of 11 November. I'm not one to just sit back and do nothing with any change in my life (especially one this big), so I took it upon myself to become as educated and prepared as possible. I wanted to know what my options were. Honestly, when I first found out I was pregnant, I thought I would be the "give me the drugs, I don't want to feel a thing" type woman, but the more I read and the more I learned, the more I realized how crunchy I really was.


My husband and I found a fantastic natural childbirth class that gave us the tools we needed to make the choices we wanted in a birth. Being in the military, I hadn't really put much thought into where I would deliver, but as time went on, I realized that I didn't want a hospital birth.


Unfortunately, I felt it was too late in the pregnancy (I was like 30 weeks) to figure out a different plan and be able to afford it. My husband and I went back and forth between doing an unassisted home birth and doing the hospital birth on base so often. We would talk things out. Pros, cons. Finally, we decided that we would still deliver on base, but just labor as long as possible at home with our doula. I thought I would get through early labor, start active labor, and trust my doula to let me know when a good time to go to the hospital would be for transition and pushing. It's funny how you try to plan how things will go during a birth, especially your first....

So, fast forward to 8 November, midnight. I wake up because I thought I heard my cat in the bathroom getting into something she shouldn't, but when I go in the bathroom, the cat is just sitting, watching me. Confused, I start to walk back to the bedroom, but then I feel it. Wet. Did I just pee myself? I squeeze, it stops. I jump into the shower anyways to let the rest of it go. It's clear, with some white specks in it and doesn't smell like pee. "I think my water just broke," I told my husband. After a phone call to my doula, she confirms that my water broke and told me to get some rest, as contractions would most likely follow.

Lying in bed, however, is not pleasant. These contractions feel way different from the Braxton Hicks I'd been having recently. They're lower, where I've read they should be. Wanting to try out a different position to help with the contractions, I go upstairs to the recliner and try sleeping in that. Impossible. So, I start timing them to the best of my ability. Are they really six minutes apart? Maybe I just need to rest instead of worrying about timing them. Still impossible. My mind is going crazy! If this is early labor, and it's only supposed to get worse and worse from here, there is NO way I can go through with this without drugs.

I head downstairs and call my doula. It's 2:46am. She's on the phone with me through a couple of contractions to time them for me. Two minutes apart. I bounce on the edge of the bed as it seems to help and soon find myself in the stand-up shower, letting the hot water run on my lower back. I sway my hips side to side and try to just breathe through this intensity my body is going through. My doula shows up and holds my hands as I lean half out the open shower door.


"My mind feels too clear," I tell her, "I mean, I don't want to pet my cat or anything, but I feel too clear-headed for this." She laughs. The cat-petting thing is a reference to a story she told us about a client she had who would pet her cats in between contractions, a sign that she wasn't in hard-active labor just yet. "Have you tried getting in the tub yet?" she asks. I tell her no and that if this was early labor, I knew getting in a warm, relaxing bath could slow things down and make it a bit harder to progress through labor how my body needed to. "I REALLY think you should get in the tub," she insists. (I don't know this at the time, but my body skipped early labor completely and just went straight into hard, active labor.)

I'm in the tub and things are still really intense. The warm water definitely helps to relax me, but doesn't slow anything down by any means. I'm vocal, but low and mellow instead of high-pitched and screechy. My mom says I was singing, but I was just trying to keep things under control with my vocalization. Anytime I caught myself saying something negative, I would turn right around and say something positive. I wouldn't let any negative thoughts stay in my head. 

"This is awful. This is the best. This is the best. *growl*" --a quote from the notes my husband took.

Soon, I started feeling the urge to bear down.

"What do I do?" I asked my doula. "Do whatever feels right," she replies. "Nothing feels right!"

She had me try some different birthing positions to get my hips open as wide as I could. I found one that suited me, even though my husband said I looked uncomfortably squeezed into the cramped little area by the faucet. But, it was perfect. Pushing calms me. I realize that I'm quiet, focused. My doula tells me to push with the contractions, and I do just that. I keep my hand down at the baby door to feel how things are going. I can feel her head and it's pretty close! When asked how far in she is, I hold my thumb to the area between the first and second knuckle of my index finger. As calming as it is to be pushing, I still feel like I'm holding myself back, so I start counting to ten during pushes. Soon, I feel her hair! It's flowy, downy, and soft. My husband wants to feel, but there's only a small window of opportunity where I will let him and he doesn't quite make it.

My mom is trying to keep the fragile balance between helping me and staying out of the way. I feel her love as she scurries around making sure I have everything I need. Olivia is coming and I threaten to ground her---See, I can be funny even during childbirth!

Olivia is crowning and I know that I can get her out whenever I'm ready. One or two pushes, max.

"Mom, sit down. You're about to have a granddaughter." She says something, and tries to go somewhere, but I sternly tell her again, "Mom! Sit down! You're about to have a granddaughter! Where is Michael?" "He's making tea." "Now is not the time to be making tea!!"

Michael comes into the bathroom and gets ready to catch our daughter. I push, still in this state of calm and peace. Her head comes out and daddy says he can feel her cute little face. One arm, then the other, and with one final push, the rest of her body slides out. 5:36 in the morning. Michael puts her on my chest and she's the most amazing little thing I've ever seen. I haven't been around many newborns in my life, but I can tell she's a big, healthy baby. She's not crying, but incredibly alert and active. Our doula tells us to talk to her and, though nothing's wrong, to try to get her crying so she can have that first big breath.

We're transfered to the futon in the spare bedroom and wrapped so snuggly in warm blankets. She starts to cry and it's so hard to believe that this amazing little girl is finally here with us! Best of all, we're in the comforts of our own home with people that we trust.

Now, I know people say that you immediately forget about all the pain of childbirth when you see your baby, but I think those are the people that get some kind of intervention, because shit! I'm still having those awful (err, wonderful) contractions..... My body is pushing out the placenta and it is NOT pleasant. Michael has a tupperware ready for it, and with one quick push, it lands right in. Our doula checks the placenta for any missing pieces and me for tearing, but the placenta is whole and I haven't torn, so she leaves us alone. My mom is taking pictures of our first moments together as a family of three and I could not be more proud and happy.

I'm finally ready to go downstairs to bed. Olivia will need a good, long sleep, and so will we!

After we all wake up, we decide to go to the hospital. I'm not anxious to go, but I'm definitely curious as to how much she weighs. We get her dressed, load her up in the car seat, and head to the hospital. When we walk into Labor & Delivery, they laugh when we announce that we had our baby and are here for the "business" part because they think we're joking.

Olivia is weighed, measured, and hooked up to some machine that checks her heart rate and temperature. She's 8 pounds, 14 ounces! Heck yes! 21 1/4 inches, and doing perfectly. She has her first poop in the bright green cloth diaper we put on her at home. Meconium is some serious stuff! I have to sign some paper saying that I'm refusing treatment when I don't want them to put some kind of goo on her eyes. "What is the reason you put that on her eyes?" "To prevent infection from Chlamydia and Gonorrhea." "Okay, well, I don't have either, so we don't need it." They fight me a little more on it, but when I, again, tell them that it's not necessary, seeing as how the only reason they have for using it is to prevent spreading two diseases I don't have, it's not warranted.

My heart drops when they tell us that they want to keep her at the hospital for observation---48 hours! I was not prepared for that. They say something about me not having to stay if I didn't want to. Seriously? You're delirious if you think I'm leaving my 9-hour baby alone at a hospital for two days without me. The two days go by faster than I had imagined. Forget the Kindle I brought, forget the T.V. in the room, our entertainment was caring for and watching this beautiful baby girl. They release us early, because everything is going so well and there's absolutely nothing wrong with her. Yay! Time to go back home, where we belong!

Funny how the only time our family was ever stressed or unhappy was when we were at the hospital. Definitely makes me glad that we had our home birth, as risky as it was in hindsight. Next time, though, we're going to be even more prepared and plan for the birth we want from the get-go. If I remember anything else, I'll add it in, but I just wanted to get this story finished while it's still fresh in my head.

Oh, and I've heard that some women miss being pregnant after they have their baby, but I most definitely do not! I never hit the "I don't want to be pregnant anymore" wall during pregnancy, but I definitely hit it afterwards. "Ugh, I don't want to be pregnant anymore.... Yes! I'm not!"

Cloth Diapers and Hitchhikers;

The smoky, peppery smell of bacon fills the air as oil festively crackles underneath the marbled slivers of soon to be crumbled pork rubies. A bowl of freshly shredded smoked cheddar cheese sits next to me, almost as eager as I am to be united with it's salty counterpart in their homemade buttermilk biscuit honeymoon suite. I realize, standing here at our quaint little island, making breakfast for my small and growing family, that this, to me, is happiness.

 We have just under five weeks until Olivia's due date and I couldn't be more excited. It seems that everything is lining up just how it should. It's a gorgeous sunny Saturday, and I am perfectly content in our cozy living room, the dew still shining in my hair from a refreshingly cool shower and the happy jingling sounds of our cats softly dancing around the living room.

I keep waiting for that nesting instinct to kick in, because Olivia's room is splattered with baby shower gifts and random things that I have purchased from babysteals (a wonderfully evil site for moms). I think my first step in cleaning her room will be to wash the cloth diapers I've accumulated. I've been looking at cloth wipes recently, and had no idea how many different kinds were out there. I've settled on using etsy, as the prices are reasonable and I can freely communicate with the woman selling them. It struck me last night, when I was looking at the different patterns, that it really didn't matter if there were large pink flowers or chubby little bumble bees, because I was going to be using them to wipe poop from Olivia's butt. Also, knowing me, I would always try to save my favorite ones for last and they would never get used, which defeats the purpose entirely.

Michael and I had quite an interesting day yesterday. Early in the afternoon, we decided to bring up a map of Alaska and pick a destination for a road trip. We chose Hope, a town with one restaurant and a population of 137. On the drive South to Hope, a man with fiery red hair and a rugged brown leather coat was standing on the side of the road, his thumb strongly in the air. "What do you think?" Michael inquired. "Yeah," I responded, giving my shoulders a little "why not?" shrug. We stopped the car, and the man jogged towards us, his whale tooth beaded necklace bouncing enthusiastically off of his worn clothes. He entered the car and introduced himself as Andrew, a fisherman who was traveling from Canada to somewhere near Homer to visit his two daughters.

I pulled out my phone to take a picture, just in case, but realized that that would probably be a little obvious. Instead, I opted for a voice memo. If anything were to happen, the police would have his voice and the personal details I made sure to ask him. It was a bright day with lots of traffic and I knew nothing bad was going to happen, but I can't help it if I've seen too many episodes of CSI for my own good!

He made friendly conversation for the 40-something miles we rode with him, his life stories full of entertaining holes, as if he wasn't quite sure, himself, what he was really talking about. "What time is it?" he asked. "Just about two o'clock," I replied. He mumbled something about the low tide and four hours. We dropped him off and made our way to Hope. It was a very pretty drive, as this time of the year is the most beautiful with all the changing colors and cool breezes that warrant a light jacket and scarf. Historic Downtown Hope was a small loop that contained a library/gift shop/coffee stand, closed for the season, and an ice cream shop, also closed for the season. We stopped in the only restaurant, Tito's Discovery Cafe, and had a late lunch before venturing off into the wilderness that surrounded this small town.

We drove out to Resurrection Pass, a hiking trail, and walked out a little on that. The path was spotted with horse droppings, but the trail was magically beautiful nonetheless. We turned around, as it was getting late, and made our way back to the car, deciding that next summer would be a good time to come back and enjoy more of the camping/hiking Hope has to offer.

Driving back to Anchorage, Michael laughed and said something about how our guest maybe wasn't completely full of crap after all---the tide was high and it was just turning six o'clock. "What an interesting day," I said aloud. He nodded in agreement and kept singing to the song drifting out of the speakers.

Happiness and Waterfalls;

My day started pretty early. I woke up before my alarm had the chance to bring me out of what little sleep I got, spending the night anxiously checking my phone to see if it was time to get up yet. I sensed that Michael was up, too. We were both awake, laying there, silently enjoying the energy that filled the room. "I'm going to get you flowers," he said, wrapping his arms around me.

We got up to start getting ready for our big day. While I gathered my things, he made phone calls to his best friends back home. I overheard him telling someone how much I and Olivia meant to him while searching for my makeup bag, almost giving up. He came downstairs and just as I was telling him that I didn't need makeup anyways, he held up a bulging purse from the move. "Did you check in here?" Zziiipppp. My happy Hawaiian themed LeSportSac makeup bag greeted me, almost as if it knew it was being sneaky on such an important day.

I took a shower, and shortly thereafter was greeting my dear friend, Sam, and her husband at the door. She came over to help me with my hair, as the most I would've probably done with it was try to straighten my bad haircut of a mullet into something less $1.99 Korean barbershop.

After I got all prettied up, I got dressed and made my debut. It was almost time to leave, as our small wedding party was going to meet up before driving out to the waterfall. "I can't take my eyes off of you, you are so pretty," he lovingly told me as we started our drive. He handed me his iPod, and told me to "make this do something," like he normally does. "What music should I put on on this, the day of our wedding," I thought aloud. My fingers scrolled, almost on their own, to Iron and Wine's Our Endless Numbered Days. My groom gave me a strange look and turned up the music, almost in disbelief. "I was thinking about putting this exact album on right before we left," he told me. Out of all the music he has that I could've chosen, I picked not only the same artist, but the same album that had been on his mind only moments before. Five words came to mind: This is meant to be.

Michael and I had hiked out to this waterfall before, but we went the long 3-miles out, 3-miles back route instead of the 1/2-mile out, 1/2-mile back option, so we were a little unsure as to where the parking for that was. In the end, it was right where it was supposed to be! No wrong turns, no backtracking.

Walking up the path to the waterfall, I immediately wished I would've brought the comfy shoes I was thinking about bringing to walk out with instead of the cute wedges I wore for the ceremony. They were comfy, but not 1/2-mile hike on a rocky path comfy. The walk out to the falls was perfect. This time of year is probably my favorite, it seems as though you can almost smell the leaves changing into their magical autumn colors. Beckoned by the welcoming sound of the waterfall, we eagerly approached her and had a few words with Les about how the ceremony would take place.

It went beautifully. I could tell that Les really put some thought into what he wanted to say, and more importantly, that he genuinely meant every word. Michael and I then exchanged the vows we wrote for each other. I went first, a little nervous and probably a little louder than I should've been since I wanted to make sure he could hear me over the rushing falls. It was then Michael's turn and our eyes sparkled, from both wedding bliss and the tears, welling happily in our eyes. It was then time to exchange rings, kiss the bride, and start our life together as Mr. and Mrs.

Now it's our wedding night, and I have been in happy-hormone overload. Being pregnant has made me a happy person nearly 24/7, so now that I'm married, I feel like I would bleed glitter and rainbows if someone were to cut me open. (A little morbid, for talking about being super happy, no?) The night is young and the world is ours! The only day that could possibly be better than today will be here in two short months.

Being married and having Olivia is an adventure I cannot wait to go on! Life is amazing, and I couldn't be happier to be sharing it with anyone else.

Going Granola;

I've been feeling really crunchy lately.

Where this new change of pace came from, I have no idea. I think it all started with getting pregnant. I suddenly became acutely aware of what impact I not only had on myself, but on this developing human inside of me. What I put in my body, I also put in her body, and, though I never ate badly before, I was all of a sudden looking to more organic, natural ways to nourish our growing family.

But, things didn't just stop there. I took great interest in natural birth, and, through a recommendation from our birth photographer, looked into Brio Birth. I've had a couple of people interested in what this is, so I'm going to take the opportunity to share a little of what I know about it.

Brio Birth is a new way of looking at the childbirth process. It takes tried and true methods of going through labor and delivery naturally, but also provides a modern spin, using today's research and knowledge. It's supposed to be ideal for a "21st century mom" who not only wants to be educated on what's going on (and what will go on) with her body, but also wants to be active in such an amazing life experience. There is one Brio instructor in our area and she's fantastic. I highly recommend looking into Brio if you're pregnant and not wanting an "on your back, knees to your ears" labor.

From there, I took interest in cloth diapering. I am very excited to start doing this and have plenty of cloth "nappies" coming my way, thanks to one of my awesome baby sites.

So, who is this woman I'm becoming? I distinctly remember thinking "epidural, all the way" and "only disposable diapers" early on. Could I have changed that much? And most importantly, am I getting in over my head with all this? Really, only time will tell. But with all the support I'm getting from Michael and the preparations we're making through our birth class, I honestly don't think so. I'm strong, stubborn, and ready to bring our little girl into the world in the best way that I can!

Where everybody knows your name;

If you didn't know already, pregnancy has been a breeze for me. Olivia has been so nice to her mom, never giving me any real problems or symptoms aside from acid reflux. Not once have I thrown up (I've come close), but after learning how my body works with this new development, it was really easy for me to stop any nausea in its tracks. I've never been psycho-pregnant-chick, thrown anything at Michael, or had him go to the store in the middle of the night for something I'm craving. Things have been really great, despite the new pains of my body adjusting itself to prepare to deliver a baby.

But to say that I don't send him to the stores, does not mean that I don't get my cravings. The main craving throughout all of my pregnancy has been Indian food. Bombay Deluxe, in particular---my favorite Indian restaurant in town. To say I go there often is an understatement. I came to realize this maybe a month ago when, after my card got declined because I got a little too "transfer-to-savings" happy at the end of the pay period, the owner said "It's okay, Elaura, just pay next time." Every time I go in there, I am greeted warmly by first name, and today I even got a welcome hug from the ever so polite owner, who is always around. He knows my drink, my name, and will soon know our daughter.

Some people have their bar or club where they can sit down, be greeted and served a drink without having to order. But I.... I have Bombay Deluxe, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

"Bye bye, Elaura. See you next week!"

Watch your mouth;

It baffles me how people talk to a pregnant woman, sometimes.

Don't get me wrong, a lot of the random things people say have been sweet and politely curious, but as we all know, it's the few that really just blow it that get all the attention.

Take, for example, this beastly woman who was in a class with me last week. She, for some reason, thought it would be alright to call me not only fat, but "really fat" in front of the whole class. Yeah, okay, let me just sit back and take that. She seemed shocked that I didn't "get her joke" when I pulled her outside to tell her that it offended me. But, really, since when would a woman, pregnant or not, think it's funny to be called fat? I can't think of a single one.

Then, yesterday, a man approached me as I was eating chips & queso at work. "Oh, so you think just because you're pregnant you can eat chips & dip?" .... What? I politely replied with, "I would be eating this even if I wasn't pregnant." "And what's with your shirt?" I look down to my shirt. No stains, no tears, no random drawings. "It's all untucked and shit." Oh. He meant my size medium but getting a little tight work shirt that I keep untucked because I wear an undershirt (tucked in) to make it look better. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't believe this guy was really getting onto me about this. He broke the awkward silence with "So, if I get pregnant, can I wear my shirt untucked, too?" ".....Yes," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

He then gave me a high five.

What the heck, people? Think (think) before you speak. I hardly ever take off my work blouse because I'm not getting any smaller and I try not to shove my big o' belly in people's faces, but my internal heater has been on high and I just don't care anymore. It's hot at work, and I want to just have my t-shirt like anyone else would do, were they to get hot at work. I don't need idiots coming up and telling me what they think.

Humph.