Zoey's Birth Story
The night Zoey turns four months old, she won’t settle to sleep without me. Memories of her birth flash in and out of my head as the hands of the clock move closer and closer to the time she was born.
I wonder if she remembers too.
- - -
Zoey’s birth was an odd one. With Izzy and Luna, the signs of labor were very clear and happened within a weekend. With Zoey, the signs of pre and early labor happened sporadically over a few weeks. Ready to be done being pregnant, I asked to take a walk at the UC Davis Arboretum on Saturday morning.
I’ve always loved the arboretum—we discovered it when we were two 22-year-olds scouting for somewhere to get engagement photos taken. We took weekly walks there throughout the 15 months we lived in Davis. We brought a newborn Isaac to the arboretum on one of our first outings as a family of three. In short, it’s seen us through many a season, and it felt fitting as the place to take one last outing as a family of four.
- - -
Once home, I dive into nesting mode. The house is already pretty spotless since we spent two weeks manically cleaning and styling the place, but the Gathre mats still needed to be cleaned. I get down on my hands and knees and start scrubbing.
Labor begins that evening.
Having gone through two other labors with Isaac and Luna, I knew there was no rush–my labors are a slow burn. I’m fully expecting to labor through the day and give birth in the wee hours of the following morning. And having learned my lesson from my labor with Isaac, I stayed in bed and managed to get some sleep as my body slowly began the work of bringing Zoey into the world.
- - -
The next morning, I tell Brandon I’m definitely in labor and he jumps right into executing The Plan we have for the kids to stay with his parents.
I keep wanting to tell him that there’s no need to rush, that we can drop the kids off after church, but he’s on a roll.
I’m glad the kids went with their grandparents when they did because it allowed me to relax and stay in tune with my labor.
I take a long shower, knowing it’ll be a while before I get another uninterrupted, unhurried one again. We get coffee and some breakfast all the while doing our best to not get too antsy.
Just like in my previous birth experiences, my labor lulls for a few hours in the afternoon. And just like in my previous birth experiences, I begin questioning whether I’m actually in labor. Had I just wasted everyone’s time and sent my kids away for a false alarm?
A couple of hours later, the contractions are back–this time with a bit of a vengeance. My labor feels like it’s moving along faster than with Luna, but I dismiss it as excitement and remind myself that I’d rather labor at home than at the hospital.
- - -
I rarely dreamt for many, many years. Whenever I did dream, it was because it meant something.
Back in 2018, I dreamt that I was holding a baby in Target.
In my dream, I was looking down at a tiny newborn as I held its head in the crook of my arm. I was swaying back and forth in typical mom fashion and gazing at this child. I knew the baby was mine–they were connected to me– but as I looked into the baby’s eyes, I remember saying, “I have to give you back now…it’s not time for you yet.”
I had no idea what this dream meant. I was pregnant with Isaac at the time, so I assumed it was about him. But after Isaac was born, I still felt like I was waiting for the baby in this dream to arrive.
- - -
My restlessness takes over so we decide to take a trip to Target to buy some last-minute hospital snacks and an Instax camera to document our final trip to the hospital on film.
I can feel my contractions intensify as we wait for the teenage employees to unlock the camera. Each wave of pain takes more and more effort to manage and I can tell that the epicenter of the pain has moved down into my pelvis.
It’s around 3 PM when we check out and even though I’m trying to convince myself that I still have four to six hours before we’ll need to head to the hospital, I tell Brandon that we should get some food since we’re already out.
We drive across town for some Mediterranean food. My contractions are even stronger than they were before. I double over in pain with each one, fighting to remember to breathe instead of bracing. A freight train cutting through midtown delays our trip home. I snack on potatoes, still in denial that this labor is progressing faster than I expected despite the very real pain I’m in.
Once we’re back home, I immediately lay on the couch. Laying on my side is the only thing helping me manage my pain at this point. I don’t even eat my very expensive gyro because I’m in so much pain and have no appetite. Brandon turns on New Girl or something for us to watch but I can’t focus on anything other than the ever-increasing pain.
I finally stop trying to stick to the arbitrary timeline I had in my head and tell Brandon I think we should go to the hospital.
We’re in the middle of a record-setting heatwave so once we arrive I make my way to triage as quickly as I can to get out of the oppressive heat. I walk into an empty waiting room mid-contraction and sign myself in.
A nurse comes in to check how dilated I am and sure enough, I’m at 6.5 centimeters with a bulging bag.
The familiar process begins one last time.
They roll in the ultrasound machine for a final look to see if the baby is in the right position. Like her siblings, Zoey’s sunny side up, meaning her head is down, but she’s facing my belly instead of facing my back.
I’m overwhelmed with emotion when I see Zoey’s face on the screen. None of this process is new anymore, and for the first time, I’m able to be really, truly present.
This is the last time I’ll be in the hospital to deliver my baby. The season of pregnancy is over and a new one is beginning.
An amazing nurse settles us in while I wait for the epidural. I snack on hospital brand jello and keep breathing as the contractions continue to get stronger.
Soon (or maybe not, I feel like time stops in a hospital) a couple of anesthesiologists walk in. I find it strange that there are two of them but I don’t think too much about it. They begin to walk me through the process.
This is my third time getting an epidural so I have a good idea of how long it takes—and this is taking a while. It becomes clear that the person administering the epidural is training. I feel a sharp, cold pain on the right side of my back and speak up about it. I feel it on my left so I say something again. I think at some point they started almost all the way over.
I pray silently that this is over soon.
Thankfully, everything worked out. The anesthesiologist-in-training did his job and I began feeling relief from the pain.
When it’s time for the catheter, my nurse notices some fluid on the mats lining my bed. We all assume it’s from my bag of waters, so when the midwife comes in to see how things are progressing, she leaves with the impression that my water has broken on its own.
An hour or so goes by. I rest while Brandon snores. My nurse comes in to flip me so the epidural distributes evenly. She leaves for her break. I wonder if I’ll even make it to midnight before I have to push.
It all feels pretty anticlimactic, really.
Minutes later, I hear a gurgle on the baby’s monitor. All of a sudden, I feel a gush of water come out—or rather, I feel pressure release in my belly since I can’t really feel my legs.
My water has broken on its own, for real this time.
I try to call my nurse but she’s left her phone in my room so I press the button on my bed to call the desk. A different nurse answers and bewildered, I tell her I’m pretty sure my water just broke.
She comes in to clean me up and when she checks to see how dilated I am, she looks up and says, “Okay, don’t push,” in a nervous but professional tone.
I have no urge to push but I watch as a small, choreographed frenzy begins.
My big thing with birth is not wanting to tear. Stick the jumbo needle in my back but please oh please don’t let me tear. I’d managed to avoid tearing with Isaac and Luna by pushing more slowly so of course I included that in my birth preferences with Zoey.
It’s a busy night in Labor & Delivery because my midwife rushes in and is frantically trying to get new scrubs on to deliver my baby. I’m in position and getting ready to push through a contraction.
The needle tracking my contractions is moving more and more. My midwife gets situated and tells me that there’s no time for perineal massage or super slow pushes because Zoey’s head is already on its way out.
The contraction begins. I take a breath and begin pushing.
- - -
I cry as soon as I see her. Her eyes are closed and her hands are balled into tiny fists up by her cheeks. They lay her on me and she’s the calmest thing I’ve ever seen.
She doesn’t cry when she’s born, so things get a little quiet as the nurses check her breathing and her heart rate. They let me know she’s breathing well and has a strong heartbeat but that she’s a little cold, so they bundle her up and Brandon stays with her as she lays under the warmer.
Soon enough, she’s back on my chest.
- - -
Four months later and right at the time of her birth, she wakes up. I pick her up, nurse her back to sleep, and stare at the baby in my arms, overwhelmingly grateful that the time for her to be with me, with us, has arrived.
