Birth of Harrison

What a beautiful, incredible experience.

I'm serious.

Be prepared for a long post here, because I loved the birth of my third baby.

Also, be prepared for gooey details.  Doing the doula thing, it kills me that people don't talk about birth.  If we all were more open with our birth stories, then we wouldn't need to fear the experience so much!  Good or bad, it's an incredible journey and one worth repeating.

So.

We were in the midst of moving.  My life was insane.  Every day there was a to-list a mile long; and I was getting bigger and more squished by the second.  I felt like I was in ultra-nesting mode; nagging Mark every day (which, I might add, he handled like a champ), bustling the kids about and shuttling them off to friends and family so I could get something done. 

At night, I prayed my guts out.  There were just so many variables with a fixer-upper and a baby.  What if our pipes burst?  What if nobody helps us paint?  What if breathing all those paint fumes in gives my baby a third eye?  What if the carpet gets delayed?  What if I turn on the heater and cat hair explodes out of the vents and suffocates my son? 

And above all ... what if we're still living in the apartment when this baby comes?

Oh man. I wanted to cry every time I thought about that.  Our neighbors already thought we were too noisy and too irresponsible.  A baby would not help that.  My kids were squished and bored.  With winter coming on, how could I expect them to sit with me in that d--- apartment all day while I snuggled our baby? When I expressed those fears to Mark, he responded in true-to-Gunn fashion: "It's going to work out.  Worrying about it doesn't make it better."  (That's one of the main reasons why I married him, people.)  But then he would turn around after working 9 hours at the office (which I have to add, requires extra effort as he is still building it up) and spend 5 more hours cutting, sanding, and moving heavy furniture. 

I think he might have been worried too.  He just did something about it.

Our lives felt like a race against the clock.  A couple of days before Trent left on his mission, I had been busy loading things up and taking them to the house.  My stomach ached and throbbed; I could hardly breath.   And then I realized that throbbing felt familiar ... sort of like menstrual cramps, but with a little more rhythm.

No.  Not yet! 

I guzzled two glasses of water, hefted my girth to the couch, and put my feet up.  Eventually they subsided, and I was able to make it another day with my little man inside.  The rest of the week went along much the same way.  I would over-do it, freak out at my body's response, and spend an hour or two drinking and staying as still as possible.

And I prayed.

Oh I prayed like I haven't in a while.  I felt like I was begging the Lord to just let us have a home to bring this baby to.  I threw in plenty of "thy will be done"s, but, my word, I wanted to be in that house before the baby came.

On Friday, we were told that the new carpet wouldn't make it that day.  But it would be there first thing in the morning on Monday. 

Uuuuuugh. 

A few more projects, and a lot more praying later, we made it through the weekend.  Monday morning came, and just as promised, the carpet guys were there at 8 a.m.  The kids and I stayed at the house touching up paint while those two brothers worked.  They were very kind and asked about our family.  I told them the baby was due in three days.  Their eyes seemed to bug a little, and they tucked into their work. 
Those boys did not take a lunch break. 
They finished at three.

With the carpets in and the possibility of moving our stuff to the house realized, I remembered all the birth preparation I had been neglecting the last few weeks.  I had been an all-star through the first half of my pregnancy; I read "The Gift of Giving Life" slowly, soaking up the incredible perspective of my fellow religious mamas.  I worked out daily; lots of stairs, squats, and jog/walking.  I followed all the stretches on spinning babies to make sure mine stayed head-down, and ate dates every day to speed recovery post-partum.  Mark adjusted me regularly to ensure a clear exit for our little man, and I even got massages to ease my swollen body.

But then as the hunt for a home became more intense and the project list piled up, labor prep was replaced with house prep.  I constantly hurt.  I hadn't even been walking in ages.  If I wasn't married to my gorgeous chiropractor husband, I would have been immobile with pain.

So finally, that very Monday night, I did something about it.  I went on a very long walk.  There certainly were some form of contractions happening; they were different from the Braxton Hicks kind I had felt throughout the entire pregnancy.  But they were never consistent, nor did the get stronger.  So I kept walking.  And returned home to box up the last of our belonging.

Tuesday, we began the move.

Mark has the office closed Tuesday, so I had him there all day.  He worked like a horse, loading things on his shoulder and hefting them up and down those stairs.  It was very attractive.  We did as much as we could, but with the rest of the world working on Tuesdays and me just trying to keep the baby in for one more day, there were some things he just couldn't move himself.

But still, we were in.  Boxes filled every room, and our mattresses were flopped on the floors in the bedrooms.  Mac's room was completely filled by the bunk bed mattresses, and he and Belle had a blast jumping on the bouncy floor before finally crashing for the night.  I stumbled around, trying to find clothes for everyone in the morning, and Mark called his brother Ben to get a couple more things into the back of his truck.  A neighbor stopped by and helped me unload odds and ends from the back of my car.

Mark and Ben returned with our love seat and the kitchen chairs.  I searched for silverware and pots and pans.  When they brought a load in, Ben took one look at me and asked, "Are you in labor?" 

I was flushed.  I hurt like crazy.  And I felt cross-eyed. 

But I needed to find the cereal bowls if the kids were going to have anything to eat.

I paused before answering.  "I don't know anymore.  It'll go away once I lay down."

He wished us luck and headed home.

Mark and I were absolutely beat.  I asked for a blessing before going to bed.  He gave me one, promising that I would understand the signals my body was sending me, and that our boy was happy to come.  He then hit our sheet-less mattress face-first and didn't resurface.  I found a box of blankets and cracked it open to throw one on top, and crawled in next to him. 

I couldn't sleep.  These pains were not stopping.  "Go away, go away ... I need to sleep first ..." I mumbled to uterus.  I tossed and turned, worried I would wake my chronically light-sleeper of a  husband.  But he didn't move.

After a couple hours of doing my best to be unconscious, I pulled out my phone and started to time them. 
Dang.  2-5 minutes apart.

That realization made it impossible to just lay in bed any more.  I needed to move.  I got up on all fours, breathing deeply and moving my hips in slow circles.  Mark finally sat up.  "Is he coming?" he slurred.

"Yep," I breathed.

He rolled over and applied pressure to my back while I moved.  It helped.
Once the contraction ended, we both slumped over in bed, in and out of sleep.  More contractions came, some Mark would wake up for and some I breathed through on my own.

Finally I decided I needed to call my midwife and my mom.  The midwife said to come to the birth center when I felt ready, but to not wait too long as this was my third. Chances were it would be quicker than the first two.  I agreed and said I'd come once my mom arrived to take the kids.

I called my sisters as well, and texted my sister-in-laws.  We had talked a lot about making this a party, and I liked the idea of having all my favorite women around this time to support Mark and I.  It was like I had multiple doulas; I had even prepped Jamie with all my doula books; she studied like mad was thrilled to come.  My baby sister swore the blood wouldn't scare her, nor would my screaming.  She absolutely wanted to be there.  And I knew my sisters-in-law were all busy with their own families, which was why I sent them a text instead of calling.  If they just couldn't make it, I didn't want them to feel like they had to ... but still know they were welcome.

Once the phone calls were made, I shuffled around to uncover the bag for the birth center.  Mac woke up with a scary dream.  Mark talked to him and put him back in bed.  I put the bag in the car and struggled back up the stairs.  Mark was asleep half-on the bed.  I crawled in next to him.

I set my alarm for an hour, so we could be up before my mom and sisters arrived.  We dozed and moaned and rocked and passed out till my phone buzzed.

I shook Mark awake and he jumped up to change his clothes.  We gingerly tip-toed downstairs and called the midwife to let her know we were on our way.

And my girls arrived.

Mom hugged me and "Ooo"ed and "Ooohh"ed as I wobbled through a couple contractions.  I wished she could come, but it was the middle of the night and I just felt better with her taking care of my first two babies.  So Mark and I got in the car, and Jamie and Rachel caravaned behind us.

The drive to the birth center wasn't too bad; a fact that had me worried that I would be sent home.  The contractions were intense for sure, but they still weren't entirely regular and I could wince through them.  Based on my previous two labors, however, that was completely normal. 

Indeed I had nothing to worry about, when we arrived they told me I was dilated to a 6.  They ushered us upstairs and we made ourselves comfortable.  Mark continued with the hip squeeze during contractions, and Jamie and Rachel provided jokes, conversation, and snacks in between. 

It was just ... perfect.

The midwives came in twice to listen to Harrison's heartbeat through a couple contractions.  They were nothing but reassurance and positive words ... and I knew I could absolutely do this. 

I walked, I stood, I squatted ... but not for long.  After about a half hour of being in charge of my labor, things picked up and I was completely exhausted, and at the mercy of my body.  This was hard.  I shooed Mark away when he tried to apply counter-pressure.  I was already consumed with so much pressure I thought I would burst.  There was power coursing through my body, and I did my best to direct all that power to dig down and down, deeper and deeper and out of me.  I stayed on all fours on the bed, rocking and gasping as I gave up trying to control things and settled for one thought: lower lower lower ...

My sister-in-law Katie then showed up, camera in hand ... a much-needed distraction.  If you know Katie, you know she is a barrel of energy and laughter.  She had us all giggling within minutes, and I was so grateful.  Katie provided that extra boost to get me through what I later figured out was transition. 

Suddenly I felt flushed.  It was that hot, panicky feeling and I asked to have the tub filled up in hopes that the water would help me relax.  I was struggling.  It was so intense .... and I hobbled to the bathroom as they hurried to fill the tub.  I decided to use the toilet before getting in the bath, remembering that an empty bladder can speed labor along. 

After standing up, another hot, panicky, monster contraction ... ending with a grunt.  I looked up at Mark.  He looked back at me.

We both knew what that meant. 
Our boy was coming.

The midwife knew too; she brought in her assistants and a mass of hands helped me into the tub.  "The bed is too far," she said.

She was right.  I hadn't planned a water birth, but I certainly wasn't opposed to one.  If water would bring me relief, I would absolutely get in.

Once in the water, immediately I got on all fours and began rocking. "Allie, stay low," the midwife instructed.  "We don't want to dip your baby's head in and out of the water."  They hadn't been able to completely fill the tub before I got in, so I adjusted my position as an incredibly strong urge to push dominated my body.  It felt like being sling-shot-ed through a hurricane-filled tunnel.
"Breathe, Allie," I heard Mark whisper.
"Okay, okay, okay ..." from the midwives.
And then with a resounding woosh he was here.  My midwives handed my son to me.  He was small, and pink, and beautiful.
All the intensity was gone; swallowed up by this perfect, tiny being.
I hardly noticed that he wasn't much moving, and felt surprised when the midwife bent down to give him mouth to mouth.  One breath did the trick, and suddenly he became a wriggly little pink thing in my arms. 
He was here.

My Harrison.  He was here. 

Mark cutting the cord

I only stayed in the tub for a couple minutes more; it was getting cold and I felt like I could conquer the world ... but would start with hefting my shaking legs over the side of the tub. 

Mark took our son as a mass of hands helped me to the bed.

I could have cried, I was so happy.  I hadn't experienced a rush of happiness like this in quite some time; it soaked through and through me.  I know the Lord protected and watched over us.  I know He ensured the safe arrival of my son.

The Spirit was strong, my loved ones were near, and all was right in our little world. 

Welcome to it, Harrison Wallace Gunn!

6 pounds, 10 ounces.  20 inches long

My sister-in-law Danika arrived, and together she and Katie left to get us all breakfast.  After we were full and completely content, everyone left Mark and I.  We lay on the bed together with our new tiny man between us, and when he started to cry, Mark picked him up and told me to get some rest and recover.

I tried to close my eyes, but I was still tingling from such an incredible, emotional, spiritual experience.  I watched my husband's eyes droop shut and fought the urge to tip-toe over and kiss his face right off.  So I took a picture instead.  Mark had spent the entire day moving our life into our new home, completely crashing just before midnight.  But instead of sleeping, he spent the night rubbing my back and comforting our oldest baby.  He holds our lives together in those strong, capable hands.  I know it's a burden, and it's one I try to take on as much as I can ... but I see him doing little things behind the scenes all the time.

And here he was, telling me to rest. 

Mark Gunn, I love you!

We came home a few hours later; the midwives checked us all and okay-ed our early exit.  Driving home I felt so purely, completely happy.  So many things could have gone wrong, but not one did.  Our birth center couldn't have been better;  I was so grateful to finally have my baby in a place that specialized in the kind of birth I wanted.  I am always telling doula clients, if you want a beautiful, skilled cesarean, don't go to a birth center.  If you want an incredible vaginal hospital birth, don't chose a hospital or OB with a high c-section rate.  If you want a completely natural birth, don't go to a hospital that uses interventions as routine procedures.  Because of insurance issues with my first two, I wasn't able to pick the place I had my babies.  But this time?  This time was exactly what I had envisioned.  

I felt guided and blessed and protected. 

I had prayed my guts out that we would be able to bring my son home to a home, and my prayers were answered.

We arrived to our brand new home with our brand new son, and opened the door to find my mom and sisters busy unpacking boxes and organizing my kitchen.  We experienced a miracle.

Harrison, 9 days old

 These lovely ladies and my completely supportive husband carried me through that transitional time.  Adjusting to three kids was the smoothest yet.  My mother and mother-in-law cleaned, unpacked, and each took my older kids for a couple of days, giving us time to get to know this beautiful new person.  They took them long enough that I honestly wanted them back; I wanted our little family to settle in together.

And we did.

And it couldn't have been better.

a friend's laboring tips

I have a beautiful, wonderful friend.  She lives very far.  But she keeps up on an adorable blog and it has been so nice to stay in touch ... albeit electronically.

She recently had a baby.








































We emailed a few times, and she finally found a moment to give me details on her birth and what worked best for her.  I think they are brilliant, and worth adding to your tool bag as you prepare for you ideal experience.

"Allie!
I just saw your comment on facebook, and I'd been meaning to email you anyway, wanting to thank you for answering all my pregnancy/labor questions and give you a quick update on how everything went (you know, since you were my virtual doula and all :).  I went into labor at midnight on my due date (it started with me passing my mucus plug) and was able to labor naturally for 14 hours and then deliver my baby boy after 2 hours of pushing.  It was wonderful and empowering and went just as I hoped (well, it was more painful then I was expecting...I was laboring in my back... but nothing too terrible.).  I read SO MUCH before hand and really tried to do my part to be educated about this whole labor business, and these are the things that I found worked best for me: 

::  I swam three times a week and went on long daily walks (or waddles towards the end, haha!), and I really think those activities helped me have the strength to keep laboring. 

::  I drank my raspberry leaf tea religiously and towards the end started taking Evening Primrose Oil orally.  I'd like to think those helped me, but I have nothing to compare it to. 

::  I read a hypnobirthing book (there were no classes in my area), and listened to the relaxation exercise cd that came with the book every night before bed for the last 3 months of pregnancy.  

The best thing I learned from hypnobirthing was to keep my face relaxed.  I coached Evan on this, and so he was able to remind me to relax my face whenever he could tell I was tensing up.  It was amazing how much calmer I'd feel! 

I had a 1.5 hour nap right in the middle of labor and then woke up ready to push.  Everyone was kind of scratching their heads wondering how I was able to relax so fully, but I think I was able to be so relaxed because I had practiced every night before bed, and it always put me to sleep.  I needed to rest before the pushing began! 

Thanks again for all your advice and for helping other women through this amazing process, what a wonderful life calling! 

Hope you have a wonderful day!
xo,
Holly"

a beautiful natural birth

I feel like the labor part of my daughter's birth started the day I went in for my 36 week check up. Up until that point, the midwives had declined checking my cervix and I had agreed, but at 36 weeks, with the amount of contractions, pressure, and changes I'd been feeling I was dying to know if I was progressing at all. I'd lost my mucus plug at a very early 29 weeks, so I thought surely something was happening; I just wanted to know how much.
The midwife checked me. I was at 5 1/2 cm. My midwife told me that surely I'd be back either later that day or maybe that weekend.

I went home, shocked and excited, and prepped everything for a rush to the hospital sometime in the next day or so.

And then I waited.
Three whole weeks.

Those three weeks felt like three years. I will never again ask an overdue woman any question relating to "no baby yet?" "still here?" "what does the doctor say?" or even the seemingly innocent "how are you feeling?" Those questions drove me bonkers and I just wanted everyone to leave me alone. If I wanted them to know how I was feeling, I would tell them, otherwise, don't ask me!

I started to get pretty stressed about it, actually, because back at 36 weeks when we felt delivery was imminent, Kent scheduled a trip to San Francisco with his new job. He would be leaving on November 6, the day after my due date. We figured Ellie would be 2 or 3 weeks old by then.
But she didn't come. And each day that passed, I got more and more discouraged. Some days I felt lots of contractions, but some days I actually felt better. Those were the worst days because I started to feel like maybe Ellie was never going to be born.

My midwives took pity on me, and the Saturday I turned 39 weeks (they weren't legally allowed to do it any earlier than that) they agreed to let me come in and have this baby.
That morning we woke Nicholas up early and took him to our friends the Jensens' house. He was super excited to go to their house, and he didn't seem phased at all that we were leaving him, which really helped ease my mother-guilt.

We were a bit early still for our 8:00 am induction appointment, so we stopped at a donut place on the way. I only nibbled on my donuts; I was too excited and nervous to eat much.

When we got to the hospital, it seemed pretty quiet. The nurses at the desk in L&D were just sitting there chatting, and I was assigned to the biggest suite. It was a beautiful room, with hardwood floors, lots of space, and an entire wall of windows. The nurses were slow to get things started. It was an entire hour before I was even handed a gown to change into, but looking back on it, I think the slow pace helped calm me down even more and it helped me get into the mindset I would need to get me through what was to come.

I had two nurses; one was in training, and they pretty much let me do my own thing. Once they saw that I was with the midwives, they automatically assumed that I was planning on doing this without pain meds, and although that was merely my hope going in (I had a "we'll see what happens" attitude about it), having everyone in the mindset that I was going to do it naturally really gave me the support that allowed me to do it in the end.

My midwife Pam started me on Pitocin at 10 am. Over the next 5 hours they continued to increase the pitocin, I rotated between the birthing ball and the rocking chair, and Kent and I watched extreme home makeover on TV. I was contracting every two minutes or so. I was uncomfortable, but not in much pain. And the pitocin wasn't really progressing me. I was still at a stubborn 5 1/2 cm.

So at 3 pm, my midwife and I decided that she should break my water. The very next contraction was a bit stronger, and the one after that left me breathless.
Yep, things were definitely moving along now. Pam and the nurses left me and Kent and said they'd be back in 20 minutes to check on me again.

With each contraction I felt my resolve weakening. This was pain. This was tough. And I didn't think I had it in me. I started to tell Kent that I couldn't do it, that I wanted the epidural.

He was SO good, helping me in the way I needed it most--just being by me and telling me to calm down and slow down my breathing. I really struggled with that; I kept nearly hyperventilating. But everytime Kent told me to breathe slower, I was able to refocus and make it just a little bit longer. I really needed him there by my side--I remember feeling like there had to be some way he could just make it all go away, and even though he couldn't do that, somehow just having him next to me was very comforting.

Before we'd gone in that morning, I had explained to Kent that I really really wanted to try and have this baby without the epidural. I told him that I needed him to encourage me, to push me to keep going.

It wasn't until afterwards that I realized what it was that I'd asked him to do.

There I was, in a very lonely, helpless, powerless place, pleading for relief, and he had to stand there and tell me to keep going.

I am so so grateful that he did.

He told me to just wait and see what they said when they checked me again. When the nurses came back I told them I probably wanted the epidural, but they also encouraged me to wait until Pam came back and checked me.

But Pam never got another chance to check me. Before she arrived I decided that I wanted to try and go to the bathroom, because I knew that an empty bladder would help things along. Getting to the bathroom took probably a full 10 minutes, because I had to stop and breathe through every contraction. The nurses showed Kent how to put counterpressure on my lower back, and that felt SO good. He continued to massage my back as I sat on the toilet and because we were already in there, I asked the nurses if I could get in the shower. With each contraction part of me would go numb, either my arms or my legs, and I was shaking.

But as they prepped the shower, I suddenly felt that urge to push. It was small at first, and I kind of doubted it, I mean, it had only been about 40 minutes since Pam broke my water and I had been at 5 or 6 cm. But then it came again, and the nurses turned off the water and sent me back over to the bed.

Once I got to the bed, I felt restless. I wanted to be on my side. I wanted to kneel. I wanted to do anything and everything except lay on my back. I wanted this to be over with already.
But then the urge to push came again, and much stronger, and I found myself on my back and the nurses were breaking down the bed.

Within moments, I was pushing. I don't remember anyone really telling me much--the nurses weren't counting or telling me when to push. It was all very instinctual. In fact, it would have been hard for me to follow directions anyway. I couldn't do anything but exactly what my body was telling me to do.

And it was hard. I screamed. A lot. But I couldn't stop myself--it was almost a surreal experience; I kind of felt like I was just sitting back and letting my body take over. I pushed three or four times, and then Kent told me he could see the baby's head, that she was right there. I remember telling him that I couldn't do it, that I was done, and he just told me that I was doing it, that it was almost over, that I was doing great.

I pushed again, and in my head I decided that I was done. She wasn't coming. I wasn't going to give birth after all. I didn't want to do it anymore.

But when the next contraction hit, I pushed with all my soul. I was getting that baby out right then and there. And she was here. The relief was instantaneous. It was done!

I laughed, I caught my breath, and my daughter's warm little body was placed on my bare stomach. She was beautiful, she was quiet, and she was BIG. 8 1/2 lbs. She wasn't turning pink as fast as they wanted, so the nurses took her over to the warming bed to rub her down with towels. She didn't like that, so she started to really cry, which "pinked" her up very quick, so they brought her back to me once Pam was done repairing my tearing. Besides being a big baby, as Ellie was born she punched her fist up next to her head, so the tearing was pretty bad.

As soon as Ellie was in my arms again I brought her up to nurse. She latched immediately, and she nursed for an entire 45 minutes! After the struggle we had starting breastfeeding with my son, this was amazing!

One of the nurses came in and told me that she had some bad news. I was worried she meant something was wrong with me or the baby, but she just said, "I have to prick your finger to draw some blood." I laughed. After what I'd just done, a finger prick was nothing. So I told her, "go ahead, prick all my fingers if you need to."

As the room quieted down and the nurses cleaned up, I felt this overwhelming sense of "did I really just do that?" I kept telling Kent "I did it. I just had this baby. I did it!"

That hour from my water breaking to Ellie being born was the most intense, difficult, painful hour of my life. But I am planning on doing it again when I have my next baby, because the recovery was incredible. I was walking within an hour after Ellie was born. I was able to sit up, eat my dinner, walk myself to the bathroom, hold Ellie--it was great! I remember after my son was born it took a few days before I was able to get out of bed on my own; the epidural was so hard to recover from. But with this birth, by the next morning I was up and out of bed, ready to leave the hospital and go home. I felt like myself again, even better because I wasn't pregnant anymore. And the recovery once we got home, instead of taking a week or so, seemed to only take a day or two. I needed less pain relief and less rest.

We moved across the country only four weeks after Ellie was born. It was hard, but I knew I could do it. In fact, the most lasting emotion I gained from this birth has been power. I feel like a more powerful version of myself. I did something I didn't think I could ever do, and I did it well. Now I am braver, more confident, and happier with who I am.

Plus I have the most darling little girl in the whole world to show for it.

birth of my daughter

Oh, what a birth.
The arrival of this little one was so much easier than my son's ... I suppose that's pretty typical for a second birth.  My body had done this once before, we weren't as nervous as we were before, and we had a lot of prayers sent our way.  What a difference.

I wasn't scared at all for this birth. Being a doula and having been through a lot of births lately, I felt confident and knew what I wanted. My husband Mark did too; he had recently attended a seminar on adjusting pregnant women, which ended up being as much of a natural childbirth class as it was an adjusting class. He said I could have it in the car if I wanted.

Well, it all began on a lovely Tuesday morning. There went the plug. I immediately began doing laundry, Mark vacuumed the house, and we tidied things up in preparation for her arrival. I then hurried off to my doctor's appointment for some halting news. "You are dilated to a two, but her head has turned sideways. I think you will have a couple more days." Wah-waaah.

So back to the house I went, and we decided to take off to Knott's Berry Farm to get a good walk in for me and some fun for our two year old.

My "braxton hicks" contractions were starting to feel more like those lovely monthly cramps.  Nothing intense, but a change nonetheless.  Still ... I kept that to myself and decided that if labor was coming, it was coming.  I would just go about my business and ignore it until I just couldn't any more.

The rest of the day was spent with Mark consistently asking how I felt, with me consistently shrugging and saying about the same -- although a bit more blood did make an appearance -- and our boy goofing around, playing in the hot tub and enjoying his last few moments as the complete center of attention.

After he was asleep and I had some time to focus on myself, I realized these contractions were feeling different ... but nothing too crazy, so it couldn't be real labor, right? Just in case I phoned my divine friend to warn her to keep her phone on that night, as she might be getting our two year old before the sun came up.

As we layed around, we decided to time them, just out of curiosity. 6-10 minutes apart. But they weren't really intense, so it couldn't be labor ... at least that's what I kept telling myself.  I felt sure that if I went to bed they would slow down or go away, and so we decided to attempt some shut eye. But I needed a couple of things from my wonderful husband beforehand ... an adjustment, and a priesthood blessing. And so he lined me all up between contractions with those magic hands of his and massaged the bajeezes out of my back. And then he gave me the most wonderful blessing I can remember. I am so grateful to be married to such an incredible chiropractic priesthood holder ... I fought a few tears, and then we decided to try to get some rest.

But those contractions kept waking me up. Finally, around 3:30 am I told Mark I just couldn't lie there any more, so I jumped up and he did as well. We went downstairs and watched infomercials while I paced, rocked, and bounced on my birthing ball while Mark timed. They were about every 3-5 minutes apart, and Mark asked what I was waiting for. I explained that I did not want to wake up my friend or our little man, and decided that I could make it till he was up and fed and taken care of. Then we could go.

So almost exactly at six, we heard our son crack open his door and sneak down the stairs. For once, that was perfectly fine with me.

Mark fed him and dressed him while I took a shower to try to relax through a few more contractions. We finished up at about the same time, and all piled into the car. Once at our friends', Mark simply hoisted the entire car seat out with the little man still in it and carried him up to their front door.

I started crying.

Just a little. I guess it really hit me that our last moments of just my boy and me had truly ended. Next time I saw that big-headed sweetheart of mine, I would be forever trying to split my time. He was no longer the sole focus of my attention.

When Mark returned, he seemed a little worried that labor was starting to kill me ... but once I explained the tears he calmly and a logically reminded me how good the whole situation would be for everyone. Of course he was right, but still ... it felt good to cry a little.

And so on we went for our twenty minute drive to the hospital. It wasn't so bad, no screaming or squeezing the crap out of Mark; mostly a lot of deep breathing and grimacing whenever we hit a bump. Before long we were there, and made our trek up to the third floor. I was still able to walk through the contractions, but I was starting to feel a little bit like jello.

The check-in process took some time. I don't think the gal in the office believed I was actually in labor. We filled out the necessary paperwork between contractions. At one point she asked me why I believed I was in labor. "Contractions," I told her, and she just nodded. I secretly wondered if she was right and I was just over-playing it, but that sounded like the worst thing in the world, and I didn't entertain the thought for long.

Our doula Elizabeth met us in the hallway on our way to the room. Having her there, I felt a second wind. I was excited to have her knowledge added to my own, and felt ready to get to work.

Apparently the hospital was quite busy that morning; a dangerously pre-term baby was born, and the fire inspector was on the way. It took about 45 minutes for a nurse to come in and get us all settled. But that was fine with me; my one fear with this labor was that the nurses might make me stay in bed the whole time ... I definitely did not want to be trapped. And so while we waited I paced, squatted, lunged, and did everything I could think of to create space and help that little gal get in the best position to make her entrance smoothly. Mark and Elizabeth were wonderful; always watching me, providing a little conversation and some laughs between contractions, and all sorts of physical support.

Finally two nurses came in, and they were incredible. Right off the bat, I knew I would like them. They were fine with everything I wanted to do. I showed them my birth preferences I had all typed out, and they asked how my doctor felt about them. I told them he said it should be fine, and to show it to them as they would be the ones with me through the labor. They laughed at that, but agreed.

So the nurses said they'd like to keep me on the monitor for a little while to make sure my little one handled the contractions alright, and then checked me.

I was at a seven.

YES. I felt relieved and a little surprised, but didn't have much time to dwell on it as another contraction came on. I decided not to get too excited or to look at the clock much ... just breath through the contractions as they came along. Elizabeth told me she had never seen anyone that far along and so ... with it. It's sure nice to have a doula around to give you a little confidence. 

I braced myself to start losing it as I thought back on my training. But until then, I would just keep breathing. Mark eventually asked me if I wanted to stay lying down or get up. I asked him to get the birthing ball (which is just a big exercise ball to sit on ... creates all sorts of movement in your hips without having to put forth much effort). So off to the car he went, while Elizabeth and I worked through a few more contractions.

Eventually our nurse came back again and hooked me back up to the monitors and checked me. I was at a nine. She had the other nurse notify the doctor, and told us to call her if anything changed; like my water breaking (which it still hadn't) or any crazy pressure.

So I decided to try the bathroom one last time, (empty bladders leave all sorts of space) and that walk to the bathroom about did me in. I didn't stay long before I was up and Mark was holding onto me through some intense contractions. I started shaking and sweating and feeling incredibly flushed ... and decided I needed to make my way back to the bed. That little walk brought on a monster contraction that ended with a hint of that undeniable, all-consuming urge to push. Mark and Elizabeth noticed and weren't surprised one bit when I whispered what I felt, and Mark headed out to the hall to tell our nurses. They all came in just as another contraction came on. Wow. I couldn't believe how hard I wanted to push ... and then suddenly a lot started to happen at once. The nurse began demanding I get on the bed or that baby was going to be born on the floor. My water broke all over myself and Mark as he tried to help me get up into bed. All sorts of nurses came in the room, and lights were turned up. And everyone seemed to be saying one thing: "Don't push!!"

They all had little tips too; "High breaths", "Don't look down," "Keep it short," and so on and so on. I wanted to yell, "You people are CRAZY if you expect me to do that!" But instead I just listened to Mark. He was right by my head whispering, "Just do what you're doing. Keep doing what you want to do, you're doing just right."

Mark later told me he thought it was funny that I just completely ignored the nurses ... but in all honesty I didn't. I did try to stifle the urge to push; but it is impossible! There was no way I could ignore it. I tried some of their breathing suggestions, but they always ended in a grunt. Oops. Suddenly a nurse told me to lie on my side. "It'll be easier on you; hopefully less tearing," and then Mark was saying, "Oh I see her, I see her, she's right there!" Then the nurse again: "Mama, give me your hand. Would you like to feel your baby's head?" And then another contractions, more hollering at me to not push, and more of my light-breath-grunt ridiculousness, and then it just didn't end ... the contraction didn't stop, it got stronger and lighter and stronger and lighter, and then burning ... but that was quickly pushed aside by that larger-than-life urge to push, and then people are exclaiming and then the urge gets stronger and then WHOOSH!

There she is, lying on my thigh. I'm shaking and almost laughing. Mark and the nurse placed her on my lower abdomen, but as they didn't want to cut the cord without the doctor there, and as the cord was wrapped around her little body and the placenta hadn't been delivered yet, that was about as far as she reached. I asked if she was still a girl, and Mark confirmed. I then said, "Oh sweetheart we did it!" And the placenta was delivered and they moved her up closer to me. Mark and I oogled her while the nurses all waited for the doctor to come in before deciding what to do.

Our doctor made his arrival about ten or fifteen minutes after she was born. He stitched me up (just a little tear), had Mark cut the cord, and left. And there we were. Three hours of labor in the hospital. Six minutes of pushing. And it was all over at 10:57 a.m.

She was here. Our newest little member, with all her dark hair and big eyes and olive skin. She wasn't even swollen. I don't think either one of us felt she could be any more perfect.

Welcome to the world, Miss Belen Christine Gunn. We are sure glad you have joined us.