Lorelei’s Birth Story

One last bump kiss before going to the hospital.

If you’re like me, you’re a sucker for a good birth story. It took me some time to draft this post, what with the needs of a newborn and toddler and all, but now I finally can post it! Assume all the usual caveats of blood and gore apply. This post IS about childbirth. Birth is a gory affair.

As you probably know, Lorelei gave us false alarm after false alarm. Regular contractions getting closer together and stronger then stopping altogether made up the final 3 weeks of my pregnancy. We scheduled an induction for October 9th, as I described in a previous post.

We spent our last night as a family of three going about our business as usual, with the exception of downloading all sorts of versions of the German folk song, “Die Lorelei.” (That’s the German title—NOT English. So, “[throat-clearing noise] Lorelei” is the correct pronunciation.) Our house sounded like an Oktoberfest festival.

Surprisingly, we both slept pretty well and were up at 5:00 a.m. to get ready to go to the hospital. Charlotte woke up at 6:00, so I was able to see her before we left. Chris and I joked throughout the drive, trying to break the tension. Eventually, we checked in around 7:30 a.m. and hung around the waiting room for a while. There, oodles of highly caffeinated, brand-spanking-new grandparents-to-be made for a pretty festive atmosphere. Shouts of preemptive “mazel tov!” punctuated the giddy din, and a woman approached us. “My first grandchild is being born!” she said.

“Wow, congratulations,” we said.

“My daughter-in-law is 9.5 centimeters! She’ll be pushing soon!”

“That’s exciting,” I said, feeling a tad bad for this girl who was having her cervix’s status broadcasted to complete strangers.

The woman eyed my belly. “You’re not here to have a baby, are you?”

“Yep,” I said. “An induction.”

“Really? Like, you’re going to have a baby today?”

“That’s the plan.” And thus the congratulations reversed.

Eventually, we were led back to a labor and delivery room. I changed into the gown, the nurse did the info intake, and lots of protocol later, my doctor came in. She examined me and announced we had progressed even further than at my previous appointment. Good. Less time on the Pitocin that way.

“So, can I break your water?” she asked, very chipper.

“Um, yeah,” I said, as the reality of what we were undertaking suddenly hit me. “Knock yourself out.”

She broke my water and announced, “There we go! We’re committed now. That baby HAS to come out today. No turning back.”

This actually comforted me. I don’t care for gray areas.

By 9:00 a.m. or so—maybe a little later—the first dose of Pitocin was pumped into my IV. Contractions started right away but were fairly mild. Before long, they picked up in intensity and were occurring very close together. Believe you me, Pitocin-induced contractions are INTENSE. I held out for a while, trying, as I told my OB, to EARN my epidural.

“Oh, don’t wait for the epidural,” she said. “I mean, why do that to yourself?”

Um, my puritanical, suffer-for-it upbringing?

Of course, with Charlotte, I waited until I was on my last nerve, and then a series of emergency c-sections took that blessed anesthesiologist away from me for a couple hours, also known as FOREVER. So, I planned on asking for the epidural WAY earlier this time.

Meanwhile, contractions intensified and my labor and delivery iPod playlist (which contained such clever songs as “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross, “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash, and a couple versions of “Die Lorelei”) got reduced to just one song on repeat: “Business” by Eminem. (Do. Not. Judge.) The beat was exactly strong enough and the tone irreverent enough, and the chorus line of “let’s get down to business” was pretty much exactly what I was doing. It fit.

Finally, I called for the epidural, assuming that it would take a year and a half to arrive like last time. About 30 seconds later, the anesthesiologist arrived. I couldn’t believe it. Contractions were starting to feel like they barely let off before starting again, which wasn’t exactly comfy, but hey, the anesthesiologist was in my room! I could cope with ‘em. The nurse debated dialing back the Pitocin to avoid stressing out Lorelei, though she said our girl was tolerating everything extremely well—again, unlike Charlotte (which is why I had to do the freaking oxygen mask the entire labor with her).

The epidural started to take effect, which was grand, but I soon discovered a problem: It only affected my left side. The right side of my body was entirely functional and, unfortunately, feeling every contraction intensify.

Ruh-roh.

I told the nurse, and she had me hang out on my right side for some time to try to trick the medicine into going to the right via gravity. Apparently this sometimes works. It did not work for me.

We gave it another half hour or so, then the nurse called for the anesthesiologist. He swooped in and pumped in an extra dose of something magical. About 20 minutes after that, I was feeling freaking fantastic.

I enjoyed it for about five minutes. Max. The nurse returned to, um, do a little procedure that the epidural necessitates (no, I will not elaborate). She lowered my bed flat—although I felt like I was actually tilting a bit backward—and I started to feel a bit nauseous. The nurse was having trouble doing what she needed to do, so she called for another older, more experienced nurse (who was super efficient and sweet) to help her. (My main nurse was very, very sweet as well.) At this point, my blood pressure thingee started honking and I felt like I was going to puke, pass out, or both.

This point of the story is a bit foggy, as I was on the brink of consciousness. So, I’m relying heavily on what Chris reported. Apparently my OB came in the room to examine me again and announced we were at 8 centimeters. I have no memory of this. Meanwhile, I started throwing up—except that I hadn’t eaten all day, so it was really just constant dry heaves for about 30 seconds or so, but Chris faithfully held the pink puke tray in front of my face throughout.

Nurse #2 cranked up the fluids, Nurse #1 raised the bed a bit and clamped the oxygen mask on me, and my doctor—bless her heart—obtained a cold cloth. Chris remained ever vigilant with the puke tray. I remember thinking, this has to be my grossest, most awful public moment ever—why don’t I care?

I really didn’t care.

All this occurred, seriously, under a minute. Next, Nurse #2 mentioned that the baby looked super low, so my doctor did another exam. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “You went from 8 centimeters to 9.5 in 15 seconds!”

“All that retching shoved that baby downward,” Nurse #2 said. “Good for you!”

Right.

“So, yeah,” my doctor said. “I think I’ll stay put. We’ll be having this baby now.” Apparently Lorelei descended from the negative 2 station to plus 1 within that 15 second gap. Efficient, considering her lazy nature the weeks prior.

I was feeling perfectly fine at this point. About a minute later, my doctor announced we were at ten centimeters. “Ready to start pushing?” she asked.

Sure, what the heck. Chris took off his fleece to prepare for his part of labor: leg holding. To this day, he complains about how much work it was to hold up my leg for the hour and forty minutes it took to push out Charlotte. Poor boy.

So, off came Chris’s fleece, revealing his 49ers t-shirt underneath, as my OB got herself in the proper baby-catching position. She glanced at him and asked, “Are you a Niners fan? Like, for real?”

“Yes,” Chris said. “I’m from the Bay Area. From San Mateo.”

“No kidding?” she said. “I’m from Marin County.” After instructing me to push, they discussed last year’s awesome Niners season, and my OB described growing up on the Joe Montana days of the Niners, the differences between Northern Californians and Southern Californians, and so on. At one point, something someone said struck me as very funny—I think it was at the expense of SoCal folks—and I started laughing.

“Hey, that’s helping!” my doctor said. “Keep laughing!”

Obviously, I was well medicated, what with my extra shot of epidural magic and all. But really, how awesome is it to actually laugh during your child’s birth? Believe me, I did not laugh during Charlotte’s.

“You’re doing great!” my OB continued, interrupting Niners and Bay Area discussion for an Ashley pep talk. “She’s almost here!”

I was completely convinced my doctor was simply blowing sunshine up my, well, you know. I pushed forever with Charlotte. Babies don’t come quickly, plus I had an extra heavy epidural dose and couldn’t even find the right muscles to use, so I was relying entirely on ab muscles. Which, if you’ve ever given birth, you know they are the wrong muscles to use. But they’re better than nothing.

The next push, everyone was all positive and chipper, and again I thought, save your warm fuzzies for an hour and a half from now! Right now, I feel great! I’m not tired or frustrated or anything! Then my doctor said, “She crowned. Wanna touch her head?”

   (A) What? She crowned? Already? (B) Oh, gross. No way. (C) Well. Maybe . . . .

“Why not?” I finally said. After all, when would I ever get this opportunity again? So, I reached down and felt her hairy, goopy head. “Oh, holy shit,” I eloquently stated. “That’s incredible.”

At this point, I decided to believe my OB that this baby would actually be born soon. One more push later, Lorelei was born.

Oh, my girl! Onto my chest she was placed. She cried for about 10 seconds then quietly looked around. Unlike with Charlotte, who was taken away from me quite quickly after birth, Lorelei was loosely swaddled and I got to hang onto her for a long time, through the placenta delivery, umbilical cord cutting, and even a good deal of the stitching Mommy back up.

“Dad, are you a cutting-the-cord type of guy?” my doctor asked Chris.

“I’m so not,” he said.

Eventually, Chris got to hold her, and he quickly fell into his dad-sway, rocking her back and forth.

“Induction is awesome,” I told my doctor. “I know people say your body should just do things naturally, but . . .”

My OB guffawed. “Please,” she said. “There’s nothing natural about childbirth.”

“Right?” I said. “Seriously, if I ever have another kid—which I probably won’t—I’m totally inducing again.”

“Oh, don’t stop having babies!” she said. “Then all our fun together will end.” There actually IS something sad about being all done having babies. But that’s a post for another day.

So, yes. There was a brief dramatic moment with a pink puke tray and low blood pressure, but really, Lorelei’s birth was straightforward, fast (about 5 hours), and a lot easier than Charlotte’s. It was lighthearted and, weirdly enough, even fun at times. It was a HAPPY birth.

A joyful one.

We’re very blessed indeed.

After they took her from me.

Proud Daddy.

Meeting her little sister for the first time.

Bonding with Mommy at the hospital.

Getting dressed to go home. She loved it, obviously.

Daddy with his girls, the night we came home.