Being pregnant and giving birth during a global pandemic and a time of intense social and political upheaval was an unexpected experience. I am thankful that we went into this pregnancy already planning a homebirth, as we were ultimately able to avoid some of the extra stress dominating the medical community during this time, but I was certainly not unaffected. I spent the majority of this pregnancy consumed by a deep anxiety that I had not experienced previously. Despite the exhaustion that comes from being pregnant while caring for a house full of small children, I was plagued by horrible insomnia from roughly 20 weeks on. I would lay awake for hours as my mind churned obsessively through all of the “what ifs” that I had no control over. As someone who generally has a fairly “go with the flow” attitude, my inability to turn my mind from these obsessions was maddening. I did not feel much of a connection to the baby growing inside me and felt little excitement for her arrival. As I neared my due date I found myself longing for her to come, not because I was excited for labor and ready to meet my baby as I had been with my previous girls, but because I hoped that the hormone rush that comes from birth would allow me to finally be able to sleep. I was never able to get myself into a “birthy” mindset, which definitely played out negatively while actually giving birth. I wish that I had been more cognizant of the deterioration of my mental health during that time and had felt capable of proactively preserving a safe and peaceful space for myself. I mourn the fact that my final pregnancy and birthing experience were marred by such crippling anxiety and that I did not go into my last labor with joyous anticipation.
After several months of being unable to attend in person worship with our church family, the girls and I began attending again in early September. It was not exactly church as we were used to, but it was a blessing to be among God's people again. On Sunday, September 27th, we went to worship and I allowed the girls to run around outside with friends for a bit after the service. I chatted with friends and had several inquiries of when baby was due and if we had chosen a name. We hadn't completely settled on the name yet, but I did share that we felt pretty committed to continuing the trend of a name beginning with E. By the time we got home I was tired and uncomfortable and didn't feel well. I wasn't sick, but told Mike that I just felt weird and was going to lay down. A trip to the bathroom showed a decent amount of pink mucous, though not enough for me to consider it bloody show. After Eden was born Mike made it clear that he was not interested in being part of another unassisted birth so, in the interest of being proactive, I texted my midwife, Katie, to let her know what I had seen and to muse if labor might be near. She told me to take it easy and keep an eye on baby's movements and to let her know if I needed her. She was already scheduled to come see me the next day. I laid down to rest and was preparing to start a kick count when I felt one long strong contraction. I counted kicks for the next several minutes and waited to see if anymore contractions would come. I felt nothing else and was eventually able to nap for awhile.
I continued having the light bloody show through Sunday night and into Monday, though no real notable contractions. Sporadic painful cramps above my pubic bone seemed to be telling me that baby was not in an ideal position and I lamented not having seen the chiropractor regularly during this pregnancy. As the day progressed I was still feeling off, but I couldn't really describe what that meant. Always looking for something to worry about, I suddenly became concerned that baby could have flipped breech. Katie came in the late afternoon and I asked her to check me to make sure baby was head down. She was, and I was also 2cm dilated. I didn't particularly feel like real labor was eminent, but I also wasn't sure why I was feeling so strange. If this was labor, or pre-labor, it was nothing I had experienced before.
I was so used to not being able to sleep that I didn't even attempt to go to bed at a normal time that night. Instead, 11pm found me bouncing on my birth ball and folding laundry while watching Call the Midwife. I was not having timeable contractions, but I was feeling just generally sore all over. After awhile I began to notice that any time I stood up my stomach became very tight and uncomfortable and would remain that way until I sat back down. There was no ebb and flow like I was accustomed to so I didn't immediately assume this was labor. I decided to take a bath to see if that would ease the discomfort and help me to sleep, but as I lay in the water I finally began feeling the distinct pressure waves I'd been waiting for. I'm not sure how long I stayed in the tub. I was drifting in and out of a very light doze as the contractions came and went, vaguely aware that I had no idea how far apart they were. Eventually I convinced myself to get out and attempt to time them. They were not terribly close together, but they were consistent enough to finally convince me that I was, in fact, in labor.
I woke Mike up around 3am. I turned the TV back on and continued timing while swaying on the birth ball. While I was sitting my contractions were averaging 8 minutes apart. They were strong, but I was getting through them fine. However, any time I stood up and walked around they would come right on top of each other. I told Mike that I didn't really know how far into labor I was, so we agreed to err on the side of caution and go ahead and call the midwife. I called Katie around 3:45am and she arrived 20 minutes later. The intensity began ramping up quickly at this point. I had Mike take my ball into the bedroom for me because I wanted to be more in my own little intimate space, but I remember feeling overwhelmed by how bright the overhead lights were in there, and, at the same time, unable to articulate that it was too bright. I felt uncomfortably exposed, but for some reason I also felt like I needed to be in the bedroom. Nothing felt quite right and I was beginning to mentally cave to the pain I was feeling. Another new feeling for me. “Pain with a purpose” is how I have always motivated myself and encouraged other expectant mothers, but I was losing sight of the purpose.
Mike woke our big girls, Evie and Ellie, around 4:30am, as they had both said they wanted to be present for the birth. At this point my contractions had become considerably more intense and I was having to vocalize through them. I could tell the girls weren't quite sure what to think. Katie asked if I was feeling pushy and I realized that I was and that I didn't want to be on the ball anymore. I moved into the bathroom and onto the toilet. I lamented to Katie that I just wanted it to be over. I felt so much more pain with this labor than I had with my last and I was feeling very mentally and physically wiped out. A moment later my water broke like an explosion and everything began moving very quickly. Katie checked and confirmed that baby was crowning, and, for the second time in my life, I was scrambling to not birth a baby in my toilet. I once again ended up on all fours on the bathroom floor. Katie was encouraging me to go slow and to not push too hard, but I was not in control of my pushing at all. A contraction or two later and Eowyn Kate was born at 4:45am on September 29th, 2020. She was perfect and beautiful and covered in vernix. She looked so incredibly tiny. I was sure she was the smallest of all of my babies, but when she was weighed some time later it was revealed she was actually the biggest at 8lbs even and 21 inches long!
I had assumed that, like all my previous births, now that the baby was out the pain would end, or, at least, greatly lessen. Unfortunately, pain continued to be a theme this time around. Mike and Katie helped me up and to bed so that we could all dote over our new addition. As I snuggled my newborn I had an awful cramping pain in my tailbone. I knew this was my body working to birth the placenta, but, yet again, it was a new and unpleasant sensation. Perhaps in the past the post birth euphoric hormone rush had simply masked a lot of this discomfort. This time, while I was certainly filled with joy and love for my baby, the euphoria felt thin and weak.
Eden, our toddler, woke uncharactistically early, and came to meet her new sister a few hours after birth. I was unsure how she would react to a new baby in the house, but she was instantly smitten and wanted to hold her right away. The sweetness of my girls with their new sister definitely filled my heart.
The weeks, and even months, that followed were long, stressful, and filled with unexpected challenges. Eowyn's postpartum period was, by far, the most difficult. We struggled with breastfeeding, reflux, and poor weight gain. Eowyn could never be put down to nap, which made caring for her sisters extremely difficult. I felt like I was living in a fog. My maternal instincts alluded me. Why had I not noticed her nursing issues right away? I've nursed several babies. Why couldn't I get her to sleep? I've cared for so many babies, all of whom eventually revealed their needs to me and we were able to develop a routine. Why couldn't I figure out what she needed? There were moments when I looked at my precious baby through a haze of milk soaked exhaustion and wondered why we had had another. We were doing well with 3 and now everything was chaos. I was failing all of my children in every way and I was certainly never going to sleep again. Had we made a mistake?
Looking back, it is obvious to me how the anxiety and likely depression that I had fallen into pre-birth negatively impacted the birthing experience itself. I am also sure it intensified our struggles postpartum. I am so grateful for my amazing midwives who ran to my aid to offer love, support, and resources to help me continue to breastfeed. I owe so much to my husband who did his very best to support me, even when neither of us knew what I needed. And my friends who listened and loved me without judgment were, and continue to be, an immense blessing. Even so, I so wish I had asked for more help. I wish I hadn't tried to hide how I was struggling internally. Even knowing that it was ok to not be ok, knowing that I had people who loved me and would willingly have helped me, I felt like I needed to at least appear to have it together.
Eowyn is now a year old. She is vibrant and happy and such a joy to us all. A far cry from the screaming clingy difficult infant of a year ago. I am beginning to be able to reflect on her birth and first weeks without so much of the choking anxiety welling up. God is gracious, we are very blessed, and I am healing.
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