The Water Birth Story of GT Burton

GT’s Birth Story

Sunday, October 5^th, 2014

            It’s been 6 weeks and 3 days since GT Burton made his way into the world.  I’ve been meaning to sit down and write this out for a while now (about six weeks, to be exact), but taking care of my little man and his three-year-old big sister, K, has occupied the majority of my time.  I finally have a little bit of down-time, and so rather than making the butter that I’ve been needing to make (it can wait another hour – or day – I suppose, haha), I’ve decided to write down my birth story while the details are still relatively fresh in my mind.

             I started noticing some light-but-regular contractions around 9am on Sunday morning.  They lasted about 30-40 seconds, and were around 15 minutes apart, but considering I’d been in prodromal labor since I was 37 weeks, I didn’t think much of it.  I knew that birth must be close, especially now that I was 41 weeks and 2 days along, but I refused to get my hopes up yet again, only to have them dashed.

            So instead, I went about my morning.  J had worked the night before, so I got myself and K ready for church while he slept.  I made sure to eat as much as I could (kind of difficult, considering I was still severely suffering from Hyperemesis Gravidarum), and was thrilled that I only threw up once before packing the kids in the car and heading to church around 10:30 am.

            Church kept my mind off the contractions for the most part, and I purposefully did not keep track of how far apart they were (again, I was refusing to get my hopes up).  However, by the end of service I started needing to regulate my breathing during each contraction.  They still weren’t super strong, and thanks to my hypnobirthing techniques I wouldn’t even classify them as painful, but nevertheless I was relieved when service was over and I was able to go home. 

            When we got home – around noon – I put a movie on for K in the living room, and then went into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable and less constricting.  I ended up accidentally waking J.  We talked about church for a minute, and I told him I was having regular contractions that were getting stronger.  He asked if he should call out of work for the night, and I told him no, it was probably just more prodromal labor, and that he should go back to sleep.  He agreed, and after kissing him “goodnight” he went back to sleep and I headed out to make lunch for K.

            I made K a sandwich and we watched a movie together while I tried not to be sick again (I failed once or twice, but with HG that was nothing new).  By the time J woke up (around 2pm) I was starting to walk around to ease the pressure during contractions and really getting serious about my breathing.  I remember talking to him from the bathroom as he made his lunch/breakfast, telling him that if the contractions got any more intense he should probably call out of work “just in case”.  Right after that I waddled into the living room, sat down on the couch, then immediately stood back up with a loud, “Woah!” as I felt a very strange sensation between my legs.

            J immediately rushed into the living room, the worry-wart that he was (he’d been rushing to my side at every odd sound I made for the past several months, poor thing).  “What is it, what’s wrong?” he asked in a bit of a panic.

            I kind of laughed and said, “Well, either I just peed my pants, or my water just broke.  And I think I’ve got enough bladder control to make it to the bathroom, so…”

            I think he was a little dumbfounded, because he just kind of stared at me before asking me if he should call the midwife.  I told him not to worry about it, that I was about to text her, then I hurried off to put on my “pregnancy panties” (Depends).  I remember calling across the house and asking him to make sure the birthing pool was fully inflated and start filling it, to which he replied, “Already on it!”

While in the bathroom I contacted my midwife, Amy, and let her know my waters had ruptured and baby was on the way.  I honestly can’t remember if I called or texted, but I know I let her know that the water looked clear but kind of dark, but that I didn’t know if that was because of my blue panties or not.  After promising to keep her informed, I changed into my nightgown and waddled back into the living room. 

I decided now would probably be the best time to let people know that I was definitely in labor, so I called a few family members, talked for a few minutes, then updated my Facebook status and put my phone down.  I didn’t want to be distracted as things started picking up.

Around 3:30 I changed the Depends I was wearing and checked what the amniotic fluid on the used one looked like.  I noticed it looked kind of yellowish-green, so I sent Amy a picture just to be on the safe side.  A few minutes later she called me to let me know she was going to come over because it looked like meconium, but she couldn’t tell for sure from the picture.

She arrived just before 4pm and checked the fluid.  Sure enough, I had another meconium-baby (K had had some meconium as well).  She reassured me that everything was going to be fine, that meconium is nothing to freak out about, and that all the horror stories doctors throw at you are little more than scare tactics.  Yes, some things can happen, but the chances are very remote and generally only occur when baby is in distress.  ::Phew!:: I breathed a big sigh of relief, and she went ahead to check my vitals and check baby’s heartbeat.  Once I heard that everything was fine and going as it should I relaxed quite a bit more. 

Contractions started picking up in speed and intensity, but nothing overly “serious”.  I was doing really well, and I figured I still had hours and hours and hours to go so I sent Amy home around 6pm, and J and I decided to take K for a walk to really get things going.  It took nearly an hour after Amy to get out the door since I was trying to get dressed for the cold weather in between contractions, but we finally made it out right around 7pm.

We walked around the block.  Once.  And it took forty minutes.  I swear, as soon as I stepped into the cold air, transition hit me like a ton of bricks.  The contractions that, til that point, had been “pretty manageable” were suddenly clutching my uterus in a vicelike grip.  Every 30-45 seconds I had to stop and literally hang onto J as I moaned through another serious, 90-second-long contraction.  By the time I could see our house again I could barely hold myself up through them, and was very VERY grateful that he was queued in and supporting my weight when I couldn’t.

We made it back home and I stripped down to practically nothing in no time flat (I was not about to labor in my warm house while swaddled in a coat).  I remember going to the bathroom to be sick, then moaning through another strong contraction while still on my knees.  I told him he should probably call the midwife, and then informed him I was getting into the tub now. I know he called the midwife, his mom, and his grandma, but I was a little preoccupied in the nice warm water to notice much (they’re not kidding when they call water “nature’s epidural”, haha). 

I remember Amy arriving, then J's mom and grandma, but other than that it’s mostly a blur.  I think Amy may have listened to baby’s heartbeat once, but again, I was a little preoccupied…

I do remember my mother-in-law asking how far along I was, and Amy simply shrugging and saying, “I’m pretty sure we’re going to have a baby soon.”  I’m glad that’s all she had to say, because if anyone had tried to check me at that point they would probably have lost a hand; even with my hypnobirthing techniques, I was in full-blown transition and definitely considered the contractions “painful” at that point, haha.

I’m not sure at what time I started to push (I know it was right around 8pm), but I do know I had been pushing for a few minutes before I finally thought to say, “Oh by the way, I’m pushing.”  I remember Amy laughing and telling me she’d kind of caught on to that.

At that point I told J he needed to get into the tub, and asked (at least I hoped I asked.  I may have just been barking orders at that point, haha) that he get the camera ready for his mom to record (I found out later that it hadn’t been recording at all [I was absolutely devastated when I found out we had no video or pictures of his actual birth, but I have no one to blame but myself since I never thought to show anyone how the camera worked before-hand].  That’s why this birth story is so important for me to write!).

Once he was in the tub I started pushing in earnest.  I hadn’t been waiting for him, that’s just how it worked out.  I rested in between contractions and moaned through them as I urged my baby to make his or her way into the world.  K was standing outside the tub, and she was so sweet the whole time.  She held my hand and stroked my hair, and I remember her saying once or twice, “It’s okay, mommy.”  We had watched several birth videos, so I was fully confident in her ability to handle the situation.  And she did a phenomenal job!

I was kneeling and leaning over the side of the tub during all of this, and when I reached down to try to gauge the situation I was elated when I could feel hair!  I knew it was close, but I reminded myself that I needed to listen to my body and follow its queues.  This, I assure you, can be quite difficult when you want to push but your body says, “Wait a minute”.  But listen I did, and more than once I held back from pushing while my body adjusted and stretched to make room for baby.

Still leaning forward on my knees, I suddenly had an urge to push that I just couldn’t ignore, and voila! His head was born!  I was elated, but suddenly felt completely devoid of energy.  “Get him out of me!” I cried. 

“You’ve got to push, just push,” Amy said in response.

And so, with one final push, he was born into my husband’s waiting hands!  He was born on October 5th, 2014, after 11 hours of labor (6 hours after water breaking), and with our daughter, K, J’s mom and Grandmother, and midwife, Amy to witness!

“It’s a boy!” I cried when I finally turned around and he was placed in my waiting arms.  I’d always known he would be – just as I knew K would be a girl – but that didn’t stop me from gleefully saying to J, “I told you so!”  He, of course, just laughed.

I had to stay on my knees to keep his head above water since his cord was so short, but that didn’t lessen my joy any while gazing into his sweet, very chubby face.  I’ll admit my first lucid thought was, ‘He has a really fat face!’  But at least that’s better than what I’d thought upon seeing K for the first time (‘She looks like E.T.’)!  Nevertheless, I thought he was gorgeous and I loved him instantly, fat face and all. :-)

K got into the tub with us after he was born, and we all spent some time as a family just gazing at our new addition.  We each took turns kissing on him and rubbing the vernix into his skin (he was covered in it! Surprising at 41+2 weeks), but unfortunately his cord was so short that I wasn’t able to let anyone hold him just yet.  Finally I started feeling those all-too-familiar contractions, and it was just a few more minutes before the placenta was born.  The funniest part, to me, was when the blood from the placenta spilled into the pool and J suddenly stood up and jerked K away.  I laughed and said something along the lines of, “It’s not going to hurt anyone!”

After GT and I got out of the tub I handed him off to his daddy, then rinsed off in our bathtub before heading into the bedroom to rest.  Once he was back in my arms, K and J joined us on the bed and we all just rested together as a family.  It was absolutely wonderful.

It was another hour or two before J cut the cord, then we moved into the living room for his newborn evaluation.  He weighed a whopping 7 lbs, 14 oz and measured in at 19 ½ in long.  It wasn’t until after that that I noticed his ring and middle fingers on his right hand were fused together, and the same two fingers on the left were webbed.  As crazy as it seems, that and his white forelock (I thought it was blonde at the time) only made me adore him more.

Since then we’ve discovered he has Waardenburg Syndrome, a syndrome that affects the hearing (he’s passed the screen in his left ear, but has some hearing problems in his left) but not the brain or lifespan, and for which his fingers and unique hair are indicators.  But even with this syndrome, he is healthy and happy, and whenever anyone mentions his fingers I simply say it’s appropriate that they’re webbed, considering he was born in water, haha. 

We already love him so much in the short time he’s been earthside, and I am certain that he will grow into a loving and intelligent young man.  I pray that I will be knowledgeable and patient enough to aid in the process. :-)

You see what I mean???

Two more perfect examples of the "little things" that my sweet husband does for me…

I am six months pregnant, and have recently complained to him how I wish I had a body pillow. I borrowed one from my sister once, but I've never had one of my own. Well, yesterday, when he came home from work, he had a surprise for me: you guessed it, a brand-new body pillow! It is perfect! Last night I was so much more comfortable. And so touched that he thought of me.

Later that night, right before bed, I asked him if he could make a snack for me. Not to eat right then, but to put on the nightstand so that I would have it in the morning as soon as I woke up (I have hyperemesis gravidarum, and mornings are especially bad). He said that he would, but pointed out that we had run out of butter that day, which was imperative for this particular snack. I was a little bummed, but oh well, right?

Well, this morning after he left for work, I looked up my nightstand and realized that my snack was sitting on it. The same snack that I had requested last night. The one that we didn't have butter for. I guess he must've woken up sometime around 4 (he has to be up by 4:30 for work, poor guy), gone to the store, and bought butter just for me. I cried. :,-3

I don't know what I've done to deserve his love, but I hope that I keep on doing it!

It's the little things

I am a creature of habit.

For example, before starting to write a document on Microsoft Word, I have to complete a process: 1^st, select the entire document.  2^nd, change the font from “Calibri” to “Times New Roman”.  3^rd, change the type size from 11 to 12.  4^th, open the paragraph tab.  5^th, change line spacing from “multiple” to “single”.  6^th, change the “after” spacing from “10 pt” to “6 pt”.  7^th – and finally, the last step – click the box that says “Don’t add space between paragraphs of the same style.”  It’s a tedious process.

Why do I do this?

Because from the time I entered school, until the time that I entered my senior year, that’s the way it looked every time I opened Microsoft Word.  And when it changed, I about lost my mind.  So I figured out how to change it back to – in my opinion – the proper document format, and I’ve done it ever since then, regardless of the importance or frivolity of whatever I have to write. 

Much of my life is conducted in this manner.  I like routine.  I like familiarity.  Don’t get me wrong, I like to spice things up from time to time, but overall I prefer to know that my clock’s cogs are all in working order.

J is very much the same.  More so, in some ways; I have a mini episode when my routine is completely compromised, but it’s kept mostly to myself and lasts a very short while.  He, on the other hand, becomes a real pain in the butt to deal with until he gets used to it.  Which often takes weeks.

I guess that’s why it means so much to me when he deviates from his activities – his beloved routine, regardless of what it involves – to accommodate mine. 

The things I’m talking about may seem silly to some:

He texted me today during his lunch break.

He called me three times just to talk.

He remembered the name to the book I was reading.

He bought me a kit-kat while he was at the store.

He told me he’s going to take me camping up above Tensleep.

But once you understand…

…that he hates texting.  In fact, he pretty much hates communicating over technology at all.
…that he’s been working so many hours I’m surprised he can remember his own name, let alone the book I was reading.

…that his constant worry for me during this pregnancy has inspired him to buy mass quantities of whatever food I seem to be able to keep down during that time period.

…that he specifically found and chose this spot for camping because he wanted to take me somewhere I’d love.

They’re little things.  But for people of habit – like both he and I – even the little things can be hard to accomplish.  It takes a certain amount of dedication to deviate from your routine, once it’s set.  Even for something as silly as a kit-kat bar.  Or an oil filter <3 (long story).  But these tiny gestures of romance, fun, and especially of practicality send my heart fluttering like a schoolgirl’s.

Like I said, they’re little things.  But I guess it’s the little things that matter. :-)

Husband: a new perspective

Warning: the following post may contain content that may upset or hurt the feelings of certain individuals.  Not because it’s nasty or rude (because it’s definitely not), but simply because of the nature of the post.  If you think you could possibly be one of these individuals, please just stop reading now, because (respectfully) it’s not something I will apologize for.

Lately I’ve been thinking.  I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, but mostly I’ve been thinking about the title and position of “husband”, and exactly what that means for me as “wife”.   I’ve reached several interesting and rather enlightening conclusions, but what has stood out to me the most is how my thoughts on the matter have shifted over the years.

When I was a young girl, “husband” was something to fantasize over.  I, like almost every girl my age, had a list of all the attributes I wanted my future husband to have.  Among other things on the list were “handsome”, “smart”, “Godly”, and “good with/wants kids”; things that I thought were most important at the time.

As a teenager, “husband” was a fanciful ideology, so close within reach.  But then, marriage to me really meant “pretty white dress that I get to wear”.  It didn’t really register to me as extending beyond the wedding day (obviously I knew it did, but that’s the best way I know how to put it).

As a young bride (and still teenager), “husband” shifted from a wonderful fantasy, to a heavy iron chain that I couldn’t escape.  Not that mine was bad; honestly, I was very very lucky in that my ex-husband was (and still is, as far as I can tell) a very good man.  But the wedding was over, the honeymoon ended, and reality sunk in.  I’d jumped too soon, moved too fast, and said vows to someone I never should have said them to.  And so as each day went by, the ring on my finger felt more and more like a brand than a sign of commitment.

Now my view of “husband” has shifted once more, although this time I pray it never changes again.  Once again, “husband” incurs thoughts of “handsome”, “smart”, “Godly”, and “good with/wants kids.”  “Husband” now also incurs thoughts of “stubborn”, “maddening”, “difficult”, and “frustrating”.  But more importantly, now when I think of the word “husband”, I automatically think of something else:

“Wife”. 

For the first time, I find myself consumed with what it means to be a wife.  A *good* wife, that is.  It’s never really been something I’d given much thought to (I guess I always assumed I’d be a natural, haha), but now it fills my thoughts daily.  And so far this is what I’ve got:

Being a good wife means loving my husband unconditionally, no matter how I may feel about him that day.  It means pulling my own weight, but being humble enough to ask for his help if I need it.  It means offering my own help – even silently – to him, whether he needs it or not.  It means forgiving him when he has wronged me, and begging his forgiveness when I have wronged him.  But most importantly, it means giving myself to him.

Not just physically (though that too, haha ;-)), but in every way: emotionally, mentally, etc.  It means to make him my second priority (the first being God), and put him above anyone else in my life.  It means to make a conscious effort to keep him on the edge of my consciousness at all times (if not front and center).  And most importantly, it means to love and put him and his needs and wants before my own.

It’s not an easy thing to do.  I wish I could say that it’s cake, but it’s not.  I’m human, I get busy, and I have feelings that aren’t always conducive to a loving relationship.  But so far, as I involve God more and more into my life and my marriage, it’s getting easier every day.

And I’ve discovered something very interesting: the more I give myself to this marriage and devote myself to becoming a better wife, the more “husband” starts to mean one more thing:

Freedom.