Response to a post http://grubbsncritters.com/2015/02/wpc-rule-thirds.html
I remember the births of my children,
the memory of labor pains that never go away.
Dancing through a twelve hour labor at home,
then going to the hospital
“It’s your first child,” said the doctor on call with her intern,
“It’s going to be hours,” and having my first an hour later.
The nurse wanted me to wait for the doctor to get back.
Babies do not wait for doctors, they just arrive.
We grabbed a man in scrubs out in the hall and
dragged him into the room to deliver my child.
He was an OBGYN, who must have seen
the look of panic on my Doula’s face
took pity and stepped in and
did a good job of delivering the baby and
sewing me up afterwards.
Almost having my second child in the car as
the security guard went to the car behind us to
help with someone other than a pregnant woman.
They tried to make me talk to the labor ward on the phone,
“How far apart are your contractions?”
I may have thrown the phone at my Doula,
I knelt in the wheelchair,
I could feel his head coming
My second came out in the bag.
They had to tear it open to get him out.
He was born a minute after I made it into the room.
My third was a water birth that had a
false start labor after I made it to the hospital,
so I went home, got some sleep and
went into labor the next morning.
He was born all by himself in a rolling hot tub.
They said, “Anytime you want to push go ahead,”
plop and there he was.
The nurses backs were turned,
so I had to let them know,
“There’s a baby in the water.”
My fourth and most difficult pregnancy and
labor was with my largest child.
My water broke at 4am, by 8am
I was at the midwife’s office
they told me to go to breakfast.
We went to Bob Evans,
I made the staff very nervous.
I ate food but kept chewing ice water that numbed everything
until I realized by 12:30 that I was in full blown labor.
A nurse came out of nowhere and
helped me get into the car.
I had her two hours later.
She moved through all of the contractions
which was not entirely comfortable and
crawled out of me.
My due date was wrong,
I was in labor at my baby shower,
two weeks prior
but I was told to wait until I hit 37 weeks
she was a couple weeks late (at least 42 weeks)
and very, very strong.
Exhausted, they had to yell at me
to open my eyes to see my latest child.
Amanuensis Sobriquet-Reverie 
While not the mothers of my children, I was there for each of their births. The progression from natural childbirth for the first — huffing and puffing in my wife’s face — to making sure the water in our garden tub was tepid to warm for the water birth of my last child with my other wife, was as it is in your narrative.
Five. Three girls, two boys. Three in North Carolina (different cities, different moms), one in New York City and one in Portland, OR. Two home births; four by midwives; one by a progressive-thinking OB.
To be born in the cull is considered very lucky, you know. My last had the pasty-chalky residue of the cull, but was “clean.”
From my vantage, the birth process is a hallowed as well as a “hollered” event. My wife reached down and self-delivered the last child, with a loud echoing “F—!” Her girlfriends from church, who were crowded into the small remodeled bathroom, laughed.
Really nice descriptions on your part. Didn’t have to scratch too far for me to see it going down.
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You have excellent recall. All mine were natural, but in hospitals. Three different doulas to speak for me when my men were speechless. Three children born with my ex and one with my boyfriend. They both seemed so terrified. I couldn’t figure out why. I was the one squeezing out a cantaloupe, this last time and three large mangoes before that. Actually, I bet I was the one who terrified them, I kinda transcended normal human behavior once I hit transition and my lizard brain took over to GET IT OUT OF ME! Don’t get me wrong, if I were younger I would probably do it again, but I’ve sprained a tailbone twice giving birth, so the old frame is creaky, bulging and arthritic. 🙂 One part I left out of the first birth. My work friends came to the hospital and delivered flowers and wanted to visit me while I was in labor. The extra strong smell (because of the mother nose) of the flowers made me stop labor and I may have not so politely told someone to get those flowers the hell out of my room.
Thank you for your story and for reading mine.
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Wow! 4. And every birth is indeed different. The story of your 2nd birth reminded me of a friend who gave birth in a taxi after being stuck in Bangkok traffic! I never had a chance to do normal birthing for both my babies…had only experienced labour pains the first time and I had to do an emergency c-sect for that.
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A taxi is the perfect birthing chamber for the mom. Not so great for the driver, kinda like having a werewolf in the back seat and no silver bullets. Weird train of thought. Imagine the view from the sidewalk or passing cars. Crowning in full view. Not a PG-mind. I’m sorry to say.
My doula had to scream at me to get me out of the car, I was really ready to have him in the back seat. No wonder the guard ran. I bet hospital guards don’t get combat pay. Or training for demonic possession. Once again, I should probably hold my tongue, things just slip out in the middle of the night…
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