At least *this* one wasn't born in the car!

{Daddy playing "boop! I got your nose!" with Miss Josie}

*the truncated version and stats*

We welcomed Miss Mary Josephine - "Josie" - on Saturday, August 7th, in a rather uneventful and boring manner compared to her brother, Drew, who was born in our car. I woke up to consistent and relatively uncomfortable contractions just after 1 a.m. Saturday morning. Not wanting to chance a repeat car delivery, we called the birthing center and headed in. Sadly, the contractions did not progress in scale and ultimately dissipated shortly after we arrived. Since we were scheduled to be 'induced' later that same morning, we stayed put and when Roswitha arrived at 8 a.m., we proceeded with the original plan. Josie was born at 12:40 p.m. and weighed 7lbs. 1oz. and was 19 1/4 inches long, the exact same stats as big sister, Paige. Due to a quick recovery were able to be home with the kiddos just after dinner time Saturday evening. All in all, it was textbook minus the false ctx earlier that morning. We are all thrilled to have our newest baby girl in our arms and the kids are absolutely enamored with her.

*documentary length version*

As I sit here, thinking of how best to document the labor and delivery of our sweet Miss Mary Josephine, the words that come to mind are 'boring' and 'uneventful'; at least when compared to the birth of our Andrew William, who was born in the parking lot of our local library, just literal minutes from the birthing center. If you have not read that story, click HERE to read the details.

{Roswitha and Josie}

As you can imagine, many many scenarios and plans were put into place in anticipation of avoiding another car birth. Some may read this and think 'gee, with #5, you'd think she'd have a better idea of when she goes into labor to avoid that kind of drama' - and the hilarity of it all is that I would be in complete agreement with your thinking.

{getting her footsie prints}

The trouble with this analysis from the outside is that there are several variables to consider, the first of which is that my first three pregnancies were induced at the hospital {read: a controlled environment, no guesswork, no muss, no fuss labors}. The second is that I had been induced with the first three prior to my EDD {estimated due date} for a variety of reasons. With my first, the doctor {I strongly believe wrongly} felt that my 5lb. 14oz. baby would be too big for me to delivery naturally if I went to my EDD, so rather than let me go to my May 4 due date, I delivered on April 25, or nine days early. With #2, I was induced again, this time due to complications from pre-eclampsia at 37.5 weeks. With #3, I was induced early because I had physically, mentally and emotionally hit a brick wall due to moving from our apartment to our new home just weeks before my due date. At 39 weeks, my doctor agreed to inducing - good thing b/c I was already at 6cm!

{adjusting her little strawberry hat}

Then there was the delivery story of #4 - and the problem of not having gone into labor on my own prior to. Talk about a disadvantage of EPIC proportions!! He was born nine days early, or 38 weeks, 5 days - on his own timeline, no induction!

{her first bath}

The car birth set up the scenario for this boring and uneventful labor and delivery. Why? Well, the final variable in all the births prior to this past Saturday is that each labor has gotten progressively shorter and shorter. The proper terminology for quick labors is "precipitous labor". A precipitous labor is any labor that is shorter than three hours of active labor.

{all dolled up in her 'go home' outfit}

#1 - 3.5 hours

#2 - 3 hours

#3 - 1.5 hours

#4 - less than one hour

#5 - ??

{at home relaxing and thinking how kissable those lips are!}

So...you can see the concern, no? You could describe my labor as a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode at the most inopportune time. The best offense was going to be a good defensive plan to do our best to diffuse that birth bomb. I thought out several scenarios that I discussed with my midwives. I had a week 37 plan - just in case - we bought chux pads in preparation of the very real possibility of having to deliver at home. I spent a considerable amount of time asking friends and family to send up some prayers for all of us, but mostly for my own mind because the stress was taking its toll.

{no longer thinking about how kissable those lips are :)}

Our D-Day ended up being August 7, or week 38. Based on previous pregnancies and sitting at 5-6cm around the same time before, we felt this was as far as I could go without falling into a risk category of repeating the same scenario as before. It would also depend on physical signs cooperating. No checking for dilation or effacement prior to week 37, lest we "stir something up" unnecessarily. It was more important to let baby girl grow as much as possible.

{advertising for P90X - graduates may experience new children welcomed into the family}

Labor must be psychosomatic to some extent for me. Neil's last day at work was Friday. All I could think about was getting a final French pedi and mentally preparing myself for the next day.

{wrinkly toes and flower-dy bahookie}

It was all set to go at 10 a.m. Saturday morning...that is until my body decided to freak me out by giving me relatively consistent contractions that played with my mind at the wee hour of one in the morning. I went into labor with Drew just after 1:30 a.m. as well and I believe, to some extent, my body may have listened to my brain just a little bit too much as it went into ridiculous scenarios of 'what if' and 'what would we do if...'.

{Jonathan, proud big brother}

With contractions every three or four minutes apart and lasting up to a full minute, we decided it was a judgment call we had to make and not waste any time calling the birthing center. And wouldn't you know it, my body, like the perpetual noise in a car that immediately stops when you take it into the shop, did the *exact* same thing??? We get there and the contractions had subsided and eventually stopped altogether.

{Ashley, proud big sister}

The game plan changed from arriving at 10 a.m. to Roswitha arriving at 8 a.m. instead. She insisted we go for a walk to spur on another round of contractions and then she would check to see if baby was 'floaty' or not so she could break my water. At 8:40 a.m., she broke my water. I fully expected the next step was to get in the tub and have enough time to fill it up and push the baby out five minutes later. I mean, past labors had dictated the same thing so why wouldn't I expect it?? The problem was, I would learn later, that *no* labor is ever the same, regardless of how many children you've had.

Bummer.

I sat there for the next 3.5 hours twiddling my thumbs, rocking in the rocking chair, standing, walking, sitting on the bouncy ball, laying down on the bed. *NOTHING* was consistent. A mild contraction here and there, at most they were 10 minutes apart, but were not progressing. Apparently breaking my water wasn't the catalyst I had envisioned.

{Paige, little big sister}

Just before 12 noon, Roswitha broke out the homeopathic remedies. The first, she said, would cause the contractions to be more consistent. As a personal rejector of Pitocin, the idea of taking something all natural seemed to be a great alternative. Within a half hour, I could tell they were more consistent, although they were still nothing to write home about. She came back a little while later and offered a second remedy that would increase the intensity of the contractions. Shortly after I took that one, the contractions were finally catching up with my mental desire. Just after that second remedy and before the contractions had kicked up a notch, Roswitha offered me an herbal tea that would have the effects of pitocin minus the need to shoot the baby out like a cannon ball. She left it with me as I decided to use the bathroom first before drinking it. In the back of my mind, I felt like I didn't need the tea. Something told me the two treatments were enough. I drank the tea anyway, not seeing the harm in case I was off in my own personal assessment, but within a minute or two of drinking the tea, I told Neil to buzz for Roswitha.

{He has *that* look like "I have *NO* idea why she's crying!"}

{"look Ma, no hands!"}

Something had definitely changed. The contractions were coming much more intensely and closer together.

{reenacting the womb - envision her as purply blue, wet, naked, and upside down ;)}

We had talked about getting in the tub once the contractions were close together and I was ready to deliver. Roswitha checked me at 12:30, said I was at 7cm and I once again asked {begged, pleaded, etc.} to get into the tub. She said now was the time, goes straight over to the tub and turns it on. The water pressure is so great that it shouldn't take long to fill up.

However, the race has begun. I told Roswitha if she saw me crying, that was my cue that delivery was not only on the horizon, but will be swift from that point on.

Let's just suffice it to say from that point on, I waited on the bed for the tub to fill up and suddenly the pain was so incredible, the thought of getting off the bed sounded HORRIBLE. I couldn't speak the pain went from 0-6000mph so quickly, it was like running for a 5K you didn't train for and you were forced to run top speed the entire time. Neil helped me get to the tub - I step in and the water is too hot to be comfortable, so I breathlessly mention that and Roswitha turns the water to cold.

But it's too late to wait any longer. I plop down in the water and my body completely takes over. Roswitha only has time to put one glove on. From checking me at 12:30 to baby born is 10 minutes. Miss Mary Josephine is born at 12:40 p.m.

She is a gorgeous purply blue color, covered in vernix. I wish I could say I enjoyed it, but the drama/trauma of how quick I went with Josie was the same as how quick I went with Drew. I remember Roswitha saying her head was out and to look, but my mind was quite literally not present. The pain overpowered everything and I just wanted her out.

In talking to Roswith after the birth of Miss Josie pie, I asked her how long my labor was. I won't argue with my German schooled midwife when she says it was a 30 minute active labor. Everything prior to any consistent contractions were not considered part of what she called "active" labor. Once my body got on the same page as everyone else, it got down to business fast and furious, almost to make up for the hours it was lolly gagging around.

The owner of the birthing center happened to be present too. I heard her tell Neil that she really didn't "get" how I could go so quickly and then said "I get it now" and then asked him some details about his delivering Andrew. She got me some powerade to drink and I remember her asking me questions, but I was *so* out of breath I could not think clearly or answer in complete thoughts. My head was swirling with how rapidly everything had happened.

And so, that's what a controlled, unmedicated labor and delivery look for this chica. Minus the use of drugs {which I would *totally* take over that kind of wicked bad pain}, I was textbook everything else, including healing, three fingers below the navel to the top of the fundis within an hour of delivery, and we were able to come home just after dinner time.

The million dollar question everyone asks...did the car survive? and other various aftermath questions answered

Martina writes:

Variations of that question are pretty comical too. My sister-in-law asked if it looked like a murder scene. A good friend of mine from childhood, Holly, asked if we would be trading in our new car. Another friend from Jonathan's playgroup, Angelia, asked who cut the cord.

So, I guess to tell everything, I'll start back with the story of the labor and answer all the questions at the end.

I think the last five midwife visit notes read about the same: "10/10 - patient is worried she will not make it to the birthing center - she is at 3cm", "10/24 - patient is worried she will not make it to the birthing center - she is at 3 cm and baby's head is engaged", "11/1 - patient is worried she will not make it to the birthing center - wants us to break her water and promises only to be as long as someone's lunch break - 4 cm", "11/8 - patient will have membranes stripped with next visit - fingers crossed, the kid will come out!", "11/16 - patient has membranes stripped, is now nearly at 6 cm". That last visit Neil and I spent the better part of that Friday evening walking around trying to get labor started. No luck. This kid was going to come on his own terms, like it or not. He must have known how stressed out we all were about when and where he would make his entrance. Neil's appts. were restricted to the north side of town (and looking back, this wouldn't have made *any* bit of difference), I stayed close to the house and was nervous to have my kids scattered around for their activities like swimming or CCD. My question, week after week at the birthing center, was *if* they would consider "inducing" me if I really felt that nervous about it. They cautiously said 'yes', but I think I was determined to be a big girl about it. Was I worrying needlessly about this? What were the odds I wouldn't get there in time...honestly? I don't think it helped that I had watched one of those shows on the Discovery channel (and HD to boot) about women who gave birth under strange circumstances. One woman ended up giving birth in the elementary classroom when she went to work with what she thought was mild labor pains. This was her third kid!! I thought to myself, 'seriously, how do you *not* know you're in active labor??' I wonder if that had any impact on my psyche... With my last labor at 1.5 hours, the birthing center felt that if I was to go, it'd be quick but likely only slightly longer than my last labor, so I'd have a good chance of making sure the kids were home and the sitter got there. I even had my backup plan in place. Ask a neighbor to come over *while* she waits for the babysitter. Heck, I had even joked that I should walk across the street to the firestation and introduce myself with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and explain to them there might be a chance they'd have to deliver my baby if none of my scenarios worked. Now the joke is that had I known, I'd have just stayed home and thrown down some newspapers and garbage bags in the bathroom. And I *might* have had time for all of that.

Now, I want it known that the birthing center did what they could knowing my situation. I just wasn't a normal case. They knew (and I did too) that I was at a disadvantage never having gone into labor on my own. They told me to not wait *at all* if I even *thought* I was in labor. Being induced is great if you're assured you'll never have to do it on your own. This time was a real headache. What do I look for? What kinds of pains can I expect? Even Braxton Hicks can be painful at the end of pregnancy, and anything that doesn't result in a baby at the end is false labor, no matter how painful or fruitless the process! I had a couple of times where I thought I might need to go in. Nearly 45 minutes of consistent contractions...stopped. Again, right around the hour mark...stopped. My body had had enough stop/start that when it was time, it got down to business.

I woke up just past 1:30 a.m. November 24 to my first real "on my own" labor. It was painful. I had read the Bradley books and tried to prepare myself. Neil and I disagreed that it was important for him to read it so he could be there for me during labor. He thought that was the midwife's job. I told him there weren't any t.v.'s in the birthing rooms. He decided to read the book. We practiced with the pillows and breathing - all that stuff you're supposed to do before labor gets intense. Umm, yeah, doesn't help when you wake up just minutes outside of transition. I think all things considered I dealt with the pain fairly well. I woke up to long, labored breathing. We took all of 15 minutes to decide whether to call the midwife. With two false alarms, and it being the middle of the night, I wanted to be sure. The pain went up the scale in a matter of minutes. I was thinking all logically still, which was weird. "I should probably put something else on", "Maybe I should brush my teeth, no one likes nasty morning breath while they're in labor". I was asked what I wore. Poor Neil - he gave up so many of his t-shirts so I'd have something comfortable to sleep in. I'm not sure he'll wear that shirt again, though, lol. It was his black Banana Republic shirt and I threw on some jeans and flip flops before grabbing my purse. Since we had thought we might have the baby the week before, I had everything still in the back of the car. Good thing. I never did end up brushing my teeth. The "screw it" mentality kicked in and I wasn't sure I could even walk to the car on my own. But I didn't let Neil know that. He was busy making phone calls and getting himself dressed. I knew we had turned a corner in labor when he said he'd be right back - he just wanted to let his folks know we would be leaving. I think I said in a pretty nasty voice that we needed to leave. So we did.

I felt every bump on the ride. I remember telling Neil to drive as fast as he could without breaking any laws. Man, I wish I had told him to just run all the red lights. That light at Parmer and 620 did *NOT* have a timer and we sat at that light for probably all of three minutes, but those three minutes might have made the difference in making it to the birthing center. About four minutes later, I put the 'oh s**t' bars to good use. I think after that, it was all kind of a blur. I remember telling Neil to run a red light, which he did. I'm thinking I said that b/c my water had broken already. My water didn't just break, though. That might have been fine if that's all that had happened. It broke *because* Drew was making his debut on the spot.

Huge gush, baby's head coming down.

Another gush and baby is now on his way out.

The birthing center will have to wait.

I think from the time my water broke to the time of delivery *might* have been around three minutes, if that. I know it couldn't have been any longer. Neil swerved into the library parking lot (and this is where I thank the Lord that it was in the middle of the night!), threw open his door and ran around to the other side where he asked me what to do. I told him (ok, maybe yelled, screamed...who knows...it wasn't my finest hour to be honest) to pull him out. He told me later he pulled him by the sides of his head and pulled him out. It's 2:30 a.m. I remember looking at the clock on the dash. Neil didn't even turn the car off when he threw it into park.

It wasn't done though.

He hands the baby to me. It's *very* cold outside and I have my thin jacket on, the door is open and Neil is at the back of the car going through the bags trying to find something warm to wrap him in. While he's doing that, I notice the cord is wrapped around behind Drew's neck. I don't know if it was panic or not, but I definitely know to act quick. If I'd had the foresight, I'd have held him near my knees and it might have made it easier to take off of him. But I think I was thinking of keeping him warm and just worked with the cord. It's a pretty squishy spongey thing. Neil brought Drew's take home blankey around - the one that Jonathan had picked out. I wrapped him up in that and rubbed him. I had forgotten about him needing to scream or something to clear his lungs. I think that's what made Neil panic when he called 911. He got back into the car and relayed their instructions to me. I could hear Drew breathing softly, so I wasn't panicked. Neil told EMS we were on our way to the birthing center. They actually asked that we stay where we were. But he told them it was just down the road. They pulled up behind us literally less than a minute after we got there. If our midwife hadn't been there, we would have gone to the hospital for an ordeal that I'll explain further down.

She had been racing down MoPac to get there.

She knew.

Her fourth child was delivered at home b/c she had an hour long labor too.

Neil went to the front door, no lights were on. He went over to the EMS truck. I knocked on the window to let him know the lights had just been turned on. He went inside, found the midwife, Roswitha, and they both came out. So, by this time, we've got EMS on standby ready to whisk us away to the hospital. Roswitha looks him over, sees he's breathing, looks good and tells us very confidently that we can send the EMS away. So, Neil tells them; EMS, by law, have to ask me to verify they are no longer needed and they leave.

Roswitha goes inside and gets a wheelchair, comes out to get me, which I'm sure looked hilarious b/c I haven't delivered the placenta yet. Thank goodness Neil's shirts are long enough on me that I'm not providing the world with a second moon that night, lol. She rolls me in, sits me on the bed, clamps the cord in two spots and hands Neil the scissors to cut the cord. For some, this is a moment of anticipation, husbands getting to participate in the labor and birth of their child by cutting the cord. For us...this time...eh, I'm sure it had to be somewhat anticlimactic. Or who knows? Maybe Neil saw it as the final event in a long string of much more intense events.

The reason why it could have been an ordeal: I was GBS positive throughout my pregnancy. What that amounts to was I had a bacterial infection that can not be treated through pregnancy and if the baby is exposed to it during labor for too long, the baby can get it, has a high fever, and back in the day, babies died unnecessarily from this. The baby is only exposed when the water breaks and the longer the water has been broken, the higher the risk is. You *can* get antibiotics, but you need to be in labor for a minimum of four hours for it to take effect. EMS, acting cautiously, would have exposed Drew to a battery of tests to make sure he wasn't affected. My midwife, with her fourth child, was also GBS positive. If any midwife was prepared to handle my situation, it was her. She has been a midwife for 26 years. She's German and very no-nonsense. She was the perfect person to be on call that night. Neil and I were probably rattled enough that we might have said yes to going to the hospital and ended up with a totally different set of circumstances. Because my water broke as Drew was coming out, he was exposed with minimal risk. Less than a few minutes exposure, as opposed to many long hours. He was fine, thank goodness. It ended up being best case scenario all around - labor, delivery and recovery.

So, the car...how is it? Well, the murder scene thing only happens if you deliver your placenta too. We were only in the car for a few minutes after his birth and I hadn't delivered that so it was all amniotic fluid. It was a quick cleanup and all I can say is leather is the way to go! Even when we left to come home, I sat in the middle row and there were only two small spots on the floorboards. We'll be keeping the car. It's funny. I don't even think about it much anymore. Probably better that way, though. When I took Drew in for his two week appt. with the pediatrician, the nurse asked me where he was born. I laughed. She said it was ok if it was the ambulance. I said, 'ok, half in and half out of our Yukon', lol. Drew waits for no one. This might be a sign of his personality. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.