THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART III • BREASTFEEDING + POSTPARTUM

If you missed part I of the birth story, click here.
If you missed part II, click here.

When people would talk about 'just knowing' something, I was never able to relate to them until I became a mother. I had never really experienced having an intuition until I was put in this emotional role of Mama. It started as a timid, small voice when your sister became mine, and has grown into this roaring, confident voice that I now feel privileged to carry around with me as I care for you. The first time I ever had this 'knowing' feeling as a mother was when I brought your sister up to my breast to nurse right after her birth. As soon as she latched on, it was like the future flashed through my mind and I knew. I knew her latch wasn't right. I knew the battle to breastfeed would be fierce, but my determination I had carried around with me all these years would serve me well.

Each nursing session started with screams and ended with tears from everyone involved. She would move her head back and forth while frustrated little snorts escaped, but she would never latch. Her patience wore thin and pretty soon her frustrated snorts were replaced with back-arching, clawing, and screaming. Your Papa would have to hold her hands while I tried my best to maneuver her onto the breast. There were weeks of this. I came to dread sleep because the nights were the hardest, the loneliest. I would become anxious as the clock neared seven. Her escalating frustration made my attempts at helping her futile. Eventually she learned how to latch on, but it wasn't without toe-curling, jaw-clenching pain. We spent hours each night fighting with each other. I would try to correct her latch. She would yell out in frustration and become too worked up to latch on again. Crying would eventually exhaust her and she would fall asleep only to wake an hour or less later to do it all over again.

We went through weeks of this (ten or so), but it felt like months. I can remember sitting on the side of the bed with your Papa and saying, through sobs, 'It's going to hurt forever.' I couldn't see a way out. I felt trapped. I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to write. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to do anything. We tried everything we could think of. A nipple shield allowed me to heal, but didn't allow your sister to get enough milk. For a few weeks we tried using a supplemental nursing system. I pumped while she slept, then fed her with a small tube attached to my finger. We were afraid to give her bottles for fear that she would deny the breast altogether and I would be stuck pumping or using formula. We kept going to appointments for weight checks and kept coming back disappointed. When I was around other mothers, I would go home feeling bitter, defeated. They seemed joyful. Their babies seemed happy. Feeding them was as easy as shaking up a bottle of formula.

What was supposed to be a beautiful bonding experience became a depression-inducing nightmare. I had never dealt with depression in any form beyond the occasional bluesy day until now. It was like being sucked into a black hole, and it took me a long time to come out of it. I was determined to see it through though. I told myself I had to keep trying until I was sure it just wasn't possible. Eventually we met with an ENT specialist who told us she definitely was not tongue tied, which was a little bit devastating for me. I had held onto that as the solution. I didn't want anything to be wrong with her, but at the same time, I wanted an answer. I wanted to know it wasn't me. It wasn't my fault. Then we found a pediatrician who listened to her nurse and simply said, 'She can't breathe. Clear her nose with saline before each feed.' It was like magic. I felt a little dumb for not having thought of such a simple solution, but after a few days of fighting with her about latching on, she finally did and she nursed. On top of the breastfeeding troubles, we thought she was also colicky, but once her latch improved and she started gaining weight, all of those symptoms went away. She started smiling more than screaming and falling asleep content. I found that breastfeeding is a funny thing - some days you cry over the limits it places on you and some days you cry at the possibility of it being over.

THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART II

If you missed part one of the birth story, click here.

NOBLE ALEXANDER JACOBS

born 04/10/2015 at 3:47 A.M.

7 pounds + 10.5 ounces • 20 inches long

made in Brooklyn • grown in Missouri • born in New Mexico

I leaned over the bed and put my hand on Papa's shoulder. I paused, trying to think of how to wake him without sending him into a panic. 'Babe, I need you to wake up.' I shook him a bit. He didn't respond. I changed my tone. 'I'm having contractions. I need you to get up.' He looked at me bleary-eyed and whispered, 'Just give me a minute. I need a minute.' I recognized that the news of a baby joining us tonight was probably a bit overwhelming to wake up to, and though I wanted to yell, 'We don't have a minute!,' I walked into the other room to give him some space. A few minutes later he joined me in the kitchen. I was pacing, trying to stay calm, but there had been no warning. I'd woken up in the midst of an unpredictable coastal storm. The contractions had blown in when I had least expected them and were quickly reaching hurricane proportions. I told your Papa to call the midwife and pack a bag (I don't, for the life of me, know why we can never manage to pack a bag until I'm already in labor.), even though all I wanted to do was stay. I hadn't been able to ease into these active labor contractions. I had gotten no warm up time. What I wanted with everything inside of me was to just be still and try to focus, but I knew if I let myself slip away we wouldn't make it to the birth center.

Papa called the birth center and tried to answer some questions from Melanie. He finally handed the phone to me and I just said, 'I don't know how close the contractions are coming. I just know my body is telling me that I need to get to you.' We hung up and that was that. I stumbled from room to room, trying to gather what we might need and failing to accomplish anything. I finally just started shouting out items to your Papa, then I remembered I had made a list. My list making tendencies are usually an annoyance to anyone involved, but I think this list prevented you from being born in the car. We gathered just a handful of items and threw them into the nearest backpack. Papa walked into your sister's room in a hurry and she immediately sat up in bed with her eyes still closed and hands outreached like she was walking through the dark, wobbled side to side, hit her head on the wall, then flopped back down, still asleep. It was like a scene from a movie. He was laughing so hard he had to leave the room. He told me what had happened and I laughed until tears came to my eyes and I couldn't stand up. He went back in, a bit quieter this time, and shook her awake. 'We have to get up and go bye bye. Mama's going to have the baby,' he whispered. Of course, she was immediately awake, asking fourteen questions a second, ready to conquer the world. 'The baby's coming?!' she said excitedly.

As soon as we had everything ready, I hit the stairs and waddled as fast as I could to the car. Papa and Ev met me there, her exclaiming, 'Look at the moon, Mama! It's beautiful.' I paused and smiled. Indeed it was. It was a half moon - the light reflected off the hood of the Jeep as we drove. I was trying not to sound panicked as I told your Papa to try to get there as fast as possible. He turned on the hazard lights and blew through stop lights flashing his lights and honking. The man is good under pressure, I'll give him that. What was normally a thirty minute drive ended up taking twelve or so. I'm not going to lie, I had kind of always wanted to do that like they do in the movies and I smiled to myself a bit when that thought entered my mind. Your sister was yelling from the backseat, 'Slow down, Papa! This is dangerous!' and 'Red means STOP, Papa!' We looked at each other and laughed from the front seat, then tried to explain that this was an emergency and you can break the rules in an emergency. I also tried my best to talk her through what lay ahead. I told her she would need to be brave and she was, even when I wasn't. I don't even remember most of the drive or how many stop lights we actually ran. As we drove, the contractions became like clockwork and I started to shake. I tried my best to come to a place of acceptance for what might lie ahead.

THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART I

 

21 week ultrasound pictures that I never got a chance to share

Dear Noble,
You're two weeks + two days old as I begin to write this and unlike the way most people feel about time and babies, I question how it has only been two weeks. How have you not been here with us the entire time? How have I lived my entire life without knowing you until now?

The last few weeks of my pregnancy were. . . frenetic (much like your birth would be). I feel like I never stopped moving. We moved into our apartment and immediately our days became a blur of errands, lists, unpacking, and cleaning. My mind wouldn't let my body accept defeat. I was determined to organize and scrub and shop and fluff until this place felt like home. When I was pregnant with Ev, I don't really recall going through a nesting phase. This time around, it was like an automatic bodily function. I couldn't help myself. Papa would come home, take one look at my ankles and force me to sit. Even then, he would leave the room and come back only to find me up again. Sometimes I would just be wandering and surveying what still needed to be done because my level of exhaustion made anything else impossible, but I needed to feel productive. During this time, I was willing you to stay in. I had no list of specific things that needed done before I could feel ready to go into labor. I just knew I wasn't ready. We all weren't ready. I also knew without a doubt that I did not want to go into labor at night. This was such a permeating thought that if I woke for any reason in the night, I would instantly feel a sense of panic. My eyes would shoot open at some arbitrary hour and my heart would race. I would lay in the dark hoping not to feel a contraction, but waiting for one. Funnily enough, the theme of this pregnancy prevailed with labor too - acceptance + letting go of control.

our last outing as a family of three

Fast forward to the Monday before your birth. Papa was off work, so we had plans to spend the last day of his long weekend (and what we knew might possibly be our last outing as a family of three) at the zoo. That morning, I began having light contractions that continued for a few hours. They were fairly sporadic, which would usually make one doubt whether it was the real deal, but so were my early contractions with Evie. Once again, I didn't know whether I was in labor. (Looking back, I think some progress was made and I walked around at that point for a few days.) Though I hadn't had a chance to anticipate or feel 'ready' for labor, I started to feel some excitement creep in with each contraction. I sat up in bed for an hour or so, timing contractions with a book in hand, but getting no reading done. My mind would drift from thoughts of meeting you to my list of things we needed done before your arrival and back to the book, where I would reread paragraph after paragraph countless times over. Finally I gave up and laid the book down, content to sit with my thoughts. Though a part of me wanted this to be it (I had almost convinced myself it was.), I was a bit disappointed at the thought of not getting to enjoy this last outing we had planned. I hated to sit at home all day waiting for labor to show up if this wasn't it, but I knew second babies were usually more unpredictable and had a feeling labor would go quickly this time around.

I decided to take a chance and told Papa I wanted to go anyway. He reminded me of my plans to go grocery shopping just hours before Ev was born, but obliged. I'd been given strict instructions to call the birth center at the slightest sign of labor, but I'm a stubborn woman and like to push my luck apparently. I promised I would call if the contractions didn't stop once I started walking around. Alas, the contractions did slow to a halt and we enjoyed a short walk around the zoo and a picnic in the grass. Ev has an infatuation with picnics these days and gets giddy at the mention of them or even at the appearance of a granola bar at the playground.

Going into this birth, I anticipated it being faster than my first and I assumed faster meant it would be easier. I had done this before. I had an easy birth last time. I (thought I) knew what to expect. Looking back, I realize how incredibly naive of me that was - all babies are different, so all births are probably different too. Though I was confident in my ability to have a natural birth again, I still had fears. The first thing I did after settling in at the birth center was share them with my midwife. The majority of my care had been elsewhere until just a week before you were born; whereas, I had time to build a connection with all the women that were a part of my care with Ev. Luckily, it still felt like a familiar place even after three years, and the midwife that attended your birth also assisted at Ev's. 'I'm afraid of tearing and losing too much blood again,' I blurted out between contractions. Melanie assured me she would coach me through delivery to minimize tearing and give me a shot of Pitocin afterwards as a precaution.

This is a very personal admittance, but one that I think needs to be included for the sake of the story. With each of my pregnancies, it's always been important to me that as the end draws nearer, I feel connected with your Papa and this time around, Evie too. That connection is a vital thing that I pull from during my labor. Thursday night, Papa and I laid in bed for quite some time, having a meandering talk about everything and nothing. It was the kind of conversation that had gotten harder to come by with an excited totter around and the exhaustion of pregnancy. Afterwards, we made love and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Throughout the night, I was awoken several times by a contraction here or there, but none of them were strong enough to completely pull me out of sleep. Then one approached and my eyes slipped open. I braced myself for what I had a feeling was the one, the confirmation that I needed to know I was in labor. The contraction climbed far beyond a peak I was ready for as I felt my face become flush and threw the sheets off. I jumped out of bed and took a trip to the bathroom to assess things. There was nothing out of the norm, no signs of labor other than the contractions and that my pelvic bones and muscles along the inside of my legs were throbbing, and had been for days. I could barely sit down. I had never experienced that with my past pregnancy. I walked into the kitchen to check the time - one something - and started to time the contractions. It only took two for me to decide the timing didn't matter. These were the real deal and this was active labor. It was time to go.

THE BIRTH OF EVANGELINE IDELLA

Two months old.

02.28.2012 • 2:57 P.M.

Wednesday, April 4th, 8:45 P.M.

You're now two months, 1 week, 1 hour, 5 minutes old, and fast asleep. I've been sitting and thinking of the glorious event that brought you into this world for an hour now. I'll write a sentence, erase it, pause to scribble down thoughts, decide to scratch everything and start all over, and steal a glance at you in between. I watch you as you smile, hoping you're having sweet dreams. I hear you sigh and coo and grumble. There are no words to describe your birth or to explain how it has impacted me. I really haven't felt ready to give an account of it until tonight.

During the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I tried not to think too much about your upcoming and inevitable birth. Not because I was afraid of labor, but because my heart was swarming with so many complex emotions. I wasn't sure if I was ready to end this stage of our relationship and begin a new one. I loved sharing my body with you, so much so that I mourned the loss of that person inside of me after you were born. It was hard for me to connect the dots, to fathom that you, this beautiful little person, was what had been living inside of me for nine months. After two months, I still find myself placing my hand on my belly as I brush my teeth at night, thinking that a loud noise like the blender is scaring you and waiting to feel you jump, or feeling a split second of worry when you kick your little feet off my belly. As much as I loved being pregnant, I was still so ready to see you, to hear your cry, to feel your little hands wrap themselves around my finger, to meet the little girl I had already fallen for.

I'll start this story on the morning of February 1st. It was a Wednesday. I'm not sure how long I drifted in and out of sleep, oblivious to my body beginning the process of bringing you into the world. I remember arriving at that place between sleep and wake, recognizing slight cramps, but not feeling them enough for it to register as labor and wake me up. At last I allowed my eyes to open and my mind to process what had been happening. I rolled over and looked at the clock - 8:03 A.M. I lay there for a few minutes until I felt another. They were similar to the Braxton Hicks contractions I had been having for weeks, but a bit more uncomfortable. There was no definite beginning or end or pattern to them, so I brushed it off as nothing, possibly false labor. About the time I had arrived at the conclusion that I surely wasn't in labor, your Papa rolled over, cracked his eyelids open, and gave me a sleepy smile. I smiled in return and said, "I think I might be having contractions." It took a moment for it to register, but when it did, his face lit up. We lay there as he asked question after question, both of us trying to decide whether we thought this was it. In the end, we decided to get up and go about our day as usual, but get all of our things ready to go just in case.

I had intended on packing our bags weeks before, but put it off, telling myself I had plenty of time. After breakfast, we started slowly gathering the things we would need. I remember telling your Papa to leave things like the toothbrush out and we could gather all of that stuff when we were sure I was in labor. In my mind, I was convinced we wouldn't be doing that for a few more days, but he gave me an unsure look and packed those things when I wasn't looking, hoping that today was the day he would be meeting his daughter. I wouldn't allow myself to get excited for fear of disappointment, but I could tell he was bursting at the seams. I don't remember when we started timing them, but eventually we came to the conclusion that they were about 10 minutes apart, but weren't getting any stronger. I called Melanie, one of the midwives, around noon to give her a heads up. She didn't seem to think it was labor, but said it could be a possibility and to call her if they continued or became closer together. (Later she told me that out of all of their patients, I was the last one they expected to get a call from.) After that, I was almost convinced that this wasn't the real thing, so I told your Papa I was going to go grocery shopping once he left for work, just in case you came sometime in the next few days. He gave me a worried look and told me he wasn't okay with me going alone. I thought it was no big deal and said I would call him if something happened, but he still gave me an exasperated look and said, "I wish you wouldn't."

Your Papa decided to call his supervisor to see whether he thought he should go into work. His wife had just had a baby, so he asked her what we should do. Her reply was, "If she's in labor, she'll know it!" I guess that statement doesn't ring true for everyone. In the end, he told Papa to stay home. When you're an adult, I'll share what happened next, but for now, let's just say your Papa and I got my labor moving. My contractions were 10 minutes apart and at 2:00 P.M. they started coming 5 minutes apart. We still hadn't finished packing the bag, so we ran around the house and gathered all the last minute things. By 3:00 P.M. they were 2-3 minutes apart and getting stronger, so I called the midwives' on call phone again. We were told to make our way to the birthing center, but for some reason, it still hadn't registered that we were going to be meeting you in just a few hours. I thought she just wanted me to come in so that she could check and see if I was dilated. I got off the phone and told your Papa to load up the car 'just in case.' As he was putting our things into the Jeep our neighbor came out and asked him if we were going camping. He laughed and said, "No, I think we might be having a baby." We pulled out of the driveway around 3:45 P.M., oblivious to the fact that we would be returning as a family of three.