Birth Story of Thomas Matteo

"Son, carrying you has been one of the most unexpected joys of my life, and I know I'll probably miss it, but it's time for you to come out now." As I addressed unborn Thomas, I ran my hands over my huge taut belly and sighed heavily through pursed lips. This is how pregnancy has always been for me -- the best time of my life until it's not. Between those first few weeks and the last long ones were several months of feeling happy, energetic (relatively -- I still need those naps!), and pleased with my changing shape. Then, by the end of April, my body was too cumbersome and achy, I was always out of breath and needing to pee, and just feeling done.

I was an elderly grand multipara, a "seasoned mama" as my midwife calls it. Thus as an expert in childbearing, I knew exactly what to expect. My labor with Thomas would begin as all four other labors had. I would wake up with contractions at some point in the wee hours of the morning, and give birth at some point that day. On mornings I woke up with no change, I would know that wasn't the day. And so I would wait again, go about my day, and wonder if that next time I went to bed would be the last time I went to bed pregnant. For many days this was fun, not knowing what night would be the last. Kind of surreal, as I told my sister Grace, but fun. I would lie down for a nap in the afternoon and say, "How many more naps are we going to have like this, Thomas, with you still in my belly?"

Then, as had happened with Joey, I reached 40 weeks and passed it. The days seemed to stretch on. I'd think, 'I just dropped kids off at school again. Still pregnant.' 'I just picked up kids from school again. Still pregnant. Not even a twinge.' 'Tim has left for work again and I am still pregnant.' And that weird thing happened where even though I was getting closer than ever, actually having a baby began to feel impossible. Time just kept ticking by. 

Then in the wee hours of Friday the 13th I found myself wide awake looking at the clock. I was having contractions that were regular but not painful. It was 3 a.m.! This was going to go exactly like the others had. When I had bloody show, I was positive today was the day. I had never NOT held a baby within a few hours of bloody show.

Buuuuttt the contractions fizzled out and I let Tim go to work. No point in wasting time off. I updated Sherry in a text, and she reassured me that my body knows what it's doing. But those silly contractions would start back up time and time again over the next day or two, getting my hopes up every time. I went to the chiropractor on Saturday for an adjustment I hoped would help things along. I asked Sherry what she thought about me taking castor oil the next morning, and she replied that she thought that was a good plan.

We went to Mass that night, and afterward finalized plans with Sherry for a natural induction the next morning. She had a special recipe for a castor oil concoction, which prompted Tim to run out to the store again. I went to bed that night sure this was the last time.

Sunday bright and early, I texted Sherry as soon as I woke up. She came over, examined me (I was at 2-3 cm), and swept my membranes. That was the first time I've had that done. It was not terribly unpleasant. Then she and Tim made the concoction and I drank it. Having never tried castor oil, I was a little daunted by the prospect, but it ended up being a lot tamer than colonoscopy prep. I had several hours of contractions that seemed promising, but then died down again. I was so let down and frustrated I cried. I cried a bunch of times. Here came another Monday, when I had been so positive he'd come over the weekend.

On Monday the 16th I was 41 weeks, a new milestone. Sherry offered either to come over and take a walk with me or to have me come over and work in her garden with her. It was a hot and sunny day. I opted for the walk. It was pleasant enough, although I was pretty hot and sweaty by the end. Back in the house we talked some more and I cried, and she was very compassionate and kind. After she left, I took a shower, ate lunch and had a nap. Yet another afternoon and another night went by.

On Tuesday the 17th, I dropped the kids off at school once again. Back home I cleaned the kitchen and did some laundry. I was a laundry machine. The loads had been getting smaller all the time because I kept getting more obsessive about it. Then, because I was sick to death of waiting around the house to have a baby, I went on some errands. First to the mall, to TJ Maxx; then walked to the other end of the mall, to Belk. I didn't buy much, mostly looked around. I remembered why I hate going to stores. There's so much crap I have no use for, and anything I need or want is online. But I did find pretty thank you notes at TJ Maxx. Then a quick drive to Ollie's, which is right next to the Dollar Tree. I went to both. I was hoping maybe Ollie's had one of those jute pouf ottomans for me to put on the back porch. It's the one thing my back porch is missing. No poufs or ottomans, just lots and lots of planters. It was a long shot anyway. At the dollar store I got a couple cards, then waited in line a really long time behind a lady whose coupons weren't working. I didn't feel annoyed though; more like sorry for her because she was in a lot worse shape than I was. She was old and overweight, leaning heavily against the counter; and if she needed the coupons at the dollar store to work that badly, I was prepared to wait as long as it took. Times are tough. Compassion may have been what I was feeling, but my resting grumpy face must have been in full effect because one of the women behind me asked me when I was due and said, "I bet you're miserable." Another woman let me know that when she was pregnant, she had covered her belly button with a band-aid. As I finally headed out the door, I thought, was she trying to subtly let me know that the sight of my belly button sticking out under my clothes was offensive? Huh. Weird.

At around noon, Sherry texted to let me know she had scheduled an ultrasound and nonstress test for the following Friday morning. She asked if that day and time worked, and offered to go with me. I answered saying that it worked. We both hoped we would not be making it to that appointment. I asked my mom and siblings to pray I didn't need to. Sherry asked me how I was doing, and I told her, "Hanging in there. No change." For me, "no change" just meant annoying contractions off and on, but no news. 

I ate lunch and went to lie down, dozing for maybe 20 minutes, but then one of those dumb contractions woke me up. I had long since learned to ignore them. My mom and Anna and Grace checked in with me via text -- all separately, which was kind of funny. It gave me something to do, replying to all of them in turn. It is funny to look at them and see where my tone changed abruptly.

I literally went from making beach plans to holy crap, these contractions are not playing. (Never underestimate the power of an emergency novena!) Then I became aware of a wet feeling, which was what propelled me out of bed to the bathroom. Water was trickling down my legs as soon as I stood up, and it was continuous to the point I needed a pad. I felt a mix of excitement and terror, and told myself, a la Kevin McAllister, This is it. Don't get scared now. But was it really? A couple more contractions came hard and fast, leaving no doubt. I began pacing around the house, sending another flurry of texts I knew would be my last for awhile: updating my mom and sisters, making sure the boys had a ride home from school, and summoning Tim and Sherry. Then I grabbed one of my laborade popsicles out of the freezer, put on the birth affirmations playlist on Hallow, sat down on my exercise ball, and did what I'd been doing every 10 minutes for the last several days: I cried. (What a weepy few days this was!)  And so it began.

Sherry arrived along with Lou, who is a "doulatog" (doula and photographer) by trade. She was there as an assistant midwife also, just serving in whatever capacity she was needed at any given time. Upon her arrival, I was very much in need of a doula. Tim helped Sherry with setting things up and starting to fill the pool; he also snapped some pictures as you can see. Lou sat down beside me and said, "I'm here for whatever you need me for. If you need space I can give you that, or I can stay beside you, just let me know." I said I wanted her to stay with me. She had the perfect touch on my lower back during contractions. It actually seemed like she could just absorb some of the pain into her hands, but I know that it was just effective counterpressure taking the edge off. She was like an angel. I had never had a doula at any of my other births, but this time she was a package deal with Sherry. I 10/10 would recommend hiring a birth doula if they are all anything like Lou.

From the timestamps on the photos, I see that I had about 45 minutes to wait while the pool filled up and got warm enough for me to get in. I couldn't wait. During this time, I changed into my bathing suit top, crawled across the floor for a few contractions, and knelt against the foot of my bed for awhile. My water broke at 2:45, according to Sherry's notes. I heard the pop, and fortunately they had positioned a blanket under me in case.

I got in the tub a few minutes later. Sherry examined me and said, "The cervix is out of the way." That was good because I was beginning to bear down a little. It hurt so much, but there was relief in finally being able to do something besides endure contractions. My face was so hot I needed lots of cold wet towels on my forehead and neck. I sucked down another laborade popsicle, absently tossing the plastic stick to the side when I was done. 

They told me later that I didn't start pushing in earnest until around 3:30. It was around that time that I had contractions that were particularly excruciating, but also encouraging because I could actually feel him moving into the birth canal. He was getting closer and closer. Lou put on her photographer hat around this time and started taking these wonderful pictures that I will treasure forever.

Finally he was right there and I could reach down and feel his head. I thought, all I have to do is push out his head, the rest is easy! But many more contractions came and went without this happening. About a third of his head would make it out, and then once the contraction was over, it would retreat. I thought to myself, He must have the biggest head of all time. I started getting frustrated and at one point I told him, "You've got to come out now, buddy, give your poor old mama a break." Sherry encouraged me to keep moving around, maybe kneeling on one knee, then the other, which I did, as well as stretching into one hip and then the other. She reminded me that birth is kind of a dance. 

Sherry suggested I sit back and rest against, if not sit on, the pool's seat, thinking that might give him the room he needs. I did that, and it wasn't very long after that his head made it all the way out. At last! In no time at all, the rest of him followed and Sherry lifted him up to my chest. Just like that his little body was in my arms and the pain was over. Sherry recorded 3:57. What profound relief and gratitude I felt in that moment!

I'd waited so long to get a good look at him!

It turned out that the reason his average-sized head took so long to come out was that he had it tilted to one side and had his right arm next to it as well--what Sherry called a "nuchal arm." His head was molded into a lopsided cone that you can see in one of the pictures. It was very strange looking, but resolved itself within hours. As a result of his positioning, I wound up with a first degree tear that needed stitches. It was definitely something I'd been hoping to avoid, having needed stitches after three of four other births, but this time it went better and was much easier to heal from, I'm happy to say.

Of course I was completely unaware of any of that in those first minutes as I sat in the pool just staring at him and soaking him in. It was like heaven, that first hour of marveling at him together. It was no less amazing the fifth time around than the first, to see him finally in my arms and kiss his little face.

Soon after I delivered the placenta, they helped me out of the pool and into bed. It is always such a strange feeling, standing up and walking after giving birth. It's like trying out a new body for the first time. When I had to get out of bed again to go to the bathroom, Sherry cautioned me to go slowly. I thought I was, but then Tim said, "Whoa, slow down--you're off to the races!" I didn't feel like I was moving fast; it's just that I felt so much lighter and moving was so effortless compared to moving while nine months pregnant. I was practically floating. Sherry and Lou watched me like a hawk as I made my way from the toilet to the shower, then as I luxuriated under the hot water, always vigilant lest I go floating down fast to meet those tiles.

8 lbs 10 oz and 21.5 inches long. A keeper!

Our firstborn had gotten off the bus around 3:30, then I assume she'd gone straight to her room on the other side of the house and put her earbuds in. Tim brought her her new baby brother to meet, and look at her body language! It's like he's holding a giant booger in his arms.

The boys finally came home around 8. Timmy had had to stay after school, along with all the students in 3rd grade and up, for a play rehearsal till 5. Joey stayed in aftercare during this time, which for him is a real treat (he asks me all the time if he can go to aftercare, but aside from messing up the carpool plan, it's $5/hour, so sorry buddy, that's a no). They went home with friends and had dinner and swam in a neighbor's pool. They were excited and happy to meet Thomas. Timmy exclaimed, "Look at how tiny his toes are!" and "He has the softest skin!" I don't remember where Annie was or what she was doing during this time. That's what happens when you have this many kids, and in this range of ages.

Three + weeks later, I can't even remember anymore how it felt to be overdue and ready to pop, waiting to meet my belly's tenant and wondering what he'll look like. His birth already feels like forever ago, the agony of labor a distant memory. Now I often nap with with him in my arms. He's a beautiful little sleeper (and somewhat of a grumpypants when he's awake, if truth be told).

Here are some pictures from then to now. Welcome to our crazy family, Thomas Matteo!

They were almost birthday buddies; Annie turned 13 two days later.