Let Patience Have Her Perfect Work: Silas' Birth Story

As I sit down to chronicle Silas' birth story, I'm wondering where I should start. I feel the need to go back in time, before Silas was even a thought. I always meant to write a post about our decision to add another member to our family, so now seems like a good time.

After Ian was born, we all felt pretty content. His birth was perfection; he was a dream baby and an even dreamier toddler. It felt like it might be best to stop while we were on top. Plus, I love odd numbers, so five boys to make a family of seven just made me happy.  

But a couple of years ago, I started to want a baby again. It could have just been that Ian hit 2.5 years old, and he became less dreamy. Or perhaps I will always want a baby if I don't have one (which could be a problem, for obvious reasons). Whatever the reason, I just let the thought and possibility sit at the back of my brain. 

I casually mentioned it to Mike. He said, "I think five kids is good." I said, "Well, maybe we could still pray about it." He agreed it couldn't hurt. But neither of us ever had an overwhelming feeling to pursue it, so we didn't. However, it wasn't something I forgot about, and with it on my mind so frequently, I quietly decided that that was my answer and if Mike ever warmed up to the idea, I wouldn't need to be convinced. 

When Aaron's bone marrow failed a second time last January, I had the completely random thought, "Aaron needs a baby." It seemed a little ridiculous, and honestly, rather unhelpful since babies don't just materialize out of thin air. 

After that, we went into full-on survival mode. Even if we had wanted a baby, our attention was completely consumed by Aaron's health. We didn't say the word "baby" at all during those volatile months. However, I still randomly thought about a baby, even when all logic said I should have been thinking about other things. Maybe it was just a way for me to take a mental break.

And then one day in April, Mike and I were in the car without any of our kids (I think we were going to look at brick samples for our fireplace, or something else equally exciting). We were not talking about having a baby. I repeat, we were not talking about having a baby. (I had not even mentioned a baby to Mike in at least three months.) But suddenly, Mike was saying, "So I actually had a thought about a baby when I was getting ready this morning. I wouldn't call it a revelation, but I just realized that if we had another child, we would never regret it." 

I can still transport myself back to that moment because it was like the air in the car became charged with positive energy. We didn't need to talk about it anymore. Our desires had synced up. We knew exactly how we wanted to move forward.

It was not an easy time to be pregnant, especially during the first trimester when Aaron's health was still very unstable and required a significant amount of time and attention, but I was so tired and sick myself, yet no one knew I was pregnant, not even our kids. I'm not going to say that we never questioned our decision. There were definitely times when we said, "Are we crazy to add another child right now? Do we really want to go back to the beginning just when we are reaching a stage where our kids are so independent? How old are we going to be when this baby graduates from high school? Do we even remember how to change a diaper?" 

But even though our minds often got snagged by all of the logistics of another child, our hearts continued to tell us we'd made the right choice. And once we told our kids, it began to feel even better. Their excitement and anticipation infused the reality with so much joy. 

In terms of the pregnancy itself, it was fairly uneventful. I got the AMA (advanced maternal age) label this time around, but aside from doing non-stress tests and checking the amniotic fluid levels starting at 36 weeks, it wasn't any different than my previous pregnancies. There were even some conditions I'd had with Ian's pregnancy that never showed up this time, which was so nice.

A couple of week before my due date, I brought up an induction with my midwife. Going off of my experiences with my other babies, I knew that 1) I probably would not go into labor on my own (and I wasn't willing to wait around post-due date to find out) and 2) this baby would probably not be small. Given these two realities, a planned induction seemed like a wise move. My midwife said I could choose any date in the week leading up to my due date, and I thought that as long as I could choose his birthday, I might as well choose one that was cool, so I asked if we could do it on the 22nd, even though it was a Saturday. Marnae said that was totally fine. We got it scheduled. The final countdown was on. 

When I got pregnant in the spring, there was one thing I hoped would be not as prevalent by the time January rolled around: the Covid-19 virus. I mean, I didn't actually think it would be gone gone, but I assumed it wouldn't be controlling our lives (or labor/delivery protocols) anymore.

But as December came to an end, and the Omicron variant reached the west, I could see it wasn't something I could overlook. Cases began to steeply spike, and it seemed like everyone we knew was getting it. As I went to the last few appointments before my due date, my questions about Covid seemed to multiply: What if I get Covid? What if Mike gets Covid? Is there a possibility that I will have to deliver this baby without support? If Mike has Covid, will he not be allowed in the hospital? Does anything change in the delivery room if I'm Covid-positive? What risks does my baby face?

Normally, it seems like I worry in vain about things that never end up happening, but this was not one of those times. One week after school resumed, Bradley got a headache; he was nauseous; he had a sore throat and a fever. And yes, he tested positive. 

With two weeks until the induction date, the timing might have been just about right. But unfortunately, we did not take the path of everyone getting it all at once or the virus skipping over some of us. No, it literally went through all seven of us, one at a time, 2-3 days apart. It was maddening. We'd think we were done with it, only to have another person fall the next day. 

On Monday night, five days before my scheduled induction, I went to bed with a slight sore throat. I woke up in the middle of the night, and it was still there, and I panicked. I couldn't go back to sleep as I counted down the days over and over again and realized that I didn't have enough time, even if my symptoms were mild. 

As it turned out, I had one bad day on Tuesday, after which a little bit of congestion was all that was left. Still though, I knew that even if I was totally symptom-free by Saturday, I would almost certainly still test positive. I called my midwife and asked what I should do. At first her recommendation was to postpone the induction until sometime the following week. She said, "You're not going to want to be in labor if your energy is low because you're feeling sick." But when I told her that I was actually feeling fine and that my preference was still to move forward with the induction, she said, "Okay. We'll test you once you get here. You'll most likely be positive, so we'll just have you wear a mask during the duration." 

But then there was the wild card of Mike: the last man standing. Day after day, I asked him, "How are you feeling? Any symptoms?" And day after day, he was fine. At my book club on Thursday night, I jokingly said that according to our schedule of someone getting it every 2-3 days, Mike should be getting sick that night.

And that's exactly what happened. 

But his symptoms started out very mild and sporadic, so we kind of tried to convince ourselves that maybe he didn't actually have it. He even went and got an antigen test on Friday, which came back negative (not surprising since his symptoms had just started). 

All day on Friday, I stressed about what we should do. I didn't know if they would automatically make Mike take a test if my test came back positive. And if they did, and his test was positive, then I wondered if I should have someone else on call as a potential backup to be with me if Mike got kicked out. Again, I considered pushing it back a few days, but it seemed unlikely that a slight extension would be enough time to get Mike out of the Covid woods. And in the meantime, the baby was getting bigger, the placenta was aging, and I was getting more swollen and uncomfortable. The timing was just extremely unfortunate, and we had run out of time for things to resolve themselves. 

This was our reality: after nearly two years of avoiding the virus, we were going to be having a baby during the two weeks when it had finally caught up with us. 

As I was getting ready for the day on Friday, I kept cycling through all of the variations. It felt a little like some version of Choose Your Own Adventure. Over and over again, my brain reached the end of a chapter where it faced another equally undesirable possibility. I prayed, and each time I did, the same phrase asserted itself: "Why not ask?"

I didn't know exactly what this meant. Should I ask for a negative test? Or that Mike's symptoms would miraculously disappear? Or just that this baby would be able to arrive safe and sound in spite of Covid? Finally I just decided that since I wasn't getting any clear guidance, I would just pray for what I wanted.

That night, my brother-in-law came over and, together with Mike, gave almost all of us blessings. It was all I could think to do besides pray. When it was my turn, there were no words about a negative test or miraculous healing. Instead, Mike said that Covid would only be on the "periphery" of the experience. 

My sleep that night was very fitful. Even though I'd felt at peace when I went to bed, my brain insisted on cycling through everything over and over again at 4:00 in the morning. I knew I was going to regret getting a poor night's sleep, but that only increased the pressure on myself and made it even more impossible for me to make happen. 

At 6:00am, I finally had something to do. I called the hospital to see when I should come in. Unfortunately for me, it had been a busy night with many laboring moms, so they told me to call back at 8:00. I wish I could say I used the extra hours to go back to sleep. That's what everyone else in my house was doing. But I just couldn't do it. I was primed and ready to go. I wanted to stop thinking about how it was all going to play out. It was time to actually experience it.

When I called back at 8:00, they still didn't have an exact time for me, but the person answering the phone said she'd have the charge nurse call me back soon. Apparently, there had just been a delivery, and so a room was probably going to open up in just a bit. 

But no one called back and no one called back. This probably should have been an indicator to me that the day was going to involve a lot of waiting in one form or another. In the interim, all of our kids packed up and left with Mike's sister. Now I had an empty house, and all I could think to do was putter around and clean things that didn't actually need to be cleaned. After an hour, I decided to call again. I didn't want to be one of those expecting moms, but I felt like I had given them plenty of time to call back, and I was feeling so antsy. 

This time, I was able to talk to the charge nurse who said she thought I would be able to come in around 11:00. She still wanted me to wait for her to call and confirm, but that was her best estimate at that point. I left my phone with Mike and went up to my room to see if I could actually fall asleep for a bit. And I think I did drift off for a couple of minutes a couple of times. It wasn't what I'd call restorative sleep, but it was at least something. 

Mike came in around 10:15 and said they'd called with the news that I could come in at 10:30. We were more than ready and hopped in the car before they could change their minds.

I really didn't know what to expect with the whole Covid complication. I suspected that I would test positive since it had only been five days since I had first experienced symptoms. I wondered if the hospital would put me in some kind of holding cell until they knew the results of the rapid test. But when we got there, it was business as usual: check in, change into a hospital gown, get hooked up to heart and contraction monitors, and insert the IV. During all of those things, I also was given a Covid test. The anticipation of this test had consumed me over the past week, but the nurse gave it only the slightest attention. For her, it was just standard procedure, and she certainly wasn't holding her breath waiting for the results. I started to relax a bit. 

My nurse's name was Charity. She had purple hair and was about my age. She was confident and efficient. She said the plan was to get the penicillin going (because I was positive for Group B strep), and then my midwife, Marnae, would break my water. At some point, they would also start some Pitocin. I was quite happy with this plan since it seems like I always need to have my water broken before Pitocin is very effective. It sounded like we were going to get things going in a hurry, and I was all for it.

Unfortunately, that was a false impression on my part.

After Charity got everything going, she checked my cervix. This was actually the first time I had been checked at all, having declined the option at my most recent appointments, so I was a bit nervous at what she would find. I hoped this induction wasn't premature. She had a difficult time reaching the cervix, which didn't surprise me based on my previous pregnancies, but she said I was dilated to a 3, 50% effaced, and soft. 

This was all good news since it meant, even though I wasn't in active labor, the conditions were still favorable for an induction. However, there was one piece of information that Charity relayed but didn't address how it would impact the rest of the day. Maybe she thought I would already know, having been through many inductions before this one. When she checked me, she found that the baby was at a -3 station, which meant that his head was still floating. This meant that Marnae actually couldn't break my water yet. She had to wait until his head was engaged. But Charity didn't communicate this to me, and I didn't make the connection on my own. So I kept waiting for Marnae to show up, still thinking that the plan was for her to break my water as soon as possible, whereas she decided to make a trip to Ikea since she needed to give the Pitocin a chance to do its job with the contractions and bring the baby down.

Speaking of Pitocin, it wasn't doing much yet. The nurse started it around noon, but I made the mistake of telling her that sometimes I only needed the lowest dose to jumpstart the contractions. (This had really only happened when my water was already broken and I was in active labor, neither of which was true at that moment.) So she started the Pitocin at a 2. I don't know if she would have started it this low regardless of what I said, but a 2 basically did nothing for me. 

(Comparing my current labor with my past labors was a theme for the day, and my past experience continued to betray me, as you will soon see.)

I wish I was better about passing hours of empty time in the hospital in a constructive or fun way; this is never a problem for me when I'm at home. I will happily sit down with a book and/or my knitting and enjoy a quiet afternoon. But when I'm at the hospital to have a baby, that's all I want to do; it's all I can think about. So even though I had a knitting project with me as well as a book, I could only manage a couple of rows and a couple of pages before I had to put them both away. Mike and I also watched a couple of episodes of Love It or List It, but after the second one was done, I made him turn it off. This wasn't because I was in pain or uncomfortable. Quite the contrary. There wasn't anything going on, so I felt compelled to stare at the monitors and will something to happen.

This was how we passed the next five hours. By this point, the Pitocin was up to 14, the contractions were regular (3-5 minutes apart), but my discomfort level with each one was probably a 2 or 3 (i.e., not anywhere strong enough to push out a baby).

You might be wondering what had happened with my Covid test. Charity was in and out throughout the afternoon, but they didn't seem to be in a hurry to find out if I was positive or negative. I must confess that I actually saw the results come in on my email. Perhaps I should have mentioned it as soon as I saw it, but they just didn't seem overly concerned.  I kind of wondered if they'd relaxed their protocols since so many people had it. (Side note: my midwife told me I was her fifth Covid delivery in the past week; before then, she'd never had anyone deliver with Covid, which just goes to show how insane the Omicron variant was.)

But around 4:30, Charity came in again, and this time she was fully gowned up with hair net and face shield, and I knew the bad news had been delivered. She handed me a second mask and regretfully told me that I would have to wear it for the duration of the labor. Things immediately felt more stiff and cumbersome, and I missed Charity's purple hair.

I glanced at Mike nervously, wondering if they were going to make him test next. But he just kept quietly sucking on his Lifesavers, keeping his cough at bay, so he could fly under the radar and not draw attention to himself. (He consumed so many Lifesavers that day that there's a chance he'll never be able to eat one again.)

At some point in the afternoon, Mike and I made guesses about when we thought the baby would arrive. I said 7:05, which I thought was a "safe" time, meaning, I thought I was overshooting it and the baby definitely would be born by then. Turns out, labor is one of those things that, even if this is your sixth time, you still can't predict.

Charity checked me again around 5:00. I was still only dilated to a 3 but thinner and (slightly) lower. She claimed she had an easier time reaching my cervix than she had the first time (it didn't really seem like it to me, but I always appreciate a nurse who can put a positive spin on things).

Over the next hour, I had a few contractions that I would describe as "good ones," meaning they were longer and harder and felt like they were getting closer to the real thing. 

Finally, a bit after 6:00, my midwife, Marnae, finally arrived. It felt like I had been waiting for her all day, but she explained what I mentioned earlier: she had fully been anticipating coming to the hospital sooner, but when she spoke with Charity, she knew I needed some time to progress with the Pitocin before she would be able to do me any good. This made total sense to me--I just wish it had been communicated to me; I think I would have settled into the process a little more if I hadn't thought she was going to show up at any minute.

But anyway, Marnae checked and found everything about at the same place Charity had the hour before. However, the baby's head was no longer floating, so it was go time. Marnae quickly broke my water. I anticipated the contractions ramping up after that, so I told Charity I was ready for an epidural.

In the weeks leading up to this induction, I hadn't fully decided if I was going to get an epidural or not. I'd had such a good experience with an epidural with Ian's birth, but that honestly felt like the kind of epidural you probably only get once. But I also didn't know if I really wanted to go through all of the agony of unmedicated labor again. So I didn't commit one way or the other and honestly kind of put it on the back burner for most of the pregnancy. However, when I got Covid and knew that I would be going through the whole labor process with two masks on, it was fairly easy to make the decision to get the epidural.

As I was waiting for the anesthesiologist to come in, I said, "I'm so hungry. I wish I could have a sandwich right now." (I always get hungry during labor, and at this point, the only thing I'd eaten since arriving at the hospital was jello and popsicles.) 

To my great surprise, Marnae said, "You want a sandwich? You can have a sandwich. Get this girl a sandwich!" The shock must have been evident on my face because she added, "It's the anesthesiologists that make the rule about clear foods. But I'm totally fine with you eating. This is your sixth baby. The chance of you needing a C-section at this point is extremely rare. Just be okay with the possibility of anything you eat coming back up if you start feeling nauseous." 

Charity came back in carrying a turkey sandwich that probably would have looked bland and disgusting at any other time but which looked positively mouth-watering right then. I had just cracked the seal on it and picked up one half when the anesthesiologist walked in. I quickly handed the whole thing off to Mike and tried to look innocent. 

Luckily, my experience with anesthesiologists is that they are almost always in a hurry and all business and can't be bothered to notice details like sandwiches in the wrong hands. He quickly launched into information, questions, and disclosures and then got right to work. Within minutes, the epidural was in and soon after that, the contractions started to subside as a mild numbness overtook my lower half.  

As soon as the anesthesiologist left, I indulged in my subpar sandwich. I don't know if anything has ever felt so luxurious. Real food during labor? I thought that would only ever be an unattainable dream.

Fueled by a sandwich, more Pitocin (increased to 18), broken water, and an epidural, I expected the pace to pick up at this point. And at first, that's exactly what seemed to be happening. Around 7:30, my teeth started chattering and my whole body began shaking. This has always (always!) been a sign for me that delivery is imminent (Ian was born within thirty minutes of me getting the shakes). Sadly, my "knowledge" deceived me yet again.

Informing Charity of my history, she decided to check me. I was only dilated to 4 centimeters, but I was 80% effaced, and the baby's head was at a zero station.

We decided to use the peanut pillow, which had been very effective in Ian's birth with helping him rotate into an anterior (face down) position. We suspected this baby might need the same encouragement. 

After I had been twisted and turned into position (with practically no help from myself), Charity started a third dose of penicillin. The previous two doses had gone in without trouble, but this one burned like crazy. In fact, it was this final dose that won the award for most pain of the day. It hurt so much. I was completely distracted from all other things. All I could think about was my arm that felt like it was on fire. 

Charity had left, but I begged Mike to call her back in and do something (anything!) to get the pain to stop. She diluted the medication, added a hot pack, and left again. It took a few minutes, but the pain finally diminished and I could think again.

My chattering teeth would not let up though. I couldn't get them under control. I was in an awkward position on my side, shivering violently, and unable to tell where I was in the labor process. I felt so disconnected with my body, which was disorienting and scary. It made me nervous not to have any medical staff in the room. Since I couldn't feel anything, the only thing I had to go off of was all of the shaking, and to me, that meant that the baby might be ready at any moment. 

To give you an example of how out of touch I was, I literally asked Mike (twice!) to peek beneath the sheet and make sure he didn't see the baby's head. It was frustrating to have lost all of my awareness and be so dependent on others to inform me what was going on. Leading up to the epidural, Charity had asked me several times how I would rate various contractions. After the epidural, she continued to ask me, but I was unable to give any sort of reliable information. 

Charity came back in after about forty minutes. She checked me again, and all of my shivering did not seem to be related to going through transition at all because I was still only dilated to 5 or 6. However, the baby had dropped down a bit more to a +2 station. While she was checking me, she massaged the cervix a bit. Part of it melted away, and just like that, I was at 7 cm. Charity said that when this happens, it is called a "dynamic cervix." 

I told Charity that I was nervous to be left alone because I was sure that things were going to start to move quickly without warning. She switched the peanut ball to the other side and said she wasn't planning on leaving again until the baby arrived. I was beginning to feel somewhat embarrassed for crying wolf so many times over the last several hours. I could just hear them out at the nurses' station: "We've got a mom in #3. This is her sixth baby, so of course she acts like she knows everything. She said her baby would be coming in ten minutes . . . three hours ago." Still, whether the nurse thought I was being melodramatic or not, I was grateful to have her steady presence in the room (and, for the record, she never made me feel dumb for being constantly wrong).

Soon after, Marnae was back in the room as well, and it seemed like she was also in it for the long haul . . . however long that might be. 

Much earlier in the day, Mike had told me it would be nice if I could wait until 10:22pm for the baby to be born, since that would be 22:22 in military time. We had all laughed at the time. "Fat chance!" we said. "Not going to happen!" But as the hours marched on, I wondered if we would, in fact, miss the 10:00 hour altogether. And close on the heels of that thought was another one: What if we missed January 22nd and this baby was actually born on the 23rd? I wouldn't have thought that was even a possibility at the beginning of the day, but now it was seeming more and more likely.

However, when I vocalized my worry, Marnae and Charity both assured me that we'd get him here before the stroke of midnight. 

Somewhere around this time, I became aware of some feeling in my right side. I mentioned this to Charity, and she asked if I wanted to push the button on the epidural. "No, I like it," I said. It wasn't a lot, but it made me feel more like an active participant once more. At least I was sometimes aware of the contractions.

Around 9:30, Charity checked me yet again. She gave Marnae the report: the cervix was all the way gone on the back; there was still some left on the front. Marnae suspected that the cervix might never fully dilate and they might just need to push the remaining lip up and out of the way. (I remember that this same thing happened with Aaron's birth.)

They helped me get into a sitting position. As I went through a few cycles of contractions, I felt unmistakable rectal pressure. I mentioned this to Marnae, and she said, "Yep! It's time."

They laid me back in the bed, brought around the stirrups for my feet, and Marnae pushed the rest of the cervix out of the way. Then she proceeded to coach me through the pushing. This was a completely new experience for me: Ian came way too quickly for any coaching except "slow down." The other births were all unmedicated which meant that I wasn't exactly coherent enough to respond to the coaching, even though I know it was happening. But this time, I was very present and aware, but I also needed the help because I couldn't reliably tell what was going on. At one point, Marnae even asked, "Can you feel that contraction, Amy?" And I had to admit that I couldn't.

So I let her coach me: "Curl and push, Amy! Hold your breath! Push, push, push! Grab your legs! Push! There you go!" I remember being somewhat confused by the instructions to hold my breath. This was counterintuitive to me. In all of my natural labor classes and reading, they recommended letting out a long, slow breath while bearing down. So this was the way I started to do it, but Marnae just kept saying, "Hold your breath, Amy. You have to hold your breath for me." So after a few pushes, I started to do it her way. Not being in a large amount of pain makes you surprisingly agreeable to following directions and doing things someone else's way. I don't know if her way was more effective than my way, but it made her happy, and I didn't really mind one way or the other.

With each contraction and push, the baby moved down a little more. It felt like I was doing real work this time. It kind of felt like we were forcing it to happen, to be honest. But the baby responded well, and after just a few minutes, he was crowning. Marnae said, "Put your hands here, Amy," and I could feel his little wet head. And then, "Give one more big push," and little Silas Joseph rushed out into my waiting arms at 10:07 pm. 22:07--Mike's and my lucky numbers combined.

Silas, as I've already written, did not seem thrilled to be here, but Mike and I were thrilled to have him. The room was buzzing with energy: "Happy birthday, buddy!" the midwife said. "Oh, he looks like Bradley," Mike offered. "Give us a good cry," the nurse instructed. Silas obliged. I think he thought crying was a more appropriate reaction than all of the laughing and smiling that everyone else seemed to be doing. But we couldn't help ourselves. His little presence brought so much light into the room. 

I actually had Mike film the birth. This is the only one of all of my kids where I have a visual record of the very moment when the baby crossed over from one side to the other. I've watched it over and over. It is somewhat mesmerizing to me. Silas was inside me, and then, in a breath, he was out, vacating the premises, never to go back. I feel like if I was a labor and delivery nurse, I'd be addicted to that moment. It doesn't seem like it would ever get old welcoming a new life into the world.

However, as much as I loved the end result, the birth process itself was not my favorite this time around. When I look back at the details, everything went well. There weren't any unexpected difficulties. Silas never gave us a moment's worry during labor, and he arrived safely. My health was good. He came easily and without injury or a lot of pain. But it felt like a task to get him here. It took patience and work. It felt like there was an extra layer over everything that just made things a little harder. I don't know if it was Covid or my age or a new hospital/midwife or January or what. But I've experienced a near-perfect birth before, and this wasn't it. Rather than looking back with affection and pleasure at the time in the hospital, I have instead felt gratitude that it's over and I'm at home with my baby. I don't really have a desire to relive any part of it, except maybe the moment of feeling his slick little body wriggle into my arms. The constructs of the hospital just made even the most basic things (like nursing him for the first time) feel stiff and unnatural.

If that isn't a metaphor for life, I don't know what is. We toil and work and struggle, and this occasionally results in a bright, perfect moment. And that moment somehow makes all of the toil and work and struggle worth it. 

The day before Silas was born, Clark and I were in the car, and he said something like, "It's so interesting. Whatever number of people are in your family feels like the right number. But then, if you have another baby, then that feels right. And you wouldn't want to not have that one." 

I couldn't have said it better myself. A month ago, five kids seemed perfect, but now, I could never do with less than six. Silas has found a spot in our family that we didn't know needed to be filled, and now we can't imagine it any other way. 

*Photos at the beginning and end taken by my sister-in-law, Sonja.

Unbounded Joy: Ian's Birth Story

I'm well aware that this recounting of Ian's birth is three times longer than it needs to be, especially considering the fact that it doesn't have any rush-to-the-hospital moments to keep up the pace. I left in the mundanest of details for my own benefit because I know I'll want to go back in a few months or years and relive it. So no apologies, and I won't be at all offended if you do a lot of skimming or just skip over it entirely.

As I sit down to chronicle the details of Ian's birth, he is swaddled to my chest in the Solly baby wrap (one of the few things I actually purchased this time around). I could lay him down, but I don't want to. I want him right here, snuggled against me, helping me remember the little moments that made this birth so special.

But first, I need to revisit the internal debate that consumed me during almost the entire length of this pregnancy: that of whether or not I wanted to get an epidural?

The question poked its way into my brain early on in the pregnancy, and I have to say, it surprised me. With my other children, I had never even considered an epidural (except for a brief few minutes during Clark's birth). With each one, I knew I wanted to have as natural of a delivery as possible (but in a hospital). I spent the months leading up to each birth preparing to handle the discomfort, and when the time came, I accepted it (granted, among moans and pleas and cries) as a necessary part of the birth process.  And those births were beautiful, miraculous, sacred, and transformative. It's not that they were so perfect I wouldn't change anything about them, but as far as the big, important things, I wouldn't. The intense, exhausting pain contrasted in high relief with the sweet rush of deliverance, and after each one, I seemed to catch a glimpse of eternity and understand the purpose of life on a slightly deeper level.

I'm telling all of this so you'll better understand my confusion when my mind and heart suddenly latched onto an epidural and wouldn't let go. I couldn't figure it out. I didn't know why I would want to do things any differently when my experiences had been so overwhelmingly positive in the past.

And so I set about to convince myself otherwise: I read two amazing childbirth books, both of which advocated natural childbirth and were filled with positive, inspiring birth stories. Those stories called to remembrance some of the precious details from the births of my own four children, but at the end of each one, I said to myself, Oh, that is so wonderful . . . but I still want an epidural. I also read through my accounts of the births of my children, which almost always made me shed a few grateful tears as I remembered how sweet and special each birth was.

I prayed a lot but didn't feel especially compelled one way or the other. And I sought advice, or at least a listening ear, from family and friends. Most people were firmly in one camp or the other, depending on their own experiences. Those who had experienced both an epidural and natural labor generally stayed on the side of natural delivery, which made me wary to get an epidural. Mike wasn't overly opinionated on the matter but finally said he thought I shouldn't get an epidural--not because he is a huge fan of natural labor but because he thought I'd be happier with the end result. But the majority of the advice ended with, "Just wait until you're in labor. You'll know what to do then."

But that's not really my style. If I was going to get an epidural, I wanted to go into the hospital with that as the plan so that I could really take full advantage of it and enjoy it. And if I was going to go for another unmedicated birth, I needed to get in that mindset well before the onset of labor.

I also tried my hand at a pros and cons list, just to see how that all turned out. I had definite reasons for wanting an epidural: I wanted to see what the other side was like, I thought Mike might enjoy the birth more, I didn't want to go through that blinding pain again. There was also a part of me that was frustrated that my "natural" births weren't actually that natural because I was always hooked up to an IV getting penicillin for Group B strep and pitocin to help keep the contractions going, so it wasn't like I was laboring in a tub or moving around with ease like the women in so many of the birth stories I read. I kind of felt like if I was going to be tethered to the bed anyway, I might as well be comfortable.

There were cons as well: the epidural might not work (or worse, I might not react well to it and have some negative side effects), I might feel out of touch with my body, I might not be able to help the baby turn if he followed his brothers' examples and went posterior, I might miss out on that incredible rush that comes after delivery, or my recovery might be slower and more difficult.

But through it all, I just could not rid myself of the thought, I want an epidural. I WANT an epidural. And I finally decided to pay attention to that thought and give it some credence. It had been a matter of prayer from the beginning, and I realized this might be Heavenly Father's way of communicating the answer to me. Once again, I prayed, but this time I said, "I've decided to get an epidural. If this is right, please help me to feel at peace. And if it's wrong, please stop me." And there it was. Peace. I didn't know why this was the answer (and I fervently hoped it wasn't because there would be complications that would require an emergency cesarean or something of that nature), but I finally felt like I could move forward again.

I talked to my midwife, Gretchen, about my decision, and she was completely on board with it (but I have no doubt she would have been equally supportive of the other choice as well). A few weeks before my due date, we also discussed a possible induction.

That too deserves a little explanation (or justification? call it what you will). With all of my other babies, I've been fairly obsessed with going into labor on my own and done everything in my power to make it happen, but then when the time came, each one still needed a little nudge to get it going. With this one, I felt pretty resigned to just being induced. It still felt a little like cheating to me, but I candidly admitted that I no longer had the mental stamina I once had to endure the torture of going past my due date. Plus, an induction came with its own set of perks: we could pick the day, we could arrange all childcare ahead of time, and I could be sure about getting a dose of penicillin for the Group B strep before delivering the baby. So Gretchen and I threw around possible dates and settled on Friday, April 21st, three days before my actual due date (but if I'm continuing to justify things, my 20-week ultrasound actually dated the pregnancy for April 21st, so I wasn't rushing anything too much).

Once that was in place, I basically waited out the rest of the pregnancy. It wasn't that I didn't still occasionally dream about my water breaking and the contractions beginning with a vengeance because I would have loved to have the discomfort cut a little short (in the words of my midwife, this baby's head was resting right on my pubic bone for the last three weeks of pregnancy, and, believe me, I didn't need her to tell me that to be convinced).

But the truth was, I really wasn't getting a lot of contractions. They would come sporadically, at random times, usually just one, and then, maybe four hours later, another one. There didn't really seem to be any activity (or inactivity) that prompted them, and they never came at regular enough intervals that I felt compelled to pull out the stop watch and time them.

This was all fine until my appointment on Thursday, the day before I was supposed to be induced. Then Gretchen checked me and said I was dilated to 1 cm (which was the same as the week before) and about 60% effaced, with the baby's head very low but not engaged with the cervix, which was tilted up and back (in fact, it was so far up, Gretchen had a very difficult time reaching it).

None of this surprised me (I was well aware that the few contractions I was having were totally ineffective), but it discouraged me nonetheless. I wondered if my body wasn't ready for an induction, if maybe I was overly excited and starting things too soon. Gretchen assured me that everything looked favorable for an induction, but I left the office feeling depressed and a little anxious.

Mike distracted me from my pessimistic thoughts by taking me out to dinner and then insisting I go to my book club meeting while he cleaned the house (he's extraordinary, I know!). When I got home around 9:30pm, my outlook was much brighter, and I happily packed a bag for the hospital before setting an early alarm and going to sleep.

The next morning, I called the hospital at 6:00am. Thursday night had been rainy and stormy, and I figured the change in weather had probably triggered the onset of labor for a lot of moms (just not me . . . ). So I fully expected to call and hear them say, "Call back in a few hours and we'll see if we can get you in." Instead, they said, "Can you be here at 7:15?" In a rush, we were waking up kids and getting everyone dressed and ready for school and dropping them off at Mike's sister's house.

Before we left, I asked Mike to give me a priesthood blessing. I was feeling jittery and nervous, and even as he was speaking, my mind was racing and distracted. But it did catch hold of two promises: that both the induction and the epidural would go well, and those both brought me peace.

We arrived at the hospital on time and checked in without incident. As I changed into my hospital gown, I couldn't help but think that except for being extremely uncomfortable, I didn't really feel like someone a few hours away from having a baby. In fact, it felt more like I was just there for a check-up. I don't think I'd had a single contraction so far that morning.

I heard the nurse, Fran, come in and introduce herself to Mike and then begin asking him a few basic questions: Did he want to cut the cord? (He said yes, although it's never been a big deal one way or the other to him.) Would I want to do skin-to-skin after the baby was born? (Yes.) Was I planning to breastfeed? (Yes.) Would I want to use a mirror during pushing? (He didn't know.) What was the baby's name going to be? (??????)

The first order of business was the IV. In the past, the IV has never needed more than a passing mention, but this time, it turned out to be quite the ordeal. First Fran looked at the right side (because I'm left-handed). She pushed and prodded various veins for a few minutes before deciding to look at the left hand and arm instead. Again, she took several minutes examining her options before deciding the right side was better. After a couple more minutes, she geared up for entry: "Okay, here we go." She actually seemed pretty nervous, which made me a little nervous. Unfortunately, the first poke didn't take, even though she stayed in there for a bit and tried to make it work. So she returned to the left side where she again went painstakingly through her various vein choices before talking herself into one, breathing deeply, and pushing in the needle. And . . . nope. The IV was once again a no go in spite of Fran's efforts to move the needle around and get it in the right place.

It was time to call in the reinforcements. Fran got the charge nurse, Susan, to come in, and, just like that, the IV was in and fluids were flowing through it like it was no big deal. I'm not kidding when I say that the IV placement was probably the most painful part of the day--which either shows that the rest of the day was really good or that the IV was just really bad.

I must admit that at this point, I had serious doubts about Fran and considered asking for a different nurse. I knew she wasn't new to nursing, but her IV skills definitely seemed a little rusty, and I could tell by something Susan said to her that she was relatively new to the hospital. But I liked her personality, and so I decided to wait and see. I'm so glad I did because I ended up loving her, and she seemed completely competent for the rest of the day.

After the IV was in, Fran checked me so that we'd have a baseline. I was 2 cm dilated and still about 60% effaced, but she definitely seemed to have an easier time reaching my cervix than Gretchen had the day before, so I was encouraged.

She got the penicillin for the Group B strep going and then started the pitocin about twenty minutes after that (at about 8:30am).

At this point, I was really just hanging out, listening to the baby's heartbeat on the monitor, feeling the occasional weak contraction, and chatting with Mike. I considered reading to pass the time, but the penicillin really burned going in, and I was having a hard time thinking about other things. When I mentioned this to Fran, she wrapped my arm in a warm towel and that helped immensely.

Soon after we arrived, Fran asked me if I was planning to get an epidural. I said yes and mentioned that it would be my first one. She asked what my pain goals were--did I want to avoid all pain completely or wait until I was feeling some contractions or get it when the pain had reached the unendurable stage? This was something I'd already given a lot of thought to. I had already decided, well in advance, that I wanted an epidural. Therefore, I was not going to "wait and see if the pain got too bad." I'd given birth four times and already knew the pain would get too bad. One of my main reasons for getting an epidural was to avoid the pain and enjoy the birth as much as possible. However, at the same time, I wanted to have some sense of where the labor was at before getting the epidural. I didn't want my mobility to be restricted if I was just having mild contractions for several hours. Basically I didn't want to wait too long, but I wanted to wait long enough. I hoped I would know when that point would be.

Meanwhile, the time was passing slowly, marked only by regular trips to the bathroom and incremental increases in pitocin: 8:30 am--4 units; 8:53 am--8 units; 9:25am--12 units (Fran thought this would be the magic number and that we'd see the contractions intensify and come more frequently, but they didn't); 10:00am--16 units; 10:30 am--20 units.

If I'm remembering correctly, with my other labors I think I only needed the lowest dosage of pitocin to kick labor into high gear. So every time Fran came in and bumped the pitocin up to the next level, I felt a little down. I was having regular contractions, and occasionally I would get one that was a little stronger and think, "Oooh, that one was more noticeable," but I can always tell when the contractions start changing over to the real thing because I start to dread them instead of feel excited about them, and that definitely hadn't happened yet. At this point, I was still very happy when the next one would show up and feel very disappointed if it was more than five minutes after the last one.

As a change of pace, I sat in the rocking chair for awhile, hoping the rocking motion would help the contractions and also just because I was sick of sitting in bed. I was also getting quite hungry. I wasn't allowed to have actual food, but jello was permissible because it was clear, so I ate two of those and then felt better. We also had plenty of time to get to know Fran and check up on our kids  and discuss potential names for the baby. Fran was a pro at reading the monitor and pointed out things I'd never been told before. For example, if there's a slight dip in the baby's heart rate at the peak of a contraction, that means the baby is moving down.

Gretchen came in around 11:45am. She was her usual cheerful, positive self and wasn't at all concerned that I was on the highest level of pitocin without much change to the intensity of the contractions. Her plan was to break my water and see if that helped move things along. (I realized that with my other four babies, my water had always been broken before they started the pitocin, so it's hard to say if it was the broken water, the pitocin, or the two in combination that always did the trick in the past.)

Before she broke the bag of water, Gretchen checked me again--still 2 cm and 60% effaced. More evidence that the pitocin was not producing the desired results. Gretchen still seemed to be having a difficult time reaching my cervix and an even harder time doing the amniotomy. In fact, after she was finished, I wasn't feeling anything--not a gush or a trickle or a leak--and I wondered if she actually had been successful in getting to it. Gretchen was sure she'd nicked it and said I should start feeling something soon.

But I didn't. The only thing that seemed to change was that I began to see a little bit of bloody discharge when I went to the bathroom. But other than that, it was back to sitting around and waiting. I pulled out my knitting for a bit, which should have made me happy, but the IV made it cumbersome, and really, I wasn't at the hospital to knit.

Over the next two hours, the contractions gradually gathered some strength and regularity. Fran asked me about my pain level, and I think I told her it was maybe (hopefully?) up to a three or four.They were at least requiring a little bit of concentration to get through.

Gretchen came back in at 1:45pm, checked me (3 cm, 70% effaced) and could tell immediately that she hadn't broken my water. She again inserted the little hook, and this time, there was a swift gush, leaving no doubt that she'd been successful. (In Mike's notes, he wrote: 11:45 - Gretchen breaks water? and then, 1:45 - Gretchen breaks water!) I have my suspicions that if she'd really broken it the first time, the baby would have been born two hours earlier.

Almost immediately, I realized that it might be time to get the epidural. I made careful note of the way I was feeling: still relaxed and in control, but each contraction seemed to be slightly stronger and more painful than the last. I was beginning to feel more dread and less excitement with the approach of each one. I discussed it with Fran. She sat down and went through the entire epidural procedure, step by step, making note of what I might feel at each point and about how long it would take. After the run down, I knew I was ready. I told her to call the anesthesiologist.

I got into position, sitting sideways on the bed with my legs stretched out and Mike sitting in a chair in front of me. When the anesthesiologist came in, he took up his position on the other side. I admitted that even though it was my fifth baby, it was my first epidural and I was a little nervous. He was kind and unhurried and talked me through each step.

He had me relax my head and neck so that they were curled against my chest. After sterilizing everything, he said, "Okay, this is usually the most uncomfortable part for people." And I waited for it . . . and waited . . . but I didn't feel a thing. Not a single sensation or discomfort. I didn't say anything but just kept breathing slowly and sitting perfectly still. Then he said, "Now people usually feel a pop." Again, I waited. I thought I maybe felt something, but it was so slight, I might have just imagined it. Finally, after a few more minutes, he said, "Okay, it's all done!" I lifted my head and came out of my relaxed position and said, "I didn't feel a thing." At first, I worried that maybe it wouldn't work because I hadn't felt anything, but then I realized that if it hadn't worked, I would for sure be feeling something.

I settled back into the bed while Fran placed the catheter. My feet began to feel a little bit tingly, and the numbness slowly worked its way up my legs. I put my hand on my thigh, and it no longer felt like it was attached to my body. I could still wiggle my toes and move my feet though. But the strangest part, and the one that sent me into a little bit of a panic, was that before the epidural, each contraction was slightly more intense than the last, but after the epidural, each contraction was slightly less painful until I was merely feeling slight pressure each time but absolutely no pain. My mind began playing tricks on me: Oh no, the contractions aren't effective anymore. My labor is stopping. This baby must still be hours away from coming. When I expressed these thoughts to Fran, she laughed and put a hand on my stomach, "Oh Amy, these are strong contractions now. This is what labor is like with an epidural."

And so I sat there and marveled for the next hour. It was an entirely new experience for me and one that I was relishing. I watched the contractions come and go on the monitor, but I was relaxed and coherent and just very happy. 

Fran was watching the monitor as well, and she began to notice something that I did not: each contraction had two little peaks at the top of it, instead of just one. Fran said this could be an indication that the baby was posterior, and of course I wasn't surprised; it was what I suspected and feared all along; it was one of the main reasons why I hadn't wanted an epidural. But Fran assured me that they could help me get in a position that would help the baby rotate.

The epidural hadn't had an effect on my appetite however. It was approaching 4:00pm now, and I'd only had a bowl of cereal before I left my house that morning and two cups of jello and some water and juice. Fran said she could give me some Ensure (there is a clear version), and even though a club sandwich sounded a lot better, I took the option I had.

Gretchen came back in at 3:50 and checked me. I was dilated to 5 cm and very thin. She said the baby's head was right there and that as soon as I was dilated, it wasn't going to take much for him to come out. Gretchen agreed that we should try to turn me onto my side in case the baby was posterior. Mike got on one side and Fran got on the other and they maneuvered me into position. I admit I felt a little helpless at that point, but Fran acted like it was just part of the routine, and I think Mike appreciated that he finally had something to do besides look at his phone (with all the other deliveries he was required to breathe with me or let me squeeze his hand off or push on my knees or back). Gretchen told me to turn my chest so that it was on the bed (not an easy thing when your stomach is the size of a beach ball), and then they got an hourglass shaped ball called a peanut ball to put between my legs.

Within just a few minutes of turning onto my side, my teeth began to chatter and I started to shiver uncontrollably. Mike noticed and said, "Uh-oh, she's shaking." He's seen four other cases of the shivers, and they always mean only one thing, which Fran immediately identified: "She's in transition. I'm so glad you noticed." Mike was well aware of how quickly things progress for me when they get to that point, and he fired off a text to my mom at 4:19pm, which said, "I predict 4:30."

Meanwhile, I was sitting there with my teeth rattling together and the goofiest smile lighting up my face. Like a train bouncing along a track, my body was racing to the finish line. I knew that this had to be what was happening, but I could not believe it. Instead of begging for help with each hurdling contraction, I was just like everyone else in the room--completely caught up in the excitement of the moment: The baby is coming! The baby is coming!

Fran asked, "Are you cold?" "Not at all!" I smiled. "I just can't stop shaking." I smiled some more. Fran brought me a blanket anyway. I looked over at Mike and beamed. "I'm in transition!" Fran said, "Amy, if you feel any sort of pressure between your legs, you must tell us right away." "Okay, will do!" I enthusiastically agreed.

At 4:24pm, Gretchen checked me again. 8 cm. The room became a frenzy of activity. They turned me back over to my back. Gretchen and Fran donned gowns, and another nurse arrived. Gretchen sat at the end of the bed, and someone moved a mirror into place so that I could see. I had never wanted a mirror with any of the other births. I found it distracting and discouraging and almost like it added a certain level of intensity that I couldn't handle. But this time I wanted to see it all.

All of a sudden, the contractions felt different. I could feel something right between my legs, and I knew I was ready to push. I told Gretchen, "I'm feeling pressure!"

And then, inexplicably, I started to laugh. To some in the room, it might have seemed like the contractions had triggered some sort of crazy button and I was going a little nuts. But I felt like I was in complete control. I laughed out of disbelief--here I was, about to push out my baby, and I felt like I was on top of the world. I laughed because in that moment I felt pure, unadulterated joy.

At 4:30pm, I gave the first push. Gretchen said, "Can you see his head?" I looked, and I saw a tiny dark circle growing bigger before my very eyes. I was still laughing, and then, all of a sudden, I was crying, too. I locked eyes with Mike. "This is amazing! I can't believe it!" I gave another push, and it was as if I was watching a flower open up in fast motion. His head was out, and then one more push, and the rest of him followed at 4:31pm.

They immediately put him on my stomach, warm and wet and wriggly. Mike did indeed cut the cord, and then little Ian was on my chest, and I was smothering his head with kisses and exclaiming over his sheer perfection, all while continuing to drip joyful tears.

He was the purplest baby I'd ever seen, but one of the nurses coaxed a couple of good cries out of him, and then he started to pink right up. He took to nursing right away, latching on and swallowing like he'd done it all his life (which I guess he had--all fifteen minutes of it!).

Fran couldn't get over the speed of his delivery. "You are the shortest pusher I've ever seen!" she exclaimed. She said when I began pushing, she recorded it in my chart: "4:30 - pushing engaged" and then, when she turned around, he was already out, and she rushed to record his time of birth. She was in such a hurry that she accidentally pushed, "4:31 - breech delivery." I guess the nurses out at the nurse's station were quite surprised: "A breech delivery in under a minute?" That would have been something.

Gretchen stitched up a slight tear, and the epidural gradually wore off without me giving much thought to it (I had a sweet baby to distract me). In fact, as I was nursing Ian, I bent my knee to bring up one of my legs, and Fran said, "Oh my goodness, you can move your leg like that?" By the time I was ready to move to my room, I could move myself out of the bed and into the wheelchair.

In the weeks that have followed, as I've shared how the birth went with friends and family, the most common (and probably most obvious) question has been: "So, do you wish you'd had epidurals with all your kids?"

I can see why everyone asks that. From start to finish, it was about as perfect an epidural as you could ask for. But the short answer is no. No, I don't wish I'd had epidurals each time, even if they'd all been as perfect as this one, but nor do I wish I'd gone without one this time. I'll try to explain.

With my four natural deliveries, I experienced the full physical effects of giving birth. They were raw and primal and also, somewhat ironically, glorious. It was absolutely amazing to see and feel and understand the pristine power of the human body. After each birth, I felt invigorated and strong. I felt like I could take on the world. Not only that, but going through so much for one child transformed the way I felt about God and motherhood and life.

But, it was also very, very painful. And, it turns out, pain can be distracting and block out other emotions and feelings.

With Ian's birth, it was as if I gave myself a new vantage point, one that showed me a different side of things. Having been through labor and delivery four other times, I was well-versed in the stages of birth, and my body still did things the same way it always has, right down to the shaking during transition and the posterior position of the baby, but this time I observed it more than I felt it. But even though I wasn't deep in the throes of it, I didn't feel like an impassive bystander because I knew what I was missing. And because I knew and remembered what each stage felt like, I watched it all unfold with this incredible sense of wonder. I thought my body was amazing when I felt each contraction wash over me like a wave, and I thought it was just as amazing when I watched it happen instead.

I had high hopes that getting an epidural would help Mike enjoy the birth more as well, and it did, but to a far lesser extent than it did me. I guess birth just isn't his thing. That's okay.

Mostly, I just felt overwhelming gratitude: for my body and my baby and for modern medicine that let me just enjoy it. The next day, as the 24-hour mark of Ian's life approached, I said to Mike, "I just wish I could do the last half hour all over again." That's how much I loved it. This birth was truly the cherry on top.

The Gift of Giving Life by Felice Austin and other contributors

One of my reading goals for 2017 was to read two books about childbirth--a goal that was prompted by the forthcoming birth of our fifth boy (which hasn't happened yet but is literally down to the wire now). The first book I read was Baby Catcher by Peggy Vincent, and upon finishing it, I declared it, "the most interesting, entertaining, and . . . helpful book on childbirth" I'd ever read.

I'll stand by that exuberant praise, but I'm now going to add this book right alongside it. It's different-- so different, amazingly different--from Baby Catcher, but it touched my heart in the profoundest of ways. Where Baby Catcher was entertaining and down-to-earth and at times even bizarre, The Gift of Giving Life was spiritual and reverent and breathtakingly tender. I definitely read these two books in the correct order: Baby Catcher pumped me up, and this one calmed me back down, and I feel like with those two opposite types of adrenaline coursing through me, I'm now ready to journey down this childbirth path again . . . and maybe do things a little differently this time.

Before I go any further, I should mention that this book is a compilation of essays and birth stories written by women of my faith, which is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and because of that, doctrines, beliefs, and spiritual truths specifically related to my faith are interwoven throughout the whole book. As such, it will not be for everyone, but it was definitely for me. I've never read a birthing book that combined the physical, tangible act of birth with the sacred, spiritual side of it, and it felt good and right.

Maybe it was especially good for me because I've struggled so much during this pregnancy with deciding if I should change course with this birth and get my very first epidural or stick with what has worked in the past and decline pain medication. Although this book definitely leaned toward natural labors and deliveries, the ultimate message was to trust your own instincts and the guidance and direction you receive, and with every story, I felt more empowered to do just that.

As I already mentioned, the book is a collection of essays and birth stories written by various women, and at first I thought I was just going to endure reading the essays in order to get back to what I really wanted--the birth stories (give me all the birth stories). But soon I came to really appreciate the essays; it's true, they lacked the drama and emotional intensity of some of the birth stories but were full of philosophical questions and observations instead that really made me think. However, I will say that one of the first essays, about Heavenly Mother, walked a little too close to the speculation line for my tastes, which I think was part of the reason for my initial lack of enthusiasm, but most of the essays were well-grounded in doctrinal truths and provided new insights for my personal growth. There were two essays in particular, "Two Veils" and "Birth in Remembrance of Him,"  that I loved so much, I'm planning to copy them before I return the book to the library.

In my faith, we believe receiving an earthly, physical body is a beautiful, wonderful thing and an essential part of our spiritual progression. But even though I've always believed that, it wasn't until I read this book that I really grasped the magnitude of my role in this vital part of the plan of salvation: As a mother, I'm the one who creates these bodies for my children. I sacrifice my own comfort and health in order to provide something that is absolutely necessary for them if they want to return to Heavenly Father.

One of the mothers in this book took this selfless act to an even deeper level and used pregnancy and childbirth as a type and symbol of the Savior's Atonement. She said:

"I think the most profound parallel to the Atonement that impressed itself upon me was not just suffering, but suffering for the sake of another. When I finally said, 'I will drink this bitter cup. I recognize that it cannot pass from me, and I will drink it to the dregs,' embedded in that comment was the realization that the purpose of this suffering had nothing to do with me. I knew that there was no benefit (beyond insight) that I could possibly derive from this experience. It would not make me healthier, it would not give me any skills, it would not lastingly affect my body in any positive way. But there was one entirely other person that would derive lasting and eternal benefit from my suffering: my child, . . . who was anxiously waiting to receive a body and come into this world. Someone had to do this so that he could receive a body, and he could not do it for himself."

Perhaps it seems a little presumptuous to draw comparisons between pregnancy/childbirth and Jesus Christ's perfect and eternal sacrifice, but it actually made the opposite impression on me. The Old Testament is full of symbols of the Atonement. In fact, the law of Moses was anchored in rituals that helped the Israelites turn their hearts to Jehovah and gradually increased their comprehension of what He would do for them, and it makes sense that we have the same privilege of deepening our understanding through our own experiences today.

Each of my children's births have been amazing, and I honestly have never felt closer to heaven than in those moments immediately after being handed my sweet little ones for the first time. And those moments have definitely provided my own unique insights into the sacrifices of my Savior on my behalf. But this book deepened my appreciation for other aspects of pregnancy, birth, and motherhood that I've never before considered, and that's why I said at the beginning that it profoundly changed me.

Another mom said,

"I always felt like I was in the Lord's hands as I labored. I never felt so close to Him as when I was depending on him for every breath I drew to maintain my breathing and focus on my laboring. As the miraculous moment arrived when the baby was born, I always felt like the Lord had mercy on his handmaid, and I basked in the glow of that moment when eternity and mortality are one."

It's so easy to complain during pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood (and believe me, I do more than my fair share of it), but the truths in this book allowed me to take a step back and look at my life through an eternal lens--one that made all of these sacrifices look small and easy to forgive compared to the life-changing blessings that are the eventual result. I'm not trying to downplay the sacrifices because I am seriously blown away by some of the things mothers endure for their children, but I think it's impossible to read this book and not come away feeling a little more grateful for the privilege of going through something (or, let's be honest, many things) for the sake of another. And then, if you let it, your thoughts will naturally turn to the One who made the most incomprehensible sacrifice of all and loves you and your child with the most perfect kind of love.

Who knew a book about childbirth would be the most beautiful and appropriate thing to read over Easter weekend?

Baby Catcher: Chronicles of a Modern Midwife by Peggy Vincent

I am a self-diagnosed birth story junkie. I'll take them in any format (blog posts, books, conversations), about any person (stranger, family member, distant acquaintance), from any time period or part of the world. Basically, the act of giving birth fascinates me. Each story is so different while also being so much the same.

Pregnancy, labor, and birth bind women together. No matter our experiences or background, they put us on common ground with one another. Mike jokes that women can't get together and not talk about birth. It's like this magnetic subject that pulls all other topics to it--no matter where the conversation started, somehow it always comes around to childbirth.

I've written about my own children's births in great detail (Clark's is the only one that's here on the blog, but I'm always happy to email the others to anyone who wants to read them), and I've found that rereading them plus reading and listening to other women's birth stories is one of the best ways I prepare myself to go through the labor of love again.

And once more, that time is approaching. I've just reached the 28-week mark, and if the next 12ish weeks are anything like my other pregnancies, they will go both incredibly fast and impossibly slow--the great paradox of pregnancy.

So I've been seeking out birth stories to pump myself up and get myself ready. Aside from the scary stories, which I do try to avoid around this time because they tend to put me in a unproductive place mentally, most birth stories create a feeling of almost supernatural power: This is what my body was made to do. Birth is a natural process. I am strong. I can do it. And those feelings go a long way in helping me gear up for the real thing. Because often--definitely not always, but often--labor is one big mental game.

And that is why I picked up Baby Catcher by Peggy Vincent. I've had it on my to-read list for a couple of years, and so I knew I wanted it to be one of the books to fulfill my reading goal of reading two books about childbirth.

But I wasn't expecting it to blow every other childbirth book I've read completely out of the water. It was the most interesting, entertaining, and, dare I say, helpful book on childbirth I've ever read.

It's not even billed as a childbirth manual, per se. It's simply Peggy Vincent's own memories of her career as first, a nursing student in 1962 (where standard practice in the hospital at Duke University was to wheel a laboring women into a large delivery room (complete with bleachers) where she'd be knocked out for a couple of hours and wake up to a baby), followed by a few years' stint as a public health nurse, after which she worked as a labor-and-delivery nurse, and finally ended with her following her passion to become a certified nurse midwife.

It helps that her writing is honest, funny, and just so beautifully accessible. She begins with one of her earliest patients, Zelda. At the time, she's a nursing student and not even sure if she wants to continue in the program, but then she does her rotation in the labor-and-delivery department at Duke University. Zelda is a young black woman, laboring with her third child, and, despite Peggy's pleas for her to lie down and be a good patient, Zelda dances her way through each contraction while standing on the bed.

Zelda begs Peggy to keep the doctor out as long as possible, knowing that she can labor just fine on her own, but as a young nursing student, Peggy doesn't have any real authority and is worried about the consequences that might come with defying protocol. When Zelda's cries become loud enough for the medical staff in the hall to hear her, she is forced onto a stretcher and rolled to the blindingly stark delivery room. Despite her protests, she is strapped down. Peggy can see that she's moments away from pushing out the baby, but they put a gas mask over her face anyway. Zelda rips it off, but they get it back into place just as the baby comes out. But instead of taking off the mask, they let her slip under, grateful to have her quiet at last.

That experience is the spark Peggy needs to propel her through nursing school, but other things help to fan the flames.

For example, several years later, Peggy is instrumental in establishing a birth center at Alta Bates hospital in Berkeley, California. Many of the doctors are uncomfortable with the idea of women laboring on their own without pain meds. In fact, one of the doctors is quite irate about having nothing to do except catch the baby. Peggy protests, "But if the birth is normal, then what's there to do?" The doctor responds with something Peggy never forgets: "Normal birth is a retrospective diagnosis. No birth is normal until after the fact. All births are complicated until proven otherwise."

It is because of that declaration that Peggy takes the final leap to become certified as a nurse midwife. She has her own private practice in the 1980s where she assists in hundreds of home births while still enjoying hospital privileges: if one of her patients needs emergency intervention or simply wants to deliver in the hospital with a midwife by her side, she can do that without sacrificing anything in continuity of care. It's really the best of both worlds, and something that is actually not possible in many states today. (In Utah, you can either deliver with a lay midwife at home or a certified nurse midwife in the hospital but you can't cross those invisible barriers.)

With the other childbirth books I've read, I've found myself wanting to skim over some of the techniques or instructions so that I could get back to the actual stories. But not with this one. That's because Peggy already edited out all that other stuff so it's literally just birth story after birth story after birth story.

And these are some birth stories! In one home, Peggy has to fend off an ultra-protective, and maybe slightly psychotic, cat with one arm while delivering a baby with the other. At another, she has to navigate a slippery pier on the San Fransisco bay during a torrential rainstorm to help with a delivery in the leaky cabin of a sailboat. At still another, she coaches a dad through the delivery of his own baby, and he freaks out when the baby turns his head, opens his eyes, and looks at him: "Oh my gosh! It's a baby!" (I laughed at that one.) Some of the labors are loud and slow; others are silent and fast. Sometimes older children or a dozen family members are present, while other times the couple wants to be completely alone. Peggy learns to have zero expectations when attending a birth because there's just no way to predict how things are going to go.

Besides just the unpredictability of birth however, because she's practicing in Berkeley, she also has some very colorful clients with unconventional lifestyles and abrasive mouths. I have to admit that I wasn't entirely comfortable with every birth story I read, but Peggy took it all in stride and never cast judgment but just did her job.

And hidden among all these stories were the little observations or tidbits of info or helpful tips that made me stop and think, Well, isn't that good to know?! Such as:

• the changes in a woman's voice, complexion, and attitude when she's reached the pushing stage (besides when it's totally obvious because she's freaking out)
• the importance of pushing slowly and having someone support the perineum, even if you feel like your body has taken over and everything's out of your control
• the different clues that make each stage of labor obvious without ever checking the cervix
• the danger signs of a distressed baby

This book was as gripping as a fast-paced novel to me, and I couldn't put it down. And as the end approached, it really did reach something of a climax--a rather heartbreaking climax actually, and that made it even more impossible to stop reading. Without giving away too many details, Peggy ends up helping with a birth that does not end happily. The mother had wanted Peggy to attend her at home, but Peggy refused because the woman had had a previous C-section. So the woman was actually being attended by a doctor, but things did not go as planned, and Peggy ended up being a big part of the birth. Because of the outcome, the family sued, and the result was disastrous for Peggy's career and actually goes a long way in explaining some of the standards and rules governing midwives today.

Personally, I've been in a bit of a weird place with my current pregnancy. For the first time ever, I'm vacillating between another unmedicated birth or getting an epidural. I'm not exactly sure why an epidural has even entered my mind; all four of my children's births have been overwhelmingly positive experiences--excruciatingly painful, yes, but ending with such crowning moments that they've made all the pain worth it. I've always had a similar view to Peggy's patient, Julie: "It hurt a lot, but it was my pain, and it wasn't something I wanted anyone to take away from me."

But this time, I also keep thinking about the positive epidural stories I've heard, and wow, I just can't even imagine what it would be like to be in the last stages of labor and still be able to carry on a fairly normal conversation (I'm sure Mike can't imagine that either). I guess I'm a little curious--I mean, here I am pregnant with my fifth baby and I've never experienced an epidural. Doesn't it seem like I should know what both sides are like so I can compare and contrast?

And yet, this is birth we're talking about--not a science experiment! And so I really want to do what will be best for me and for my baby . . . but I don't know what that is.

I was hoping this book would provide some answers, but instead it just jumbled up everything even more. I'd read one story and think, That sounds amazing. Of course I don't want an epidural! But then I'd almost instantly counter myself with, But an epidural? That just sounds heavenly. Why wouldn't I want one?

So you can see my predicament, and of course I'd love to hear about your experiences with or without an epidural. They might help me, and they probably won't make me feel any more conflicted than I already do. In the meantime, I guess I'll start another childbirth book in the hopes that I'll have an "aha!" moment and know what to do.