Welcome to the world little one....

Here is the birth story for those who like nitty gritty details (if you've ever been an expecting mom, you can appreciate how important the details are in birth stories!)

As most of our friends and family know, I've been complaining about this pregnancy for some weeks now and was getting hysterical that he might be as overdue as his brother. Yes, I was officially what my friend Kelly calls "a mommy martyr." I thought first pregnancies were supposed to be the hardest, but this baby created pain in places I didn't even know existed, not to mention adding his fair share of new stretch marks and other pregnancy unpleasantries.

For the past couple of weeks, I'd have increasing contractions throughout the day and go to bed convinced that I'd be woken up by full labor. But, like my own personal Groundhog Day, I'd wake up the next morning back at step one.

On Wednesday morning, I was woken up around 8am by a really strong contraction. I was so excited I jumped out of bed and began walking in circles around the living room to keep the contractions coming. After three of four they stopped and I returned to bed more depressed than ever. I felt a few more here and there and generally felt worse than ever before, but I wasn't about to get my hopes up.

By 4pm, I called a local homeopathic store and asked about clary sage oil to help regulate and strengthen contractions. The owner, sensing my desperation, offered to whip up some concoction of oils that help induce labor, including clary sage. Robbie went to pick it up after work, so she showed him the pressure points to use on my ankles and asked him to give feedback on how quickly it worked.

He came home and immediately gave it a try, warning me "to be prepared." He acted as if he was about to launch a rocket, so I asked what the success rate of this stuff supposedly was. He replied, "10 out of 15 women went into labor within 72 hours." I moaned - THREE days?! That was not the reassuring answer I wanted to hear!

Without any other recourse at this point, I told him to give it a try and vowed to move up to something stronger like cohosh the next day. The oil massage did give me a couple strong contractions, but then nadda. Defeated, we went about our night, which included a mini gathering of friends to watch the Obama infomercial. You know you're pregnant when a well-produced political infomercial can make you all misty-eyed! I think Emerson must be a major Obama fan too because the only things he watches on tv are the Daily Show, the Colbert Report, some PBS documentary about Obama and this recent infomercial. He was mesmerized!

But I digress....

After everyone left, we tried the oil again and then got Emerson ready for bed. The contractions started coming....and coming. At close to 10pm, I broke down and started timing them, but they were anywhere from 5 minutes to 20 minutes apart. I would've given up completely except that I started needing Robbie's help with back compressions to get through them (yes, yet another back labor experience for me).

Emerson had taken a ridiculously long and late nap, so it wasn't until close to midnight that Robbie finally got him asleep. While he was in the other room, I turned to the labor necklace that my friends made me for help through the contractions. Women I know from all across the country sent me symbolic beads, so as I kneeled on my hands and knees on the floor trying to rock away the pain, I reached up and gripped the beads to help me focus.



Around 1am, I was still not convinced that I was in true labor, but I decided to give my parents a heads up just in case. My mom answered the phone and I knew that she knew what I was about to say. She couldn't contain her excitement, but I tried to warn her that it could still be hours...maybe even days...of labor, so she'd better go to bed. I knew she wouldn't.

After cutting our conversation short due to another contraction, I began to panic about how long Robbie was taking. On cue, he emerged from the bedroom and came to help me. I turned on some music I had ready for early labor and we rocked in rhythm to help ease the pain and lighten the mood. When a contraction came on and I dropped to the floor, Robbie kept dancing as he gave me back compressions, so I realized he didn't think this was the real deal. "This is getting serious, Robbie," I muttered through gritted teeth. He still didn't believe me.



Only a few minutes later, I told him it was time to get the labor tub ready. I could tell he thought this was ridiculously premature and I knew he was probably right, but something in my gut told me it was time. It's a good thing I listened to that feeling because by the time it was barely at the minimum level, I was ready to get in. I had told him at some point that getting into the tub too early can slow labor, so he was very skeptical about this move. He started timing contractions again to make sure. Despite my inclination to rip the stupid timer out of his hands, I thought "he is being the rational one."

Right before I got into the tub, I told Robbie to call our midwife and give her a heads up. She asked if I was zoned out even between contractions and Robbie said no. She said she would get things ready and wait for a call to come at the point when I was totally zoned out. I knew exactly what point she meant, but I couldn't completely zone out during this labor like I did with Emerson. One of the good things about homebirth is that no one is around to tell you what to do, but the downside is that you have to figure out what to do! The contractions were getting incredibly intense, but as soon as they were over, I started spouting instructions for Robbie to get me soup or a drink or adjust the pool or whatever. At about 2:55, I realized this was too much for us to do alone and I told Robbie to call the midwife - now.




When I was giving birth to Emerson, I didn't want to know how much time was passing or how far I had progressed because I knew I would get discouraged at how slowly things were moving. This time I kept asking for the time so I could reassure myself that enough time had passed and it could be possible I was getting toward the end. I feared that the midwife and apprentice would show up on my command, only to spend 10 more hours waiting for the baby to actually come. I shouldn't have worried.

The apprentice showed up 10 minutes after the phone call and helped Robbie with a sagging part of the pool. I felt ridiculous for calling her, but the contractions were getting faster and more intense. I'd say, "Robbie help!" and drop to my knees in the tub as he ran over for a back compression. I felt as if each one was ripping my back bones in two - like a giant wishbone being pulled apart on Thanksgiving. Robbie is not much of a talker and I couldn't tell him what I needed, so I silently coached myself. "I can't keep doing this for hours more....don't worry, this is the worst it's going to get...I can't handle this pain...you're doing it for the baby, the baby needs you..." At some point I looked up at Robbie in between contractions and said, "What if I have to do this for 10 more hours?" He shook his head and stroked my arms to help me relax. "When you were like this last time, Emerson was born only a couple hours later."

"Are you sure? I wasn't like this the first night I went into labor?"

He laughed. "No way, not even close. It won't be much longer."

I was relieved to hear this.

Ten minutes after the apprentice arrived, the midwife showed up as I was having a contraction and I suddenly felt a convulsion go through my body. I told her I just felt the unmistakable urge to push and she said, "That's fantastic!" I shook my head - clearly she wasn't understanding that this urge was coming way too fast to be real. When I made Robbie call her the first time, I started shaking uncontrollably and felt like I was going to throw up with every contraction - signs of the stage of late labor called "transition." I had ignored these signs because I couldn't possibly move this fast, but the urge to push had me in a panic. I was afraid if I pushed too soon I would inflame my cervix and slow labor, so I begged her to check my dilation ASAP. She said I was a conservative 8cm, but to go ahead and push if I felt like it.

I was relieved to hear I was indeed in transition, but I held back on pushing through the next contraction. She and the apprentice began to prep the oxygen tank just in case and were talking calmly when the next contraction hit. I had to push and there was no longer a line between contractions - it was just pushing. Suddenly I felt his head drop rapidly and I screamed out "He's coming too fast!!"

Everyone rushed to my side as I continued to scream out a play-by-play. "Something popped - I think my water broke...RING OF FIRE, RING OF FIRE!!!" This is phrase some women use for the head crowning and let me tell you - it does not do justice to the true feeling. I remember this as being the only truly hard part of my labor with Emerson, but unfortunately this time it seemed to last forever. I was still panicking, so the midwife told me to stop pushing or do little pushes if I needed to. I tried a couple small pushes, but then thought, "The hell with it - get this kid out of there NOW!" It seemed like an eternity of pain before his head emerged, but in truth I pushed for less than 5 minutes! I rested a minute and then pushed the rest of his body out as Robbie caught him underwater. The midwife called out the time - 3:30am on October 30.



Suddenly I was sitting and Robbie was handing me this cone-headed squirmy thing. Before he was even close enough to see well, I knew.

"He has white hair, doesn't he?"

Someone confirmed this as he came into view. I sat there holding him, stunned that he was there already and that I now had not only two children, but two children with albinism. Part of the reason I wanted a homebirth was so that I could have privacy during this moment of revelation. Everyone was so sure that he would come out with dark hair and the odds certainly favored that, but somehow I knew in my gut that he would have white hair. I didn't know what my reaction to this would be, but I wanted to experience it in private and not have hospital staff bustling around making comments. Now the moment was here and I felt...shock. I knew I was in for a long, hard road, but definitely easier than with Emerson. And I knew that this was the best for Emerson since they would always have each other - someone to understand what they were going through in ways even we as their parents could never understand. A feeling of calm came over me and I started to really take him in.

He peered up at me silently with these giant eyes and his body submerged in the pool. The midwife and apprentice stood back and greeted him and Robbie sat behind me, stroking his head lovingly. I suddenly became aware of how quiet it was compared to the hospital birth with Emerson. "Should we do something?" I asked. "Suction him out, get a blanket, deliver the placenta?"

The midwife shook her head no. "He's perfect just the way he is. Stay there as long as you want." I think by then the water had gotten a little cool and I was feeling unsure of what to do, so the baby began to fuss and cry and I gave the midwife a look that told her it was time to move.

While I gave him his first meal, the women prepped the couch with blankets and towels so we could get out. Then Robbie cut the cord and we made a dash to drier, warmer land. After some standard exams that revealed the baby was 20.5 inches and 8lbs, the women left us alone for our "babymooning."




Amazingly, despite my screaming toward the end and the clanging as the midwife cleaned the house and prepped an herbal bath, Emerson slept through it all in the next room. He stirred a little after they left, but Robbie only had to hand him his bottle and he fell asleep again until 11am!

When Emerson finally padded out of his room in footie pajamas with his white hair sticking up all over his head, it fully hit me that I was now the mother of two! Robbie rushed him over to see the baby and explain that he now has a brother, but Emerson completely ignored the situation and has been doing so ever since. The only time he acknowledges the baby is when he sneezes, which sends Emerson into fits of laughter! Robbie keeps telling him to "kiss the baby" but Emerson replies with "all done" and walks away. I guess no reaction is better than a bad reaction!




I learned the hard way that post-labor pains are worse with each new child, but for the most part recovery has been great. He nursed throughout the night last night but I was able to sleep through most of it, so exhaustion hasn't set in...yet.

We held off on naming the baby to see what name would fit his looks and personality. I think if it were up to Robbie to decide we would've called him "baby" forever, but his first dr.'s appointment today forced us to make up our minds (they don't appreciate filing charts under "baby x"). Despite some creative suggestions from friends and family, we settled on:

Kepler Fionn

(I know, I know….but we live in Ann Arbor where you don’t fit in unless you have a weird name!) We will be calling him Fionn - pronounced “fin.” We would have put that name first, but it just didn't roll off the tongue right. Kepler is after the astronomer Johanne Kepler and Fionn is an Irish name that means "fair-haired" or "bright." It's also the name of the Irish mythological hero Fionn Macool, who gained his name when his hair turned prematurely white.

We chose Fionn over Kepler because so far, this baby seems to have an ancient soul worthy of such a name. Maybe it's just because we've done this before, but he seems so calm and easy compared to Emerson and Emerson was a relatively easy newborn! It's strange, especially considering what a little acrobat he was in the womb. I suppose only time will tell...





Speaking of which, all my "boys" are now awake from their naps, including a still exhausted Robbie, so I'd better go. Happy Halloween to all!

(For fun, here are some comparison pics - Emerson first then Fionn)

Birth Story

When I imagined the beginning of labor, I always imagined the birth scene from I Love Lucy. You know, the one where everyone is running around in a bumbling panic, throwing things into a suitcase. Then they run out the door in a rush to get to the hospital, leaving the pregnant Lucy behind. Except I would already have my bags carefully packed with all the natural labor tools I had researched.

Well, the excitement of rushing to the hospital didn't happen, but I did have my bags packed ahead of time. The baby dropped around 36 weeks and a week later, the midwife told me it could be any day now. Despite all the statistics and the knowing mothers who told me that first babies always come late, I truly believed this baby was coming early. So of course, as the days passed and the due date got closer, I began to panic. The closer the date got, the more drastic my induction methods became. I literally tried every method I could find: herbs, walking miles everyday on bumpy roads, hopping down an entire flight of stairs in the middle of the mall, eating eggplant, eating spicy food, eating spicy eggplant...I even tried the dreaded castor oil (I mixed it with Dr. Pepper to help the taste, so it was like drinking Bonne Bell's Dr. Pepper chapstick).

Then the due date came and passed. For liability reasons, the midwife had to schedule an induction for almost two weeks past due. As each day went by, the window of time when my parents could come to see the birth or at least visit the baby was growing short, and every day meant he would be that much younger when we went to my school's convocation in Chicago in January. With the pressure (and pregnancy discomfort) mounting, I did the unthinkable and pushed up my induction date by a couple days.

I knew I could face serious consequences for this because it often involves a synthetic hormone called Pitocin, which would throw me into hard, fast, unbelievably painful contractions. I was terrified, but still determined to go throw the medication-free birth we had worked so hard for.

So instead of the bumbling excitement I had imagined at the beginning of my birth, my entourage (Robbie and my mom, who carried in enough luggage for a week's vacation; my dad, who carried in a giant lime-green birthing ball; and a very pregnant me) calmly walked into Labor and Delivery at the scheduled time. Eventually we were settled into a room and I was given a hormone called Cervidil, which ripens the cervix in preparation for birth. They told me they would leave it in for 12 hours to let it work, then we would start the Pitocin, if we needed to, in the morning. The plan was that I would be well rested after a night in the hospital, which anyone who's ever stayed in a hospital knows is an impossibility.

Those first couple of hours after everyone left us to sleep was a haze of machines blinking, nurses shuffling in and out, and the sound of paper puddling on the floor as the heart monitor continuously printed the jumpy black lines that represented his tiny heartbeat. I remember in birth class hearing that sometimes Cervidil can throw you into labor all by itself, but with the bad luck I had so far, I didn't dare dream of that possibility. But sometime in that haze, the contractions snuck up on me and I was officially in labor.

The rest of the night quickly fell into a rhythm: I sat on my birthing ball at the edge of the bed with my head buried in the covers so I could sleep for a minute in between contractions. Since I had the added bonus of back labor (imagine a pitchfork twisting into your lower spine), I would groan or say "oh God," as a signal for Robbie to come do counterpressure. Eventually the contractions were so close and hard that they became concerned about the way it might affect the baby, so they removed the Cervidil insert. I don't remember much beyond that point except that eventually it was light again and my parents were back from the hotel.

Many hours passed, with my parents taking turns with counterpressure to relieve Robbie or taking me on walks around the hallways. I would see women with their new babies and think in illogical despair, That will never be me...this baby is never coming. Morning melted into night, and then the contractions began to slow dramatically.

I had been making progress in dialating and effacing, but suddenly it all came to a screeching halt. So the newest midwife beginning her shift gave me the options: Pitocin, which sounded even more unbearble after laboring without any real sleep for almost 24 hours; breaking my water, which meant I had to give birth within 24 hours to avoid infection risk; or what she referred to as the "French Induction." She described this as going into the bathroom with Robbie, locking the door, and well....*you* know. Nothing seemed less appealing and least likely to work than that option! We opted for nipple stimulation since we'd researched it in birthclass. It's not as erotic as it sounds. Basically they wheeled in an industrial version of a breastpump and I did my best impression of a cow while Robbie marvelled at the mechanics of the pumping mechanism.

It made a little dent, but after a few minutes we could tell we were going to face the tough decision. The midwife came in for another check and squealed in excitement, "This bag is just ready to burst! I could break your water and you'd have this baby out in no time!"

ha ha ha!

So we opted for that option, took another walk, and said goodbye to my parents as they headed out for the hotel again. Within an hour, I had launched into Labor Part Deux. I got onto my hands and knees on the bed to help with the back labor and I stayed in that position...for hours. The midwife kept coming in to check on me and asking me to move positions so I would make progress and to spare my hands and knees, but I wouldn't budge. In retrospect, I know she was right, I would have gone much faster had I changed positions sooner, but my body was so tired that this glacial rhythm was all I could handle.

I stopped letting her check me so I wouldn't get frustrated if I wasn't making progress, and I sunk someplace deep inside. It was like that scene in the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy looks out the window and sees the tornado swirling around her, the characters of her life spinning past. The pain was a darkness that surrounded me and random memories, images, words would whirl past. I only surfaced a couple of times to throw up (I knew from watching enough Baby Story on TLC that this meant I was in transition), and then I eventually gave in to my midwife and agreed to get into the birthing tub.

People tell you that you will lose all dignity in labor, but I was determined to do it right. In fact, I had packed a swimming suit for both Robbie and I. But when the moment came, I knew another contraction was already on its way, so jumped into the tub fully nude (apparently I was naked from a previous shower/tub experience, although I don't really remember it now). Robbie, on the other hand, jumped in fully dressed to help me with the contraction. The labor nurse Sarah was an incredible help all night, even taking over counterpressure for Robbie several times when he would get up to help me and then fall asleep standing in the middle of the room! She got us settled into the tub and then left us to relax alone.

After a few minutes, I felt my entire body convulse. I didn't want to get my hopes up, so I kept my mouth shut until it happened a couple more times. Then I said, "Robbie, pull the red cord, I think I'm pushing." Within seconds of pulling the cord and paging the staff, the quiet room filled with a rush of people and my midwife was checking me. When she told me I was fully dialated and ready to push, I thought No duh. Robbie called my parents and I pushed with everything I had, ecstatic that the end was in sight and the back labor gone.

The next thing I knew, my parents were in the room, cheering me on. My poor father had previously agreed to film what I thought would be a sanitized birth video, so he dutifully pulled out the camera. There I was, naked for the whole world to see, my legs propped up on Robbie's shoulders as he tried to brace me in the slippery tub, and the midwife trying to keep me from drowning because I was so focused on pushing that my head would sink under water. Suddenly someone yelled, "He's got a head full of blonde hair!" and I thought, Who's baby are they talking about? My baby's a brunette! But I didn't have much time to focus on this thought. I could hear the whole room saying, "Ahh, ahh, ahh" as his head would start coming out, then a disappointed "ohhhh" as it would suck back in. Everyone except Robbie, who held his breath every time I would. Finally the midwife said, "You need to breathe!" and I realized she was talking to him!

After about half an hour of this, the heart monitor stopped working underwater and the midwife warned me that I had one more push to get him out or we have to move back to the bed. I gave it my all, and when it didn't work, I stood up and made a beeline for the bed. Robbie went splashing out after me, his sopping wet pajamas making a trail across the room so that someone suggested he change clothes. Somehow he mangaged to do it with lightning speed and then rushed back to help me, his hands ready to catch the baby that was coming any second. It was at this point that he looked around and realized he and my parents were the only ones standing there - everyone else was cleaning up or getting things prepared. After a brief moment of panic, the midwife came to help just as the baby was crowning.

I won't attempt to explain that kind of pain...I will only say that after 30-something hours of quiet moaning, this was the first time I screamed. Watching the video now I realize it didn't last long and I gained relative control when the midwife coached me to grunt instead of scream, but it seemed like an eternity at the time. Luckily it was immediately followed by relief as his head was freed and the room exploded with excitement. Another push and he easily slid out, right into Robbie's arms. After 35 hours of labor, Emerson Porter was born on December 19, 2006 at 6:45 in the morning.

The midwife suctioned him out and we heard first gurgling cries. They passed him through my legs and after some acrobatics, I was lying down with his squirming wet body on my chest. For the first time in days I was fully awake - probably more awake than I had ever been in my entire life. I just stared at him, my little white snow baby, in uncomprehensing awe. I heard my voice saying comforting things to him, but it sounded like another person far, far away. And there was Robbie, my unbelievable partner through it all, standing by my side, sharing those first few moments of parenthood. I had always imagined myself weeping in that moment, but I was totally stunned instead.

And then Robbie, in his true Robbie fashion, said giddily, "That was so exciting, let's do it AGAIN!!!"

Dear God, I thought, I am in trouble.