Rory's Birth Story

PREGNANCY

My pregnancy with Rory was a complete surprise. I wasn't ready to have another baby after having such a hard time with Jesse's postpartum and babyhood, and was even debating whether or not I really wanted a fourth child at all, even though I've always wanted four children. I agonized about it, wondering over and over whether I had another pregnancy and postpartum in me, remembering vividly how difficult it had been to go through Jesse's pregnancy and the terrible breastfeeding fiasco that followed in the fourth trimester, which involved a horribly cracked nipple (that took 8 weeks to heal and was so painful that even brushing a bedsheet against it at night would bring me to tears), multiple cases of mastitis, thrush, and lots of pain and crying and sleep deprivation.  

I didn't think I was pregnant when my period was late in June. We had recently gone on a vacation to St. George and Jesse and I had dropped a feeding, so I figured my cycle was just recalibrating with all the changes. But then July rolled around and still no period. On July 4, I decided to take a test just to put my mind to rest. It was the first time in my life I ever took a pregnancy test hoping for a negative. I was shocked when the positive line came up right away, very strong. We hadn't been trying at all! 

Well, all of my doubts about whether or not or when we would have a fourth went away. We were having a baby! This would be our second gap of 21 months apart (Nancy and David are also 21 months apart). I got nauseous the very next day after taking the pregnancy test, and since I always get nauseous at 6 weeks, guessed that was about how far along I was. I was stressed and not happy at first, but things were definitely getting better as Jesse got older, and I adjusted to the idea, getting through the harder moments by telling myself "this is the last time!" though that also made me sad in a hormonal way. The first thing I did was to wean Jesse, who was 14 months old and still nursing, but only once going down for naptime. It was a big relief to be officially done, which we were on my birthday, when I was 8 weeks pregnant.

It turned out to be a fairly easy pregnancy and went by fast, as pregnancies do when you are taking care of multiple small people at the same time. The first trimester was a lot of nausea, exhaustion, and nonstop peeing, but not much throwing up. The second trimester brought some pelvic pain and I got very worried and depressed, since my pelvic pain and lower back pain had been horrendous with Jesse and lasted almost half of the pregnancy. To try to stave off the pain, I started doing a lot of pelvic floor exercises from videos I found online. That, coupled with regular barre and yoga and weightlifting classes I was taking at the fitness center, really seemed to help me. In fact, by the third trimester, I actually didn't have any pelvic pain and was walking much better than I had been with Jesse, or even with Nancy and David. I still didn't have great energy and got worn out from other things (dun dun dun), but pelvic pain was not nearly as big a deal this time around. Huzzah!

I decided to keep the gender a surprise this pregnancy, but I got a lot of strange impressions throughout which I had never had before with any of my others. I felt strongly that this baby was a lot like Matt, very calm, easygoing, chill, etc. They told me they were a "lucky" baby, optimistic, not a worrier, and were going to be a singer just like Matt. The bigger I grew, the fewer impressions I got, and I wondered if it was all just fanciful or wishful thinking in my own head. Then Baby would nudge me and say something like "I'm here, Mom," or "I'm not going anywhere," and I would feel comforted and reassured. I felt more in tune with this Baby than I had with the others, particularly during labor, but I'll get to that.

June 28, 5 weeks pregnant but had no idea!

My July 4th test

10 weeks

20 weeks

30 weeks

THE PRE-BIRTH STORY

 

I was worried all pregnancy long about Baby coming too early, and had asked the midwives early on what date I absolutely needed to get to in order to deliver at the birth center. That date? February 7. I could make it that far, right? Or could I... Jesse came at 37 weeks and Nancy came at 39 weeks, so it was a legitimate concern. I was measuring roughly one week ahead at every visit. Then, on Thursday, January 27, at 35 weeks, I woke up at 3:30 AM throwing up and having diarrhea. I was having sporadic, weak contractions and was too nauseous to eat anything. Was this labor? I was panicked that it was. I had an appointment that day anyway at the birth center, so we called my mom to watch the kids and I got Matthew to go in with me. I was shaking and still nauseous, but not really having contractions. They gave me a cervical check and while Baby was "low," the cervix was still high and shut. After three bags of IV fluids, a bath, and some disgusting coconut water, the midwife checked me again. This time, unfortunately, she said it seemed like there were some changes to my cervix. In retrospect, I think my body was very confused to be at the birth center, taking a bath, but not actually in labor, and was doing its best to try to go into labor since we were in the place after all where I had birthed all my children.

Anyway, it was decided that we needed to go to the hospital. I was not coping well with this news and struggling to articulate my feelings or to make logical decisions at this point. I was still shaking, exhausted from going on 1-2 hours of sleep, and feeling like I had been hit by a freight train. We went to the hospital, a very stressful and also strangely boring experience, which will no doubt end up costing us an arm and a leg once we get the bill. The nurse took one look at me and offered to have me go straight to a room while Matthew filled out mountains of paperwork. I was grateful for this, since I was barely able to stand at this point and was trying to wrap my head around the idea that I might end up giving birth at 35 weeks in a hospital, not at all what I had planned. Once in the dark hospital room alone wearing one of those gowns, I tried to calm myself down. I peed. I drank water. I shook. They put belts on me to monitor contractions and monitor Baby. Contractions were weak and sporadic. Baby was "perfect." The nurse gave me a much more rigorous (shall we say) cervical exam which reminded me of what it felt like to have an IUD placed. It was not pleasant at all. However, afterwards, she told me the good news, which was that I was definitely not in labor and that I would not be having the baby today. Then I got a shot of steroids to speed up Baby's lung development and was told I needed to stay for an hour of monitoring.

I was so wound up that it was very hard for me to stay still on the bed for an entire hour. I forced myself to do it, in the end, and once I was covered up in a warm blanket and doing my breathing exercises on my left side, moving as little as possible, I finally stopped shaking. That's when I finally was able to calm down. All signs of labor slowly died down. The nausea was still holding on, but finally I felt like I could stomach some broth, some Gatorade, some Ensure. They discharged us from the hospital and I drank all the fluids I could handle when we got home and took Benadryl and went to sleep for a solid 5-6 hours. When I woke up, the nausea was gone and the contractions were gone. I felt much better and my appetite returned. It was just a stomach flu! I could still deliver at the birth center!  

However, now I was terrified of labor coming on at any moment, and so I did as little as possible to aggravate my stomach or that might stress my body out. I relied heavily on Ensure for the next two weeks, and stayed in bed as much as I could. Once the stomach flu was gone, I got a cough and a sore throat (it was probably COVID, although I never got a positive test), which would come and go and come and go for the next - um, actually it's still happening, and this is close to four weeks later. I felt sore and achy and tired. I was lucky enough that I was able to work from home. I rested a lot. I bought a subscription to Hulu (best decision ever). So. Much. Ensure.

This went on, with me having days where I felt strong and like I would make it all the way through February, and other days where I worried that I would go into labor so fast we wouldn't even make it to the hospital. Finally, we reached February 7. It was a huge relief to me to make it this far, but I was still anxious because we hadn't done the GBS test yet. My appointment was scheduled for Feb 7 to do the test, but it was cancelled at the last minute because of a birth. We rescheduled for February 10. I could make it to February 10...right?

34 weeks

at the hospital at 35 weeks, worried that I was having the baby

THE BIRTH STORY

When I got out of bed at 9:30 AM on Wednesday, February 9, I felt fluid run down my legs and realized my underpants were soaked. I had just woken up from an unusual but lovely stretch of 6 hours and now had to start trying to wrap my head around the idea that I was on the clock to have this baby within 48 hours (actually, the midwives told it me it was 72 hours). I was hugely grateful that I had had a great night's rest to start off my knowledge that I was going into labor probably today. That was the first gift Rory gave me in this labor story.

At 11 AM I called the midwives, took in a sample to confirm it was my amniotic fluid (it was), and discussed plans. Because I was again just barely 37 weeks, we hadn't yet administered the GBS test, but we did it right then and sent the test to the lab. 

I was not having contractions at all. Maybe one an hour, so mild they hardly registered. However, I was immediately nauseous and didn't eat the entire day, instead drinking water, Gatorade, Pedialyte, chicken broth, and Ensure to stay hydrated and keep up my energy. I went "into myself," as you hear pregnant women say a lot, meaning I listened hard to my body and its needs and did whatever I felt like I needed to do. I peed a lot. I walked a little bit in my backyard. I lay down and tried to nap. I watched TV. I leaked fluid all day. I tried to prepare mentally for when the contractions would be painful by reminding myself I needed to surrender to them and not fight them. Mentally, this is the hardest part of labor for me, accepting and letting the contraction take over your body.

At 4:30 PM I began to have bloody show. A lot. Bright red. The change was exciting and encouraging, but contractions were still so mild. So far apart. So not even close to active labor. From my past experiences, I thought there was no way we could go to the birth center until I was actually having painful contractions. We were all hoping they would pick up naturally in the evening, but at the rate things were progressing, I was getting ready to face the fact I might have another sleepless night of labor ahead. 

I updated the midwives and they decided it would be wise to come in that evening at 7 PM for a round of antibiotics just in case I went into labor. We still didn't know the GBS test results and wouldn't for 24 hours, so it couldn't hurt, right? At 5 PM I sent Matthew and the kids off to the pool while I puttered around at home. I tried cleaning up some toys and doing other chores and just moving around to get the contractions going. This started a few and I started to time them at about 5:15 even though they were still very mild and easy to breathe through. 

At 6:30 Matt's sister Katie came to watch our kids so we could make the appointment. I was having contractions but trying to encourage them to get bigger, so I began practicing my birth positions and noises. Nancy thought I sounded hilarious. The contractions were very manageable and I didn't need any help from Matthew, so I figured I was probably somewhere between a 2 and a 4.

We left for the center around 7 and I had a long (1:30) contraction in the car. The longest, hardest one I'd had yet and while I couldn't get comfortable in the car. I was encouraged but also annoyed that it had to happen in the freaking car. 

When we climbed out of the car, I could tell my walk was slower than before and I was having to breathe and stop now for the contractions. However, they still didn't seem that painful, so I felt like things were early, not yet to the point of active labor. 

The midwives immediately asked if I'd be okay with a cervical check first, and I agreed, still thinking I'd be at a 2, or best case, a 4. When she said, "You're effaced 90% and dilated to an 8," I was floored.

I couldn't believe it. I repeated it over and over again, as it really dawned on me that not only was I in active labor, but I was almost in transition and the baby was going to be here soon. Matthew said he knew at that point we weren't going home. The midwives immediately sprang into action, filling up the tub and taking all kinds of notes on the situation.

At 7:30 PM I felt the first real contraction, one I actually needed Matthew's help to get through. By 7:40 I was in the bathtub (the same one I gave birth to Nancy in!), trying hard to find a comfortable position and failing. After each contraction, I drank Gatorade and I peed. I was so uncomfortable and starting to get scared about being in this much discomfort for a long amount of time. A few things that helped: one midwife told me to reach inside and feel the head, and I did and it was there and closer than it had been before! Another one of the midwives told me I was so uncomfortable because "on the other side of the discomfort is your baby." After a couple of hard contractions in uncomfortable positions, I couldn't take it in the tub any more. I was disappointed because I wanted a water birth, but I knew I needed to stand up. Once I stood up, my body instinctively leaned forward and I suddenly knew I was going to poop. The next contraction was indeed poop, but also brought that giant big full feeling of a baby's head and body moving down the birth canal. I had forgotten what that felt like, but was immediately reminded. Oh yeah, this is what that feels like! I knew then that Baby was one or two more pushes away. I screamed with this contraction and all the midwives closed in around me. I found this strangely funny, like I was controlling them with my voice. Then I sat back down in the water and they retreated. This was Rory's second gift to me, that I did get to have a water birth (and the shortest of all my labors!).  

In 2 giant pushes (which I hate calling pushes because I never feel the urge to push; instead, I have to hold it back until the skin stretches and just wait for the contraction to do the pushing), out he popped. (My phone tried to autocorrect that to "out he pooped," which is funny and accurate.) I could feel his head starting to come before I was ready and I felt that "ring of fire" feeling and immediately pulled back from it and begged him to wait just a little bit. And he did, giving me a few more seconds of pause to stretch and wait for the contraction to do the pushing. It was the easiest delivery I've ever had, and once again I knew with absolute certainty that I had not torn. Rory's third gift to me. No stitches, no tearing!

He was born at 8:07 PM in the exact same tub as Nancy after less than an hour of me realizing I was in active labor. Everything about his birth was how I would have chosen it and I couldn't believe what a surreal, quick, and almost pain-free labor it had been.

I was incredibly surprised he was a boy, and am still processing that I have a girl and three boys, never the family dynamic I pictured. However, he is 100% the sweet, gentle, mild, chill personality I connected with while pregnant. My chillest babe by far. He sleeps the longest of any of my kids (who never slept well even as newborns), sucks on everything we give him, didn't cry once at either one of his heel-pricks, and is just an incredible sweetheart. His name came to me in the middle of the first night, and it was one final surprise, since it hadn't been one of our top names, but I felt immediately, confidently, "His name is Rory."

He is my smallest baby, but has the most hair, and it looks dark. His facial features are still forming, but he looks like Matthew and my father-in-law to me. I love him and I'm so glad he's here. 

11:30 AM, confirming my water broke and doing the GBS test

4:30 PM at home, when I started having bloody show

7:52 PM, between contractions and only 15 minutes before Rory was born!

Rory was born at 8:07 PM

Fastest labor ever

Rory Philip Covington

6 lbs 1 oz

20 inches

37 weeks

Born February 9, 2022 at 8:07 PM

Jesse's Birth Story

THE PREGNANCY STORY

All of my babies have come close to holidays (I went into labor on St. Patrick's Day with Nancy and had David on Christmas Eve). Since my due date was May 31 (and later changed to May 29, and even later May 26), I expected this boy to come on Memorial Day or my mom's birthday (25th) or maybe on our anniversary (28th). I never dreamed he would come three weeks early, right before Mother's Day. But in hindsight, I should have been expecting the unexpected, because everything about Jesse, from pregnancy to birth, has followed a pattern of subverting my expectations.

We had been trying to get pregnant since early 2019, but I didn’t particularly want to have another baby in December, so we avoided March. When we got a positive test in September, I was excited. When nausea hit hard at six weeks, I was less excited, but was still feeling positive because nausea was a good sign that things were well. I had hardly any nausea with David, and had thrown up every day for almost six weeks with Nancy, so I was already thinking this baby would be a girl early on—wrong. I spent a lot of time dry-heaving over a bucket, but only threw up a handful of times. I ate a lot of Cheerios and milk for lunch, and began having to sneak snacks along for myself on my outings with the kids. We spent a ton of time at Wilkerson Farm in October and I remember not having energy to do much beyond doing the tractor ride.

10 weeks

At 10 weeks, I felt the baby move. I was shocked because I had never felt a baby move that early. The Internet helpfully suggested that I might be having twins. Since twins sort of run in my family (my mom had two sets), I asked my midwives to do an ultrasound check around 15 weeks to see if there was only one. They did a very basic ultrasound with a small machine and computer, and then started asking me if I wanted to know the baby’s sex. Again I was surprised. I’d never found out the sex of the baby before 20 weeks. But I was curious, and the midwife said, “Well that definitely looks like a penis.” Ha ha! So we confirmed that there was only one, and he was a boy. Since I’d been convinced that my baby was a girl at first, it was a bit of an adjustment for me to think of myself as a mom to two boys. I have three sisters and had always just assumed that sisters and girls and womanhood would continue to be a part of my children’s lives. For the first time I realized that I would have more boys in my immediate family than girls. It bothered me a little bit, but the moment Jesse was born, I knew he was mine just as much as any girl could have been and I wouldn’t give him up for the world.

My pregnancy continued to surprise me in mostly uncomfortable and inconvenient ways. I had naively hoped that this being my third time around would be the easiest. Surely my body was used to this by now and I could handle everything that came my way. Ha. I began getting back pain early on, early in the second trimester, and started having pain in my pelvic and groin area soon after, making my hips hurt whenever I walked and eventually making it painful to even lift one leg off the ground. That had come with my other pregnancies, but not until I was well into the third trimester. My second trimester with David had been so easy I had forgotten I was pregnant most of the time. Not so with Jesse.

20 weeks

I needed to pee constantly, at least three times before leaving the house and so many times at bedtime I lost track. My hips hurt and Matthew had to adjust them every night to help me sleep and be able to walk. Walking got very hard. The number of places I could take my kids by myself got fewer and fewer, especially with the playgrounds being shut down in March. We ended up going to one spot by the Provo River over and over and throwing rocks. They both got into riding scooters and I became terrified they would run away from me and into the street, but luckily it never happened. I was grateful my two-year-old, David, is kind of shy and clingy and likes to stay close.

I wasn’t sure how I would make it to the end of May. When the pools closed, I took up riding my bike since I could barely walk for a few minutes without needing to rest. Halfway through the third trimester, I had trouble just standing long enough to cook a meal or do the dishes. I had one episode where I was lying down in bed and suddenly couldn’t breathe due to pressure on my ribs and lungs. I had never had this before and had to walk around the house until Jesse settled down low enough again that the weight on my lungs relaxed. Jesse was also the first of my babies who somehow kicked me in the ribs and at the same time put pressure down low on my pelvis. This made me think that he was or would be a big baby (he was actually my smallest, but I’ll get there). I also had a feeling early on that this baby might come early, but I squashed this thought down since I didn’t want to deal with the disappointment of reaching my due date and not having a baby.

30 weeks

The due date was a bit of nightmare. I had originally told the midwives my due date was May 31 (based on my cycle being longer than 28 days for the past few months before we got pregnant). I was really hoping for a May baby rather than a June baby (Matthew’s birthday and David’s half-birthday are in June). But I had been pressured to be induced and have ultrasounds and interventions when David was “overdue” and I didn’t want to deal with that again. So my due date started out May 31. Then my initial ultrasounds and measurements put me at about a week ahead at every single visit. Once I called the midwives to find out what date I needed to get past to be able to deliver my baby at the birth center, just in case he came early. That date was May 8. I was sure I could make it to May 8. No problem, right?

Well, when I started having what felt like labor pains on May 5, I called the midwives again—just to be safe, this couldn’t actually be labor, right?—and managed to talk them into changing my due date to May 26, which was the date one of my ultrasounds had given me as my “due date” and technically put me JUST in the window for being cleared to deliver my baby at the birth center rather than be sent to the hospital. For the record, I was never once worried that Jesse was premature, but was still surprised to even be considering that I might be in labor. I have a bit of a tendency to put off thoughts of labor until the last possible moment; denial is one of my coping mechanisms, I guess? The midwife told me to try to keep the baby in until the 8th, but Jesse had other plans. I’ll just add that even though Jesse was technically 36 weeks and 6 days (according to my app) at birth, he hit developmental milestones for 38 weeks and didn’t have any premature characteristics such as difficulty breathing (he came out with a very healthy and annoyed scream). In conclusion, due dates are the worst and mine keep screwing me over no matter what I do.

36 weeks (one week and three days before Jesse's birthday!)

THE BIRTH STORY

May 4 I remember as a particularly good day. I had done a lot of Star Wars, May-the-4^th-be-with-you-related work stuff from home, which was fun, and then that night Matthew and I… um… well… anyway, it was a good day. I also slept particularly well that night, with fewer pee breaks and less discomfort than usual. May 5 started out pretty normally, but somewhere in the morning I began noticing that I was having contractions that I had to breathe through, and instead of wanting to eat lunch, I was having some nausea. Then I started pooping. A lot. And still more nausea. The nausea was a new labor symptom for me—surprised again! But the pooping and the contractions by themselves were distracting enough to me that I was concerned. I managed to get through my work meeting at 1 pm, and after that called the midwives just to make sure I could deliver at the birth center so I wouldn’t stress out, then took a warm bath to see if that would make things calm down or go away.

The contractions did not go away, but they weren’t very close together or very hard at that point yet. The nausea and the pooping continued. I wasn’t able to focus on work. I wasn’t able to eat much either, though I tried, really hard. Every time I ate, I threw up. Once I threw up so violently I got petechiae. Finally I gave up and just stuck to drinking juice, Gatorade, and water. The midwives recommended vitamin C so Matthew went and got me some vitamin C powder packets. I was still in denial—this had been a weird pregnancy, after all—but I started timing the contractions that evening.

They were all over the place, from between 2 minutes to over 20 minutes apart, from 30 seconds long to almost 2 minutes long, and went on the whole night long. I got maybe a half hour of sleep. On Wednesday, I still felt too sick to eat and threw up when I tried. Contractions were mild and irregular throughout the day. I was too tired to work or focus on anything, so I just lay around and tried to nap, but just got maybe one or two one-hour naps because it was so hard for me to get comfortable. Around 2:30 pm I went upstairs to talk to Matthew and then suddenly fluid was dribbling down my legs. This was another new and baffling turn of events for me. My water had always broken right at the moment my baby was being born. I was barely having contractions when this happened. What could it mean? We called the midwives again and they asked me to come in for a check-up. I knew I wasn’t in active labor yet, but they did a cervical check and I was 60% effaced and dilated to a 3. She offered to strip my membranes but I declined—I hated the idea of interventions and the word “strip” is really just awful, isn’t it? Since my water had broken, the midwife said she would like for me to have the baby in the next 48 hours (obviously, we were past the “try to keep the baby in until the 8^th” advice). If I didn’t have the baby within 48 hours, I would have to be induced.

I felt slightly stressed about feeling like I was on the countdown clock, but was feeling so tired and sick of the ongoing nausea and lack of sleep that I was feeling ready for labor to just come on hard and get it over with already. At this point, I expected things to pick up Wednesday night, and maybe for us to have the baby during the night. At first, they did. I had regular contractions starting around 12:15 am, and they were hard and they were consistent and they were close together. For four hours. Then they got gradually farther and farther apart, until I was only having two contractions an hour. I was so disappointed. Another sleepless night and no baby. The word “stripped” was starting to sound not so bad after all. I was so, so tired, and tried to rest during the day. Family members were worried about the baby and kept asking me for updates. My mom called to tell me I needed to get up and go have the baby, and I knew she meant well, but I was so exhausted I couldn’t deal with her worrying and nagging, so I hung up on her—sorry, Mom. Later, I found out she also called my midwife to make sure my midwife knew that I needed to have this baby. Oh Mom. I continued to have about two contractions (hard, labor-like contractions, that lasted about a minute) an hour throughout the day. Eventually, after Matthew put David down for his nap, we decided to go see the midwives again and try a few methods to get this labor thing going. I remember having a bit of a foreboding feeling hanging over my head as we left the house, thinking, “You know, this could be and probably is the last time you’ll leave the house with this baby inside of you.”

We arrived at the birth center at 3 pm and they checked me again. I was effaced 90% and dilated to a 4, which was encouraging. My contractions, however, were still irregular. I had one or two in the waiting room, but they didn’t feel very strong to me—not as strong as the ones I’d had in the night for sure. And even the nighttime ones had never progressed to the point where I needed Matthew’s help to get through them. So it all still felt very early stages to me.

They offered again to strip my membranes and this time I agreed. I was expecting something horrific and painful, but I actually didn’t feel a thing. Maybe the student who did it was just incredibly gentle? Anyway, afterwards she reported I was dilated to between a 5 and a 6, and then they went to get the room prepped and ready for me to hang out for a while, as they put it. I texted Sarah, my sister, to come down at this point, still thinking in the back of my head that the baby was probably hours and hours away, but better safe than sorry, you know?

I had a few contractions while we hung out in the room, but nothing to get excited about. Sarah showed up, we chatted, I drank some water and was surprised to find I was hungry and able to eat some cheese crackers without throwing up. The midwives suggested trying to relax to get labor going, so they left us alone for a while—maybe 30 minutes?—and Matthew downloaded Superstore season 4 for me to watch on my phone. I watched maybe 3 minutes of it when the student came in with a breast pump and suggested I try pumping for 15 minutes. I did, and boom—the contractions were back. I didn’t go back to watching my show, and I stopped chatting with Sarah and Matthew—I wasn’t able to focus on the conversation any more. The contractions were hard and coming more regularly. I began needing more help to get through them. The doula came and introduced herself. I liked her a lot. She was calm and strong and encouraging and did everything I asked her to immediately. She and Matthew both pushed on me for counter pressure and it helped me get through the hard contractions.

Since things were getting harder, I asked to get checked again. I remember thinking, “Hurry up and do the check before another contraction comes—I don’t want to have one on my back!” I was between a 9 and a 10 at this point. Crazy! At this point, things get a little foggy. Certain memories stand out though: The student filled up the bathtub, but the water was way too hot. I could barely stand in it for a few seconds. I decided against the tub anyway, since they had helpfully hung a rope for me to hold onto in the doorway, and it was easier for me to be surrounded by people pushing on me out of the tub. They brought me a couple of different birthing “stools” to try sitting on, and I ended up falling off all of them and onto the floor during every contraction. Curling my body, not “pushing” at all, counter pressure, and a warm cloth right on my lower back helped me manage the pain, which was getting worse. I began to moan deeply and tried hard to bring my moans low down when they went high-pitched, though I’m not sure how much of a difference that actually made to the contraction. After giving birth three times, in my opinion the biggest thing regulating your screams does is that it keeps the other people in the room from freaking out as much because they can tell you’re not suffering from a complete panic, lack of control, etc. Anyway, they all gave me a ton of praise and encouragement when I made my deep low moans and said I was guiding my baby out and I was doing an amazing job, etc. I was glad nobody tried to tell me how I needed to sit or force me to labor a certain way or that I needed to start pushing, blah blah blah. I did most of it on my hands and knees or sitting between my knees, though I had to have gotten up at some point so the baby could come out. My labor was low down, not in my back or butt or anywhere else, fortunately, and I had no problem with hemorrhoids afterwards (yay!). There was no talk of a cervical lip this time, either.

At some point, I also remember reaching in, feeling Jesse’s head, and getting emotional. This was the moment I really accepted that I was giving birth and soon. It’s hard for me to get to that point when in labor because it’s right before transition, and it’s full of tension and fear as well as excitement and adrenaline. This had already been such a long labor in comparison to my other labors, and I was so mentally drained and weak and tired at this point that it was harder than even usual for me to, in that moment, say, “I’m ready now. Come out, baby.” But somehow I did.

Then came the three or four hard contractions, and my birthing noises got very disturbing and guttural. I was even surprised myself by some of the sounds I made. I held back on each of these contractions as much as I could—not pushing, not forcing, holding back and away from the dreaded burning and tearing of the “ring of fire.” I’m so glad I had the instinct to do this, as hard as it was, because I could tell that the extra time I was able to buy gave my skin the time it needed to stretch and open just enough. Around contraction four, there was a “pop” sound and I heard somebody said it, but I knew what had happened without even looking—the head was out. And I still hadn’t felt a ripping or burning. And I still had never actively or intentionally “pushed.” The contractions did all the pushing for me.

I waited for the next contraction, and there was another pop. Shoulders and body. Then another short moment, and another pop. Legs and feet! He was out! He was covered head to toe in vernix (which I had never seen before—it’s like pasty, oily, white coating), and was howling bloody murder—very loudly and indignantly. I felt that wonderful relief from overwhelming pressure wash over me, and with it the elation that I had not felt any ripping or burning. I hadn’t torn. I knew it before they even checked me. It was wonderful to just clutch Jesse and feel nothing but relief and joy in that moment. I looked at Sarah and told her “I have a baby!” and we laughed and I asked her to take some pictures. I loved having her there right at that moment.

After a few minutes of holding Jesse and sobbing with relief this time (as opposed to when I sobbed from the pain with David), I went over to the bed and delivered the placenta. Then Jesse got to nurse a bit and we took pictures and called everybody. They checked me and it was just like I thought—no tearing, except for a tiny 1 cm tear that I’m convinced was already there from when I reopened my stitches after David’s birth coughing in the night. They didn’t give me any stitches. I felt amazing, the best by far after any of my births. What a wonderful, happy conclusion to such a long and baffling labor that had frustrated and surprised me at every turn. My recovery from the pregnancy felt like a piece of cake (farewell, pelvic pain and pressure! I don’t miss you one bit!). Breastfeeding, on the other hand, has been more challenging this time around as Jesse had a painful latch on one side and I am, at 31, apparently too old and cranky to be getting up every two hours to deal with engorged breasts and tender nipples and a flailing newborn’s gums. So yep, I got mastitis after about a week and even though I’ve recovered from it now, one of my nipples is still healing from the first week of damage. Things are improving, slowly but steadily, and Jesse has already soared well past his birth weight.

Jesse Valentine Covington
Born May 7, 2020
7:03 PM
6 lbs 15 oz
21 inches long

The Wild Bunch

My Miscarriage, Part 2

Here you can read about the conclusion of my miscarriage.

February 22, 2015

"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write this down. After it happened, all I wanted to do was talk about it, and the more time passes, the more my body recovers and my body has almost now completely forgotten the experience. It's like a dream or a lifetime ago. I'll try to tell you as much as I can remember.

After the ultrasound, we went home. Sarah and I went to Smith's, and then the ward activity at the church. I was feeling pretty well all evening. No cramps or bleeding that was strangely strong or anything. I went to bed around 11:30 pm. Matthew was pretty tired but I was feeling uncomfortable and awake, and thought I'd probably need another hour to settle down. So I asked him if I could watch Netflix on his phone. Around midnight, the pain started to get worse. I couldn't even find a single position in bed that would offer relief. I couldn't lie still, and I was starting to get sleepy, but was frustrated because I kept cramping and needing to pee. I decided to take a warm bath and that helped a lot with the pain. I was bleeding and passed some small clots. In my ignorance, I wondered if any of them could be the tiny baby. I kept Matthew's phone with me and watching Call the Midwife helped me to keep awake and not be too panicked. But after two hours of being unable to leave the tub to go to bed - I kept trying, drying off and getting a fresh pad and returning to my clothes, but then feeling so much pain and discomfort nothing would make it feel better but returning to the tub - I got scared.

I had read miscarriages take hours, days, or even weeks, so I was terrified of having to endure this for DAYS. I needed sleep badly but more than sleep I needed a break from the pain. I was exhausted and scared of having to go through this the whole night by myself, so around 2 am I woke Matthew and told him I felt really bad. He didn't know what to do, but he did try massaging me. It didn't help. I was feeling like I had a box inside my stomach pushing up and out and all around like I was going to explode. It sounds silly describing it and I can't quite recall it to my body's memory even now, but my mind was very clear that that's what it felt like at the time. Also, I was seating but couldn't leave the tub to cool off. My lower half wanted to be on fire and my upper half was dripping with sweat. And I was so exhausted. The pain never gave me a break. I could tell there were moments when it escalated, but I could never really feel it subside. The only way I recognized that it had subsided was when it shot up again.

Having Matthew awake and there for me was a great mental and emotional relief: he followed me back and forth from the bed to the tub with the computer, my clothes, towels, etc., so all I had to focus on was the pain. But there was no physical relief, and I really was starting to panic when even the tub didn't bring me any relief. We timed the pains, which by this time I was beginning to recognize were actually contractions, and the time seemed to both pass very quickly and drag on. We switched from Call the Midwife to Arrested Development when I began to be in so much pain I couldn't even pay attention to the computer for long stretches of time. Having something playing in the background was a good distraction and helped to keep me from noticing the slow passage of time.

As for pain relief, I tried everything. I took Tylenol very early on, but nothing else - perhaps I was too far gone, exhausted, and cynical to think Ibuprofen would even help? I meditated. It helped weirdly a little bit in the beginning, but not further on. Nothing helped further on. Matthew massaged me, but as all the pain was in my abdomen and not my back, it didn't really help. I tried "going with" the contractions instead of fighting them by tensing up. That felt very scary. Just giving up and letting the pain completely take over and just decide to go away or not on its own whim. Sometimes it helped a little though and the sharp hard pains went down a little to more manageable pain. And breathing. Good Lord did I breathe. I breathed every possible pattern I could think of, from quick, fast breaths to long, slow breaths to even, relaxed ones. It kept me alive but wasn't doing a whole lot else. I distinctly remember grabbing Matthew and being like, "WE ARE GETTING AN EPIDURAL!" at some point and I meant it, absolutely, 100%. I was positive that this wasn't normal and I couldn't take any more. I don't remember much of what I said. I kept saying, "I'm so tired. I'm so tired" over and over, and also, "all I want is for it to stop." At one point I felt might die? But not really? I didn't think it was worth it to try to go to the hospital and I guess I'd rather die at home than try to get in a car or call an ambulance.

Another thing that made everything more difficult was (TMI, but really, this whole post is TMI) pooping. I hadn't eaten very much, but around 3 am or something I kept having to go to the toilet. I was in awful pain and just wanted to stay in the tub but was so upset I kept having to poop. It was painful and unavoidable. I've never been in so much pain and somehow annoyed that I still had to interrupt my pain so I could take care of a bodily need.

I hated that I couldn't rest in the tub. I needed a floating pillow or something. My neck ached and my head and shoulders were too hot and even though I was dead tired, I could not sleep. There was one point when I almost dozed off on the bed with Matthew rubbing me and the heating pad, but it was only about a minute that I was actually asleep before the next pain jolted me awake again. I don't know how to explain that I managed to fall asleep in those minutes between contractions except for sheer exhaustion. I also remember shifting in the tub to try to find a position that offered relief and I found that going from sitting up to lying down hurt like hell, but once I was lying down, I felt a little better.

The changes in my body were very unpredictable. I felt I had 0 control over what was happening, but my body was figuring it out and taking charge without me. I am so grateful our bodies have this programmed into them. And I am amazed in retrospect at how much my body is capable of. The process of making a baby is truly awe-inspiring. Anyway, around 3 am Matthew and I discussed options. I really wanted drugs. I thought maybe my dad or the midwives could help me. We called our midwife at 4 am on the hotline and boy, she was unhelpful. A midwife had called me earlier on Thursday around 8 pm and told me to expect "a heavy period" and asked if I had any questions. Ha. Of course I was fine then and said so. So the poor tired girl at 4 am told us the pain would last "a chunk of time" and told us the usual spiel about relief methods that we'd tried and that weren't working at all. I don't remember anything else she said.

I quickly began focusing on the promise of drugs to get me through the pain. The vague hope and possibility of drugged relief was what I now clung to. At 5 am we called my parents, who knew nothing of the ultrasound or miscarriage, so it was a bit of a shock. My dad answered, said he was sorry, and said they had Lortab, which I remembered taking after getting an IUD, and it did help. So I was absolutely on board with Matthew driving to my parents' to get drugs. I was feeling a little better, just able to hold on, and my brain had become accustomed to the idea that we wouldn't be asleep for a while. Maybe it was my second wind. Matthew left me in the tub and I watched Call the Midwife and clung to the tub's soap dish holder in lieu of Matthew's hand. Fortunately, it seemed a very short time until he came back. I think the idea of "drugs on the way!" helped me get through. I took the Lortab immediately. Matt said my mom had given him a big hug and had a crumpled face and that meant a lot to me. After taking the Lortab, I waited for something to change. About 20 minutes later, the change came.

THE WORST PAIN I'd ever felt in my life. The previous stuff times 10. I couldn't hold in my screams any longer. I screamed into one hand, gripping Matthew with the other. It felt hugely powerful, overwhelming, dangerous, out of control, and if it hadn't gone away, I might have passed out. But it did. I thought we had reached a new level of pain and I'd be in this new hell for the forseeable future. I knew I couldn't bear it. I was crying. Another one came, just as awful as the last. Horrible, horrible, blackout pain. I think there were only 3 or 4 of these. I reached inside and became aware I could feel something. It felt like it could be another fold of lip or skin or something else. The more I felt it the more I realized it was coming out of me. But it was stuck. That made me excited because I finally had a measurable goal that I could work for, and if I could just get this thing out, there would be change, and possibly relief. So I started pep talking myself. "You can do this! I'm so close! You're soooo close! COME ON!" But it wouldn't come out, despite me pushing as hard as I could and giving it my all. Matthew said to wait and push with the next contraction. That was the first moment it really dawned on me that my pains were indeed contractions, and they were all building up to a big moment of pushing out something big.

I didn't want any more contractions. But ultimately, Matthew was right. I felt the exact moment the contraction came, somewhere while I was reluctantly taking a break from pushing. It was like my insides expanded suddenly and a big push, not from me but from something inside my body, forced the "thing" out all at once. It was huge - much bigger than I expected by far. Big enough to cup in two hands. Maybe the size of my fist. I felt a rush of relief and I was panting and lying back and the water was turning red all around me because so much blood had come out. I still felt a little bloated but the awful box-explosive feeling had slacked off hugely. I had trained myself not to move or do anything to disturb any amount of relief that I came across during the experience, so it took a few seconds for me to sit up, but I really wanted to see what had come out because it was so big.

So I sat up, slowly, and then - WHOOSH! - a flipping over, compression, release, turning over feeling happened in my abdomen and another huge object shot out of me like a torpedo. And then INSTANT relief. Powerful, overwhelming, beautiful relief. I've never felt anything so good. I felt I'd been reborn and had a new body. The exhaustion even seemed to go away. I felt like I'd immediately returned to normal, that everything sick, dead, and bad had come out of me, and my body was new, healed, and wonderful. I couldn't believe how the fast the change from pain to relief had happened. It was like a magical potion.

Matthew put the two objects on the bathtub edge. They seemed foreign and otherworldly, even though they had come out of me. He determined that what I'd thought was the baby was actually the placenta and the second object, a completely enclosed ball held together like a balloon, was the baby and amniotic sac. I was afraid to look too closely, but I knew that I had to, that I had to look and see if I could recognize our baby. So Matthew cut open the sac with his knife and immediately found the baby. It was so small but still very recognizable as a fetus. Matthew asked if I wanted him to take pictures. I wasn't sure, but I said yes. And I'm glad I did.

Looking at the pictures helped me feel a sense of reality, as in yes, this actually, really happened to me. And closure. And peace. And awe. So much awe. I felt that his baby had not suffered and that it had been dead for a while, it didn't have the means to feel pain yet. So seeing it was purely for us. We flushed it down the toilet afterwards, though I gave it a little almost-kiss first. I was worried I would feel very sad or emotional afterwards, but instead I was elated with relief and in shock and what my body had just gone through. There wasn't really room for anything else. A lot of blood came out after that, but I felt nothing. No pain. Maybe the Lortab kicked in by that point. I wasn't even tired any more. We stayed up recap-ing it and talking about what had happened for an hour. So many things made sense re: how my experience had built up and progressed just like labor. I was so grateful that in the end, my miscarriage only took a total of six hours, Matthew was there before the worst contractions, and the baby and placenta came out so wholly and entirely. Some people don't have complete miscarriages and then they can lose another baby when they get pregnant because the uterus is still coughing out parts. But I really felt absolutely certain that my miscarriage had been complete.

After Friday, I had cramping and bleeding very much like - surprise! - a heavy period. It lasted about three days. Every day after that, I felt stronger and stronger. I was even able to go swimming and have sex later that week. It was surprising, but one of the first feelings I had after the miscarriage was that I was ready to get pregnant again. I was inexplicably excited and giddy about it. Lortab? Inspiration? Hormones? No clue. It seemed that most of my friends who had experienced miscarriages had had D&Cs that were a lot more controlled and less violent. I definitely hope to never go through what I went through again, but the recovery was undeniably amazing, and it felt great to have all that strength and power to heal already within me. And we saved a ton of money by not going to hospital. Go me!"

My Miscarriage, Part 1

Okay, deep breath... my name is Ruth, and I'm addicted to birth stories. I guess it's not really that odd, considering I'm still technically in the "baby" phase and most of my friends have or have had or are planning on having babies. Lately, I've been poking around a lot of my friends' blogs and reading their birth stories, just because I find them so fascinating and powerful. I've even popped back here to my own blog just to read my birth stories, and capture a little memory of those intense feelings and experiences.

But one story I hadn't shared on the blog kept popping up also as a part of my birthing memories. And that was my first, my rawest, my this-is-the-closest-I've-ever-been-to-giving-birth experience. And it was, in some ways, a tragedy.  Yet I felt strongly impressed that I wanted and needed to share it on the blog, so if anyone were like me, stalking around blogs to read birth stories, they wouldn't miss what has been an essential part of my body's journey in pregnancy and childbirth. 

When we got pregnant in December 2014 (after trying for a little over a month, no less), I was so naive and unprepared, blissfully certain that everything would go perfectly according to plan and already telling people about our new addition to the family at Christmas, even though my due date wasn't until August (I thought I would never forget the due date, but lo and behold, four years later, all I remember is that it was in August - my journal tells me it was August 23, 2015). 

I felt very tired throughout the month of January, but not particularly nauseous, and I never even came close to throwing up. I was also having more headaches, and gradually learning that I needed to start eating smaller, closer-together meals to stave them off. In late January, my energy started coming back, which made me feel pretty good. Later I learned that this is when the baby had stopped growing. In my journal, I am full of optimism though. Baby is the size of a lime, now! I'm finally 10 weeks pregnant! Hooray, double-digits! 

Now I'm mostly going to start quoting my journal, since my memories get very detail-vague and feeling-specific (as in, I remember the details wrong but the feelings that accompanied the events are still burned very strongly into my mind). 

February 8, 2015: "2nd trimester this weekend, baby! Honestly I haven't felt very pregnant the past two weeks. Since the nausea has gone away, I've just felt a little bloated. Like having gas (oh, and I have that too). I probably won't be able to feel the baby move for another month. I haven't had any other trouble. I was really energetic and bouncing off the walls on Monday, so on on a whim, I went to work out at my parents' after work. It felt awesome, but after about 10 minutes of fantastic workout mode, I got really tired and kept having to lie down and breathe. I listened to my body and slowed down and did everything to stay comfortable. My workout took me a lot longer, but I felt great. Mom sent me an email reminding me to be careful about exercising while pregnant and recommended swimming. I thought that was kinda sweet. Glad she's thinking about me and Baby.

Matthew and I went to the birth clinic this week. The appointment was a little dull. They didn't check Baby at all, just took my blood pressure and asked me questions about my period and insurance. The midwife made a worried face when I said my November period was super light, but didn't explain any of her thoughts. I could guess what she was thinking since I thought myself, hey! Maybe I was pregnant back then! But I took a negative test in early December, so probably not. I felt this would be an awesome place to have a birth away from doctors and hospitals and epidurals. But I am really impatient to meet Baby or just have some proof of his/her existence. I want to hear a heartbeat, see a picture on a screen, find out the gender, and get a belly! I am automatically thinking of the baby as a boy because I want a David so bad. But if it's a little girl, that would be great too.

One more baby thing: after I worked out on Monday, I thought I had fixed my energy problem, but I kept getting waves or bursts of energy that burned out when I tried to work out after 5 minutes, but drove me crazy if I did nothing. Also, I was super horny. After one time [okay, we had sex, y'all], a little bit of brown fluid came out. I'd read this was fairly normal [sidenote: this is because the Internet will tell you whatever it is you want to hear when you're Google searching stuff about babies and pregnancies. The Internet has seen it all], but was still a little worried and grateful when nothing more brown came out later. It would be devastating to lose a baby, and I'm not even that far along! I can't imagine how awful it would be in the 2nd/3rd trimester."

My next journal entry is on February 12, 2015, and I want to note that I had not actually yet had the miscarriage at this point:

"The last 24 hours have been very difficult, physically and emotionally. I lost the baby. I was only 10 weeks (I was actually 12, but the ultrasound measured me at 10) and the baby stopped growing at about 7 weeks. We had an ultrasound today after I started cramping and bleeding pretty heavily over the past 24 hours. I had a sinking feeling ever since our appointment when the midwife couldn't find a heartbeat. I'd waited so long for that moment of reassurance and it was really hard to have more uncertainty. By Wednesday it was killing me. I was afraid I'd done too much heavy lifting on Monday or Tuesday moving books, but knowing that Baby had stopped growing three weeks ago meant it didn't really matter what I'd done. Even though I'm full on cramping/bleeding, I feel much more clear-headed and put together. The hard part now is telling people. My co-workers were very sweet, so sweet their texts made me cry almost more than I did finding out. The more the technician apologized to me and said she was sorry, the worse I felt. I had to go to the bathroom and have a meltdown and took ten minutes to come out. Then Matthew and I drove home and I got Sarah and we spent the evening together. 

I'm just ready to get this period over with. It should hopefully only last a few days. Maybe in a week or two we'll be trying again. I hope so. It will be a little fun to be in the "Are we pregnant?" phrase again [sidenote: as anyone who has been in the position of trying and wanting desperately to be pregnant after a miscarriage knows, it was not fun. It was stressful and heartbreaking.]. Not looking forward to a second first (ha!) trimester again though.... ah, whatever. I'm ABSOLUTELY looking forward to it. And now I'm writing furiously to get through these painful cramps. Bring them on. "

Another note: I'm actually editing quite a bit from these journal entries. I tend to ramble a lot when I'm writing, and spun off into a couple of side-thoughts about Sarah having a potential boyfriend (which came to nothing, but hey, now she's GETTING MARRIED SO THAT OBVIOUSLY WORKED OUT OKAY), how sweet and thoughtful my co-workers were/are, and some other personal thoughts/feelings that are actually a bit too painful for me to type up and relive here. Anyway, if you're looking for the ACTUAL miscarriage story without all the painful build-up, it starts here:

February 15, 2015:

"It's strange to look at my last journal entry because I don't even feel like the same person any more. As I was writing it, I was thinking about how little I knew in the previous entries and how naive I had been. Well, this entry is here to explain how little I knew and naive I was just in that last entry! I've learned more in the past few days about pain, myself, what I am capable of, what my purpose is, and what really matters to me than I might have learned or experienced in my entire life. I do feel that I've come closer to understanding life and death, and I feel that I have walked through the valley of the shadow of death. And yet, I feel  incredibly, amazingly, wonderfully blessed. It still hurts to see other people pregnant and to know that it will be longer than we hoped before we get to have a baby. But I am feeling confident in our decision to get pregnant and more prepared physically, spiritually, and mentally for the experience of birth and labor. I also feel in awe of the great power and miracles at work within my body without my knowledge or control. I took a while to write this entry, even though the experience of my miscarriage was barely a few hours after I wrote my previous entry, because I struggle to find words strong and meaningful enough to convey the sensation, feelings, and events that took place on Friday, February 13, from about midnight to 6 am.

Once the pain began to subside, my words were just "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God," and the relief/shock/awe/amazement/fear that I was going through still seems inexpressible. The memories of agony were replaced so quickly and profoundly with relief and awe that they faded almost immediately. It is only with some tough mental effort that I can recall just how terrifying and painful what I went through was. I'll do my best to write it down. Since it happened, I've told the story over and over again. It never feels complete. It feels like I must be leaving something out because how could a story with such powerful and incredible moments ever possibly be really told fully? Although miscarriage is very common, it does not seem that we talk very much about what it is LIKE and above all I want to change that so my sisters and daughters will know the truth of my experience, the fact, what to expect, what is happening. Knowing these things would have been hugely reassuring to me. I was fortunate to know as much as I did. If we hadn't had the ultrasound, I might have panicked even further, worried over whether the baby was alive/in pain, and been emotionally overwrought over the traumatic taking away of my last piece of hope for a healthy pregnancy.

By the way, emotional is not a word I would use to describe the miscarriage. I believe I was blessed, after my long period of crying in the bathroom (post-ultrasound), to let my emotions go and to focus instead on the physical healing of my body, which took 100% of my concentration. I honestly had no room to spare for emotion while going through the miscarriage (or m/c, as the Internet labels it). I found it to be a very mentally exhausting process, having to keep my panic and paranoia under control, managing pain and fatigue, and essentially keeping myself in survivor mode. But above all else it was PHYSICAL. The most physical experience I've ever had that I recall. I tried to think of things to compare it to in terms of pain, exhaustion, duration, intensity, fear, uncertainty, etc., and everything I come up with just seems ridiculous. Post-IUD cramps? Pretty bad, but I was able to stay on the bed the whole time and never felt I was going to be ripped apart or explode. Hiking Timp? Ha, please. I could stop and rest whenever I wanted. Workouts? Nope. I was always in control and never pushed myself to the point of searing pain, thanks. Depression/grad school? Well... this was grueling because it took so long to go through, I'll grant you, but even then I had breaks from hating myself and hating school and there were good times mixed in with the bad. Oh, and my favorite comparison? A heavy period. Ha ha ha ha hahahahahaha. If that's a heavy period, you're going to need your uterus removed. But here's the frustrating thing: the ultrasound tech, the midwives, the Internet - they all said the same thing, that a m/c at this stage would be like a heavy period, with "clots and tissues." I read helpful suggestions like taking a shower, massage, peaceful music, heat pads, and rest would help. I've done heavy periods before, so I though, okay. I can do this. It will be harder emotionally than physically, right? WRONG."

Okay, at this point I had to take a break from writing about the miscarriage and I didn't get back to it until ten days later. My next journal entry (about the details of the actual miscarriage itself) is over 16 pages long, and this blog post already feels pretty long by itself, so I'm going to go ahead and post this.

Christmas Day 2014: The morning we found out we were pregnant

February 2015: This was about a week before I found out I had lost the baby

11 weeks pregnant