Before I became a first-time mom earlier this year, I never gave much thought to a birth plan. I knew I wanted all the drugs — that was a non-negotiable. I knew I wanted to be safely in a hospital with my husband by my side, and I knew that I wanted the doctors to do whatever they needed to do to make sure my baby and I came out of the whole thing alive. However she was born, if she was healthy, it didn’t matter… until I found out at the last minute that I was having a c-section, and then, it mattered more than I ever imagined.
I was over the moon to be pregnant, but it was a hard nine months
I come in at just under five feet, and acquiring that giant bump made it impossible to sleep at night. Add in two trips to the emergency room in my third trimester, and by the time my 40 week OB appointment came around, I was done. It was my due date, my baby was head down, and I wasn’t dilated. Not one single centimeter.
“Let’s schedule your induction,” my doctor said, and I happily agreed. I couldn’t control a lot of things about my pregnancy, but this gave me a little of that control back — or so I thought. I would walk into the hospital at the scheduled date and time and have my baby. Except I never made it to my induction. The next morning, the contractions began. It was happening!
Going into labor, I was surprisingly calm
At this point, I was so done with being pregnant that when the contractions came, I just kept reminding myself that these long nine months were finally coming to an end, and I was going to meet my baby. My little girl I had always dreamed of. And then, I was going to finally drink some wine.
I struggled through a day of labor at home, watching Grey’s Anatomy in bed with my mom at my side as my husband rested up for the long night ahead of us. When I finally decided it was time to go to the hospital, I was shocked to find out I was already halfway to full dilation, and the epidural was a breeze. I ate popsicles and laid in bed, numb from the waist down as I watched Golden Girls in between visits from my nurse.
By morning, my OB came into the room to check me, and I crossed my fingers that I’d progressed enough that this would all be over soon.
It was then that I'd learned I'd be having a c-section
It had been more than 12 hours since I’d checked into the hospital, and I’d only progressed one more centimeter. According to my OB, it wasn’t likely that I’d dilate much more than that, and my baby girl was going to have to come out through the sunroof.
Instantly, I panicked. I didn’t plan for this. I had my bathroom fully stocked with jumbo sized pads and numbing spray at home. I was going to push her out. That’s how I envisioned it. That’s what I had planned. And until this moment, I didn’t know how much that meant to me. But that wasn’t what was happening, was it?
It all happened so fast
Before I could even process it, I was laying there under the bright OR lights as an anesthesiologist tried to explain to me what was about to happen. The uncontrollable shaking wasn’t something I’d thought to expect. None of this was something I’d thought to expect, though — I had never had surgery before, let alone be awake for it.
Soon, my husband was at my side and I heard my daughter cry for the first time. Penelope Reese was here.
“Does she have hair?” was the first thing I asked.
She did. They held her up to me so I could see her, and she was gone.
For 30 long minutes, I layed on that table while the doctors were doing whatever it is they do with a baby who was just pulled out of your body by a surgeon. I felt my organs being moved and tugged and watched the clock. I tried to push back the curtain so I could see my baby, but all I could see was her tiny feet. When would this be over? When could I see her?
The first couple of weeks of my baby's life were a blur
At first, I needed help going to the bathroom, getting dressed, and going up and down the stairs. I couldn’t even get out of bed without my husband helping to pull me up. I wasn’t sleeping, breastfeeding wasn’t working out, and it felt like it would be forever before my incision wouldn’t rule my life anymore.
One night, I was sitting on the couch holding Penelope all alone, and it hit me: I missed it. “It” was all those beautiful hospital moments that moms look forward to, the ones they tell you that you’re supposed to have. That first skin-to-skin moment, holding her in my arms in her first few moments of life. I missed the first 30 minutes of her life. And since she was only two weeks old, that felt like a pretty significant chunk.
I began to question everything
Was it fair to say that I had given birth, when really, what I had done was lay on a table while someone else did all the work? My OB told me that I would likely have to have a c-section again for any future babies, so I probably wouldn’t ever know what it was like to push a baby out of my body.
I felt like I didn’t really have a baby, I had surgery. And it didn’t even make sense to me that she was the one in my tummy, kicking away for almost a full year.
I was pregnant, and then I wasn’t.
I felt sick and nauseous and exhausted for nine months and then I had an operation and 30 minutes later, someone handed me a baby. There was such a disconnect there, and I felt like my body had failed me and her. It broke my heart.
When you’re pregnant, a lot of people tell you that “your body was made for this.” Mine wasn’t. What did that make me?
It took some time to process it all
Slowly but surely I began to recognize that I had a healthy, beautiful baby, and that mattered so much more than her actual birth. I may not have pushed her out of my body, but I was the strong woman who was cut open while wide awake in the middle of a pandemic. My abs had been sliced, my organs were slightly rearranged, and I had healed. I didn’t witness the first 30 minutes of her life, but I have been there for every single minute since then.
Penelope is four months old now, and it’s taken me this long to truly find peace with the way that she came into the world. But now, I know that it doesn’t matter how this smart, pretty, brave little soul made her way here. All that matters is that she is here, and I get to be her mom. The journey was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but the destination was worth it.
