She made her move on a bone-chilling December night. At 4 AM Rachel knew she was no longer dealing with Braxton-Hicks, round ligament, irritable uterus, or dehydration. No. Baby Josie was coming.
From her motions, and behavior in the womb it was clear this kid would make her own decisions, and commit when it was time.
We lived 80 minutes from our preferred hospital. There were four in the area, but the favored institution incorporated a concept into their business model that not only relieves stress on the mothers in labor (listen up Madison), but is also a rarity in the medical profession, and in society at large; compassion.
Even though she was in transition, fighting the tears to spite a long, exhausting pregnancy, Rachel was excited. I was, too. Our nurses, our midwife, our room, and even the anesthesiologist were people as well as experiences we were delighted to have again.
Rae checked in on her own. There were still logistics to take care of before I could join her. Tired, and impatient I nevertheless exercised care, and consideration with every facet of the following tasks;
Get my two very young boys into the large, forest green Suburban with their grandfather and Uncle Gabriel. Fortunately Rachel comes from a family big on people. I had three capable men transferring car seats, luggage, and boys with me into their grandfather's vehicle.
My oldest was offended. He wasn't scared to leave with Grandpa. He was upset that his sister was coming, and he wouldn't be there to see it. He's four, and he's brilliant. Already exhausted from the early hour, the long trip, the emotions, and the cold it was difficult to say goodbye to him.
Grandpa called 30 minutes later to let us know the boy had been sufficiently quelled by a warm McDonald's breakfast, and a few stern paternal looks. He was now smiling and chatty, and I felt a little less guilty.
I walked with my other father-in-law, a highly reputable anesthesiologist himself, up to the maternity ward where Rachel lay. Her mother was at the foot of the bed putting pressure on Rae's knees.
I settled in at once, rolling a chair up to the bedside. Rachel's hand in mine, a moment of truth arrived. For two months we had been practicing the Bradley Method. It was time to see if it worked.
As I was coaching her through her contractions, she informed me she was at a four (4 cm dilation), and 100% effaced. The contractions came and ebbed away, and we were both confident that they had achieved something.
That's when our nurse came in. Not the one we were assigned, but the nurse who had been there at my youngest son's birth. Her name was Rachel, too. She lit up the room. I could feel my wife's relief at the familiar, and cherished face.
Conversations are lost to me at this point. All I remember is coaching my wife, and witnessing the miracle.
"Breathe into your tummy. Good. Relax your face. It's almost over. You're doing so well, honey. This is just one more step. This contraction is doing something. Amazing, baby. I'm so proud of you."
Be in the moment, I thought, 100 percent committed to coaching her through her contractions. Even though she was convinced that doing it naturally was the best way to do it, I knew that her pregnancies were not normal. They taxed her system, robbed her of sleep, and caused her to suffer contractions from the fourth month on - often spaced no more than three to six minutes apart. Do the math.
Having the anesthesiologist on the way was a relief for both of us. She, because of her weary body, and for me because I knew the chances of having both a new daughter and a wife on the other side of the birth increased dramatically. Her last attempt at natural child birth was a trauma for both of us. It failed for a few reasons I will leave to the academics to elaborate upon. The things I will recommend above all others in term of value during natural child birth are complete, whole, and total relaxation during your contractions, and utilizing your mate.
To relax while experiencing your contractions is easy in principle; all you do is go limp. It's nigh impossible to apply without good coaching from your mate.
When the anesthesiologist arrived to administer the epidural he came with an aura of peace and good energy. The midwife checked Rachel while he prepared his tubes and tape.
"You're a seven!" she exclaimed.
You should have seen the pleased look on Rachel's face.
In 2011 when George was born, Rachel labored for eight long, trying hours and dilated a mere 2 cm. So when two hours gave her 3 cm through coaching, and a potent mental attitude she had every reason to be proud of herself.
The doctor administered the medication. Then we waited. Going from a seven to a ten took another two hours. Though she could not feel the contractions we still tried to coach her through them. It obviously helped. Then the kid crowned. Josie apparently knew what to do because the midwife laughed, "She turned her head!" she said.
Three hefty pushes later we had our Josephine. It was like Josie knew all the steps, and executed them with efficiency. She plumped her way into the world like a champion, and wailed only a moment before being set upon her mother's breast.
We had requested that the umbilical stay connected until it had stopped pulsing. The midwife handed it to me. I was instantly concerned about infection by my touch to this tube connecting my wife and baby. "It's okay." she smiled when I asked.
I took that magnificently engineered fleshy cord between my fingers and was astonished to feel that the pulsing was not a steady thrum as I had supposed, but a strong a rapid beat. I held it, and gave it a slight squeeze to appreciate the moment. I physically held the instrument of life. The tether that tied one life to another and made possible the growth and nourishment of a brand new human being was between my fingers. I am still in awe.
My attention turned to the purple, chunky, squirmy resting on my wife's chest. One of the things we look forward to most is seeing the baby's eye color.
With the firstborn they were instantly a stunning baby blue. The second was obviously gifted with walnut brown eyes. And now, nearly four months later my wife and I are still guessing at her eye color. It varies several times per day, and often has a color so incredible as to be unidentifiable. A stark, wispy gray, or a potent umber replete with orange streaks, sometimes slate/blue, and sometimes evergreen.
We aren't concerned. Josie has been such an angelic child. Her only quirk is her noise. She almost constantly groans, squeaks, coos, or goos. We have given to calling her cubby, or littlefoot. Her dainty little feet would have been the envy of an ancient Chinese woman.
And now those big, mysterious eyes look on with a brightness and awareness that increases daily. She looks like her brothers, and she looks like her own self. This is a good thing, my boys are so gorgeous they merit a worthy boast.
If she lives as simply, and as potently as she does now then the worries of her parents will be minimal. Either way the honor is indescribable, and the experience unforgettable. After two sons it is obvious that we now have a little girl, rather than a boy. She truly chose her date and time. We were simply observers of it.
