My Birth Story 1.0 – Maya Sophia Van Dam

*This is my birth story from when I delivered Maya last year (Feb 28 2017). I have not edited or changed it in any way. I wanted to read it again before I give birth to baby Nugget and, when reading it, thought others may enjoy reading it as well. I hope you do xxx

“You will see your baby within the next 30 minutes.” Those are the words I remember hearing at one of the most testing times of the whole 19 hours. My midwife was right. About 3 pushes later, this wriggly, vulnerable miracle was born.

Back it up 1 day and 19 or so hours…

At just over 38 weeks and feeling no signs of labour (yes, I’m going to spell like a South African), I was pretty content with the fact that Baby Girl was going to stay put until around her due date. I taught my last class on Sunday the 26th of Feb – a beautiful moment where I felt the connection with and genuine love of my community. The next day, still feeling strong and sure of no-baby-coming-today, I went and took a C2 (heated power vinyasa) yoga class. Yoga had become increasingly harder over the last couple weeks – where I used to enjoy hip opening poses, they were now feeling far too intense. Everything felt overstretched and painful. However, I enjoyed the movement, the sweat, the breathing and the shared energy of my yoga friends.

Went home, had a nice bath, relaxed on the couch. Nothing out of the ordinary about this Monday. That evening Derek went out for a “baby bachelor” dinner with his friends and I stayed home and prepared for my bedtime of around 9pm.

At about 7:30pm, I noticed a piece of my mucous plug when I went to the toilet. “Oh man…this is new”. Of course I googled to see what this meant and learnt that it is a sign, but could be hours, days or ever weeks. Ok, relax. No need to call Derek. I was a bit excited though, let’s be honest.

Derek was home before 11pm and we both settled down to sleep. Around 11:30pm I started noticing contractions. Like a period cramp, but coming and going in pretty regular intervals. They didn’t seem too intense and weren’t getting noticeably closer together, so I tried to relax and fall back to sleep. The problem was that, while they weren’t too intense, they were strong enough and close enough together to keep sleep at a distance.

I was told by my doula that, if labour starts at night and isn’t too bad, I should let Derek sleep and try and rest myself so that I have strength for the next day. As such, I had a bath. No luck. Made some hot milk and cinnamon and watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Nope, still no sleep. Went back to bed and put F.R.I.E.N.D.S. on my computer, which usually is a sure bet to get me to sleep. Nothing. I spent the whole night trying to relax enough to go to sleep, but it was just a little too painful and the gaps weren’t long enough (between 4 and 8 minutes apart).

Around 6am, I noticed Derek stirring a bit next to me so I decided to tell him. Through his sleepy eyes, I slowly watched the reality dawn on him. I remember him saying to me, “so is this really happening today?” When I answered, “I think so,” we both burst out laughing at the prospect of what was going to happen over the next few hours.

A part of me was still thinking this may be false labour as, even though I had been having contractions right through the night, they weren’t getting any stronger or closer together. At 9am, I decided to phone my doula and midwife to get some clarity. My doula, Annette, told me to have another bath. “One of two things will happen – the bath will relax you and the contractions will stop, or it will relax your muscles and things will start progressing”. My midwife told me to spend a lot of time leaning on counters etc. to see if that speeds things up. Armed with both of these tips, I stepped into experiment mode. One thing that had changed pretty intensely was that I could no longer sit on my birth ball and going to pee was agony. Sitting down was unbelievably uncomfortable and painful. Apparently this is a good sign – that Baby Girl is moving down.

By noon, a good 12 hours of contracting later, I certainly noticed a turning point. I should point out that, while I was contracting, groaning, bathing and leaning, Derek was scrubbing floors, counter tops, vacuuming, mopping, you name it. To an outsider, this scene must have looked really funny.

Ok, by noon I was sure that things were more intense. I found myself making a lot more noise while contracting, having to stand still and focus, and my breathing was a bit more laboured in between. I had prepared incredibly well for labour, if I do say so myself. I felt I knew exactly what to do to get me through. Each time a contraction began and built, I went into the place of deep breathing, low, heavy sounds, gentle squatting and motion, and focusing everything on the idea of down-and-out, opening, softening.

Fast forward to around 3pm and, while now convinced that this was no longer false labour, I was still nervous to take the leap and head to the hospital. The last thing I wanted was to get all the way there only to be sent home again. So, we decided to drive to the midwives, which is in the same building as the hospital, and get checked. Derek dropped me off at the entrance and I walked by myself to the midwifery while he parked. In between the entrance and the1st floor offices, I had 3 contractions. Getting really close together now for sure. I kept thinking about the poor patients in the midwifery waiting room having to witness me breathing and groaning through contractions. Haha. However, the stars aligned and, when I walked in, I was the only one there. Thank you universe.

After what felt like a year, I was finally checked – 6cm! I had laboured at home until 6cm! I couldn’t believe it. Right, hospital time.

Derek and I hobbled over to the labour and delivery room where I got hooked up to monitors for me and Baby Girl. The things you don’t think about are the biggest reasons why having a doula saved me. I would never have asked to be allowed to stand up while being monitored. I would have just pushed through on the bed in severe discomfort. So, I leant over the bed and, each time a contraction built, Annette (my doula) came over, rocked me, applied sacral pressure and gave me a cold cloth. Poor Derek was still sorting out parking, admittance and getting our bags and birth ball (which I never used in the end anyway) in the room.

Between Derek and Annette, I felt so cared for. I never contracted alone, ever. One or both of them were always there getting me through.

I got checked again almost immediately after getting into the hospital and I was now at 7cm. What was unexpected was that, at only 7cm, I was already beginning to feel the urge to push.

Having midwives and a doula who trust the female body over anything else, I was told to go with my instincts. The advice I got – try and blow out a candle in front of you. If you can’t, because of the urge to push, then go for it. Push. Despite my efforts, the candle remained pretty elusive. I was wanting to push.

At that admittance, Annette warned me that things in the room are going to get a little crazy as everyone gets ready, but I should just stay in my bubble.

Wait…where is my water tub?! They were trying to set it up, but I was also warned that things are moving quickly; there may not be time and I may have to push on the bed or floor.

At this point, all humility out the window, I was on all fours on the bed, trying to blow out my candle and push when the urge compelled me, with my bits and pieces on full display. Ha. I was offered a sheet, but the idea of being covered up when I was trying so hard to focus on relaxing, softening and going down and out, seemed counterintuitive.

4:20 – bang! What the f**k was that?! My water broke in a huge pop and gush, that scared the crap out of me, I’m not going to lie. I had totally forgotten that my water had not broken. I got such a fright, but man what an incredible, reality-drenched moment.

Finally the tub was ready. My contractions were so close together at this point that, even though I wanted to wait for this one to end before I moved off the bed and into the water, there was no time. I had to get there in the middle of them.

The water was a relief. Let’s not kid ourselves, it still hurt like s**t, but I felt softer, lighter. Bringing together the water within my body and the water in the tub heightens the element of surrender.

I was allowed to move around as it felt “comfortable”. “The tub is your playground”. I pretty much switched between being on my knees, leaning my arms on the side of the tub, facing Derek, and sitting on my bum in an un-ladylike leg position, with my back to Derek and my face toward Annette and my midwives.

Derek was always there with a cold cloth, giving me loving touches, encouraging words and simply letting me absorb his loving energy. Even when I couldn’t see him, I felt him there. I love this man so much.

I got checked again at some point when I got in the water. I can’t remember where I was, but I wasn’t at 10 yet. Despite this, I was literally bursting with the urge to push, and I was encouraged, once again, to go with what my body was telling me.

Everyone talks about the contractions as being the hardest part of labour, particularly through transition, and the pushing to come as a relief. I honestly found the contractions totally manageable. I felt incredibly mentally prepared for them. I knew what to do. The pushing took me by complete surprise however. The 2 hours that I pushed was where the work truly began for me.

There’s a line from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. that came to mind, which totally fit my experience of pushing: “You know that feeling when you’re trying to blow a Saint Bernard out your ass?!” This was exactly it.

For those who haven’t pushed a baby out, you would think that the push is felt in, I’m going to say it, your vagina. Nope. It is all in the butt. You literally push as if you have to poop. And yes, you do a little bit. What’s more, these contractions come with the same pain as the ones you’ve navigated through up until now, but with the added overwhelming, animalistic, instinctual, overpowering need to push. It is not a choice. You cannot not push.

Something has to be said about the time in between contractions however as this is a true testament to how freaking incredible the body is. You work your ass off, almost literally, during the pushes and then, once they are done, there is instant relief. More than that, you almost slip into a dream. I don’t know how much time passed in these moments. It felt like I was on a sleeping pill or something. I remember actually saying to Derek that I wanted to lie down and go to sleep. I also remember being a bit concerned about collapsing into the water. You get a rush of endorphins which force you to rest and switch off your mind so that fear and expectation cannot get the better of you.

I certainly reached a point where I didn’t want to go on. I knew I didn’t have a choice, but I definitely voiced my deep desire to not push again. It was so hard. Each time I felt a contraction build, I got a bit frightened at what I knew was coming. I yelled so loudly in those intense urges, which come about 2 or 3 times within each contraction. I mean really loudly. Not in pain, but in sheer unbridled effort. The urge to push is so overpowering that you cannot resist it, but at the same time, the pressure is so strong that I had a real fear that I was going to break in 2. I remember asking how much longer it was going to be and was told that with each push, Baby Girl is getting a little closer. I am opening up and she is making her way down. Her head was almost there and I could try touch it if I wanted. I did try, but don’t think I felt anything.

I was checked again – just a lip left, about 9.5cm. So close.

“You will see your baby within the next 30 minutes.”

At this point I remember Annette saying to me that the next thing I would feel is a burning sensation as Baby Girl starts to crown. I had learnt about this, the ring of fire, and while I was a little scared of it, I knew it meant that she was literally coming out and I was so close.

I do remember a burn and, while obvious, wasn’t too bad.

I was told to put my feet up on the sides of the tub, tuck my chin and curl my body around the baby as she came out.

“I can see her head!” expressed Annette. I couldn’t believe it. “Feel it.” Oh my everything, there she is. This soft, kinda squishy round thing in between my legs. And the hair! So much hair. On the next push, I could see the top of her head, her hair flowing in the water.

I didn’t want to relax in between the last couple contractions. I didn’t want her to go up again. So I kept my core engaged and when that next contraction came, I tucked, curled and pushed with everything I had left in me.

The midwife grabbed her in the water, lifted her little body out and laid Maya Sophia straight onto my chest.

She didn’t cry much, just enough to tell me she made it and that she was ok.

There we were. Maya Sophia and I enjoying the first of an unimaginable amount of cuddles. We stayed this way, in a sort of alternate universe reality, until her cord stopped pulsing, at which point, Derek came in and made the cut. The cutting of the cord is such an ordinary, every-birth event that one often doesn’t stop to think about the significance. This is the moment that Maya makes her debut as an independent thinking, self-evolving human, on her own path, her own adventure. What lies before her is a unknown story, but it has begun with that quick little cut. Derek set her free.

As Derek got his first skin to skin with his tiny daughter, I shakily stood up and, with much assistance, stepped out of the tub. I felt strangely empty and whole at the same time. In a ritualistic way, I was stepping out of the water a new person. A baptism of sorts. I birthed Maya Sophia into the world and, without realising it, I too was born.

And that right there is a snap shot of our lives going forward – separate, but intricately connected. Her story is both hers and ours at the same time. Her pain is our pain, her joy is our joy.

I had a moment yesterday while sitting and nursing her. Her little butterfly onesie was unzipped down the front and I was staring at the remains of her umbilical cord. Less than a week ago, this was the physical connection between the 2 of us. Its growth began at conception, as did the bond we now will forever share. As I stared down at this miraculous creation, I sobbed.

Overwhelming, unparalleled love.

Tara 

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