The Story of Our Elijah
I'm an impatient person. I mean really, really impatient. It's to the point where when I'm driving and I pull up behind two cars in two separate lanes at a red light, I try to figure out in my mind which car is newer and how old the driver is because I want to get in the lane behind the "faster" car. Because I'm insane. Waiting is not my strength and God gently gives me little moments in life where all I can do is trust him and cling to hope. Sometimes being in the fast lane isn't his plan for me and I've learned a lot about his grace through throwing my hands up in the air and trusting his timing, not mine.
I had an easy pregnancy. I had about 10 long weeks of morning sickness, though I preferred to call it "all day sickness". But other than that, I didn't have any complaints. I felt great which was a blessing considering I was running after a four-year-old and two-year-old.
This being my third baby, I figured the baby would come long before the due date. Or at least ON the due date. Maybe a day after? But probably not. My body's done this before. It knows how to handle this. I'm fiiiiiine. I didn't take into account that with my firstborn I'd been induced only two days after his due date which ended in a c-section so my body had only done this naturally once before. My daughter came on her own four days after her due date at home. I have no idea how long my pregnancy would have lasted with my son had I allowed my body to do what it was designed to do. I still long for that information and wonder when his "real" birthday would have been.
This was my second home birth and third child so I thought I could handle anything. I was empowered. And can I just go ahead and admit a wee bit arrogant too? I was woman, hear me roar, and nothing was going to bring me down. Until my due date came and went. Oops. Okay, maybe a few more days then? A week went by. Oh. Um, this isn't what I was expecting. *Enter the tearful meltdowns* They came daily, sometimes seven or eight times a day. My midwife tried consoling me at 41 weeks saying, "Anna, this really is quite normal." But it wasn't for me! I was tired of the "Oh my gosh, when are you due?" question as people's eyes bulged at my large-about-to-pop belly. Then came the follow-up questions: "When are you going to induce? How are you feeling? Aren't you tired? Is that safe? What are you going to do? How are you coping with this? I'd be going crazy, aren't you?" These things, dear friends, are not to ever be said to a woman who is past her due date. Just don't. Give her a hug. Tell her it's okay. Or give her a high-five and tell her she's doing awesome. Or that she looks awesome! She won't believe you, but it'll make her feel better just the same. Just, for the love of Barry Manilow, don't ask her anymore questions. She's so, so done.
My heart was beginning to get heavy. I tried to distract myself by planning fun activities for Will and Ella Grey. We'd go to the zoo, play in the sprinkler, have picnics outside. But it was always in the back of my mind: "When am I going to have this baby?" After my fourth emotional breakdown that day, I was ready to march into the hospital and tell those doctors I wasn't going to leave until I had a baby. Of course that wouldn't have worked, considering I had opted for a home birth this time around and there wasn't a doctor in town who had my prenatal records. Even my midwife was a state away and I was feeling a wee bit helpless and out of control.Out of control. Yes. My situation was completely and utterly out of my control. What a scary place to be in, especially when your unborn child is involved. I know many mothers who have been in far scarier situations than mine where there was nothing left to do but fall on your knees and pray. Their circumstances make mine quite trivial in comparison. But when you're nearly 42 weeks pregnant, hormonal, miserable, tired, and huge, you feel like your "crisis" is truly that - a crisis.
This time of panic and crying was becoming emotionally trying for me. I was desperate to try ANYTHING that would work to kickstart labor. All of those natural methods of inducing labor? Ask me which ones I didn't try. I dare you. This baby of mine was not nearly as anxious to meet us as we were to meet him/her and I was about fed up with it. Then came the prayers and me pleading with God to please let me hold my baby soon. Didn't he want that for me? Didn't he WANT me to have my little baby? The one I'd so desperately prayed for? You guys, I was getting extreme here and the pregnancy hormones were truly getting the best of me. But I had already had five friends due *after* me have their babies. Seeing pictures of their sweet, precious newborns on various social networks while mine was still "cooking" was getting much harder with each passing day. My two children kept asking me, "When will the baby be here, Momma?" and my eyes would fill with tears as I had no answer for them. Then the fear crept in...what if something's wrong?
Keep in mind I know my body well. The thing with natural childbirth is that you really get to know yourself (and your baby) pretty well. I knew I was feeling much the same way I had with my daughter. No contractions throughout the pregnancy (even Braxton Hicks) was completely normal for me. I had no signs of anything until I was already in active labor so this didn't burden me. But still, why wasn't my body doing what it was supposed to in the right time frame? My midwife was keeping a very close eye on me and making sure the baby's heartrate, my blood pressure, and the fetal movements were normal. So far so good. I even had an ultrasound done at 41 weeks and everything was looking great! The baby was in the right position and was ready to go. So why was that little one not here yet?
This became a time of complete trust for me. I had to trust that God's timing was perfect and that this body he gave me was equipped to handle childbirth. This is what my body was designed for - I could do it. My prayers went from, "Please let me have my baby!" to "Dear Lord, just give me peace and help me trust you in this." My heart was calmed completely. Then I started reading online that many, MANY women go even after 42 weeks! Not only that, but they're healthy, happy babies who nurse well, sleep well, and aren't fussy at all. I wasn't alone. These women, as long as they were not at risk, were refusing induction and having their babies on their own time when the baby was truly ready. It was glorious and I smiled to myself at my computer. Women are rarely "allowed" to go past 41 weeks because doctors have to have a standard for their patients as to when to induce. Babies coming after the 42 week mark can sometimes be at risk because the placenta isn't doing its job and the baby is no longer receiving the nutrients it needs. Because the care isn't as individualized with doctors as with midwives (imagine the number of patients they must have!), they avoid going over unless the mother outright refuses. Unfortunately, we're being taught that something is wrong with out bodies (or our babies) when that's usually not the case. It's hard to know how many women really would go past the 42 week mark because they're rarely allowed to. We have become fearful of childbirth and rush it before our babies are ready.
The day my little one was born started out pretty normally. I was exactly 42 weeks that day (June 1st) and woke up again quite pregnant and literally rolling out of bed. Every morning I'd wake up with disappointment that I'd again not gone into labor, but also I was waking up with contentment and peace. The breakdowns had turned into prayers and as long as I was safe and my baby was safe, I decided to trust God. He'd designed my body for this.
I started to have a few contractions that morning, but nothing to write home about. At 10am, I really started noticing contractions a little more frequently, but still not many. By 2pm, the contractions were much stronger and coming every 10 minutes or so. I texted my friends Sarah, Jennifer and Robin to tell them this may be it and to pray that I'd go into labor soon. By 2:45 the contractions were lasting anywhere from 30-40 seconds and were 7 to 10 minutes apart. I called my midwife, Sara, and nonchalantly told her what was going on. She told me to rest as much as I could in between and to call her back when the contractions were lasting 45-60 seconds long. I took a small nap but then was awakened by a much longer and stronger contraction lasting over a minute long. I called her back and she headed out our way immediately. That was at 4:02pm. Sara got to our house by 5:20 and the kids and Chase were out in the front yard. I walked outside and greeted her, smiling. I remember her looking at me rather oddly wondering why a woman who was in labor was smiling and coming to the front door. The truth was, the contractions were very manageable. She and I walked inside and sat down to talk. She watched me closely as I closed my eyes through difficult contractions. By 6pm, I was reaching transition. Chase had brought home dinner and I was eating a salad, something else my midwife was surprised I was able to do. I stood up and rocked through the contractions, nibbling spinach leaves in between. I was still able to smile in between the contractions and talk with ease, though they were getting much stronger and I could no longer actually talk through the contractions. Finally I had a contraction that seemed almost unbearable. Suddenly my water broke and Sara suggested getting in the tub.
Now at this time, my two older children were running around because of the excitement in the house. Mommy was having a baby! Chase was trying to get them into bed while my midwife continued to set up everything. I was in the tub by myself while life went on around me. Music quietly played in the background and children giggled down the hall. I barely remember any of it though because I was so focused on what was happening with my body. I think I had only been in the water for three or four minutes when I suddenly had the urge to push. I told Sara, "I think I need to push." She calmly said, "Try to wait until you're absolutely sure." I nodded and said, "Okay." I called Chase over and he ran as fast as he could. "I need you to look at me and hold my hands," I said. He stopped what he was doing and focused on me completely. He had just put the children to bed but had been running around getting their loveys and cups of water. A minute later I said again, "Sara, I need to push now!" "Do what you need to do," she said gently. Things were progressing much quicker than any of us had anticipated. With my daughter (whom Sara had also delivered), I pushed for well over an hour. Sara was still in the process of getting things ready and her back was turned. Chase ran to the bedroom to grab another shirt for me to put on. Suddenly I yelled out, "Okay! The baby's coming! The baby's coming!" I had been gripping the edge of the tub and when I turned over, there was the baby's head! "Keep pushing, keep pushing!" Sara said. Chase was smiling and said, "You're doing it! You're almost done!" And after six minutes of pushing, there it was. Sara reached down, grabbed the baby, and placed it gently in my arms. I couldn't stop saying, "Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" I was holding my precious baby and I could hardly believe it. After a few seconds, the baby let out a cry and I held it close to my chest. We called the children into the room so they could see their new sibling. I held the baby for a good ten minutes before Will finally asked if it was a brother or a sister. "Oh! We haven't even checked yet!" Chase said. We had been pretty positive throughout the entire pregnancy that the baby was going to be a girl to the point where we hadn't even picked out a boy name. But to our astonishment, it was a precious baby boy! I was so thrilled. Another surprise God had given us. At 7:43 that evening, our littlest blessing had been born weighing in at 8 pounds exactly and being 19 inches long. In the background, "This is My Father's World" quietly played on the cd player. Our sweet, unnamed, dearly loved, little boy had been born into his Father's world. It was a reminder that this truly is God's world and things work on his timing.
The next morning we (mostly Chase) decided on the name Elijah Gibson, Elijah meaning "God is my YAHWEH" and Gibson meaning "laughing" (which was also my father's middle name who was full of life and laughter). Our Eli has been such a gift and what a lesson we learned while waiting on God.
