Our Wonderfully Made

“Baby will come when there is looots of snow!”, I continued to tell my two and a half year old over the course of months leading up to our due date. As he prepared to become a big brother, often people would ask him “when’s baby coming!?”, to which he started replying on his own, while exuberantly extending his arms out as if to embrace a big hug, “loooots snow!!”. As snow kept being pushed off in our forecast, and barely graced the ground, I wondered if this would be true.

As we ended a weekend that would be our last as a family of three, and headed into a new week ahead, now three days past my due date, Branton offered to start work later the next day so I could gain some extra sleep. (Being 40+ weeks pregnant I wasn’t having solid sleeps, especially as Orlo still wakes mid night and joins us in bed!)

The next morning, December 21st, I woke up around 7:30am to find myself alone in bed, with sharp cramping. I expected it wasn’t anything to be worried about, and closed my eyes again. About ten minutes later, another contraction came, and I figured I’d go downstairs and see what the boys were up to.

As I came down the stairs into the living room, I glanced behind the boys sitting on the couch and out the window. Snow. Looooots of snow. It looked like a winter wonderland outside, the ground now covered in a thick, fresh blanket. I laughed, and told Branton that Orlo was right, and baby may just come this day, as there was surely lots of snow!

A few more contractions came while I sat on the sofa with the boys, roughly ten minutes apart. The boys were talking about heading to the Forks for coffee and cinnamon buns before B headed to work, as I decided to hop in the shower. As I welcomed the warmth of the shower, contractions started coming on quicker and more intense. Leaning against the ledge under the water, I felt ready and in control. Breathing through the contractions, I smiled, thinking to the night prior. Orlo had gone to bed on time (major win!), and I found myself engrossed in a copy of Birthing From Within, reminiscing to flipping these same pages nights before Orlo was born. That night, reading under the glow of Christmas lights, I felt more and more empowered as I read stories of other mamas birthing. I felt confident again, for the first time in weeks, as I was reminded of the hard work of labour, yet the fierce strength of a mother birthing. I envisioned a lion, and told myself to keep envisioning this lion when things got hard, as a reminder that I was strong. A reminder that the only way to baby is through the pain. A reminder that as contractions stack and pain increases, I would be closer and closer to meeting baby.

Stepping out of the shower around 8:30am, I stood in my towel attempting to brush my teeth as I rode another wave of contractions, quickly becoming more and more intense. I leaned over the bathroom sink, closing my eyes, and breathing through, knowing there would be relief soon before the next one came. As I closed my eyes, I felt little hands on my belly and squinted my eyes open a peek to see Orlo rubbing me. “Breathe mom, breathe”, he whispered, as he takes three deep breaths (something we’ve modelled for him when he’s frustrated or upset, which he utilizes often) – cue the heart melt! One of my worries about labouring at home was how Orlo would react. Would he be upset seeing me in pain? Would he be frustrated not being able to have my attention? How would he feel once things got more intense? Witnessing his soft demeanour, his quiet independent play as B got me water, his little fingers on my belly, his concerned, yet loving eyes… it was so powerful! It made me even more confident in how natural labour and birth is. How sacred the process is. He just knew, and it’s something I’ll never forget.

B told me he was going to kibosh going to the Forks with Orlo, even though I told him to go, that I was sure he had time (clearly I was delusional lol). He made the right call, as I soon realized contractions were now three minutes apart. Just after 9:00am, I asked B to call my sister to come over, as she was going to be taking care of Orlo while we went to the hospital. I did make a special request for a smoothie pick up on her way, as I felt the need for an extra energy boost.

My sister arrived by 10:20am (she lives just outside the city), and I’m pretty sure she was not expecting to witness full blown labour when she walked through the door. 😅 I didn’t acknowledge her coming in, and her presence is still foggy when I think back. I was nearing Labourland fast.

I rode another contraction and managed to make it to the front door. Another contraction went by and my coat and boots were on. One last wave, and I kissed my sweet boy goodbye, heading outside to the truck.

“Sir, you can’t go in with her. You must wait for her to go to triage to see how far along she is before going in.”

By 10:40am, we made it to the front entrance of the Women’s Hospital (after Branton missed the entrance and had to do a U-turn – I just about died as I felt baby descending!). B helped me out of the truck and we entered the front doors, welcomed by a few nurses asking Covid related questions. I had no words, so they finally turned to Branton to answer on my behalf. I don’t remember a single one of them, but I do remember someone rushing by with a wheelchair to which I declined as I did NOT want to sit down. Through laboured breathing I explained I’d rather walk, grabbing Branton’s arm tighter. Then I heard, “Sir, you can’t go in with her. You must wait for her to go to triage to see how far along she is before going in.” Normal, not Labourland Kayla would have pushed them harder and made them let him come in with me, but I had nooo time for that. I kept walking, as fast as I could (which was slow haha), while another nurse walked beside me (yet would not help me walk).

Finally, at the entrance to triage, the woman at the triage desk asks me for my Manitoba Health Card. Branton has it. I tell the walking nurse this, and she runs back to Branton while I’m asked more questions. “Do you have an appointment?” I almost think I’m dreaming, perplexed that this is for real a question, as I ride another intense wave, curled over her desk unable to make eye contact with anything but the floor. I’m not dreaming. I hear it again, “Ma’am… do you have an appointment?” I can’t talk. Another time, more forcibly now, “Ma’am, you need to answer me. Do you have an appointment?” I’m given relief from the wave, and I close to shout, “No! I’m in labour!!” To which I hear her reply, “How far along are you?” I’m flabbergasted at this point, and utter “40 weeks!” By this time, the walking nurse comes back and says Branton has lost my health card (funny story – he also panicked and lost my health card when in labour with Orlo… he ended up finding it in the snow this time haha). I managed to hand over my ID to this woman behind the glass who I was quickly becoming annoyed with, when I hear a nurse run through the glass gate I so eagerly need to get through. “Do you have a support person?? Are you alone?? Where is your support person??” I utter “They wouldn’t let him in.” “Where is he??” She sounds bewildered. “I have no idea but I need to go!” She grabs my arm, yells at walking nurse to find my husband, and rushes me into a triage room.

“She’s 8cm! Call her doctor!”

Suddenly, another nurse pops in, and is asking me to get on the bed. I told her I really didn’t want to, while she reassured me it was just to see how far along I was. My angel nurse helps me pull down my pants and assists me on the bed. New nurse grabs a hand held fetal monitor, checking baby’s heart rate, as angel nurse checks me and shouts out, “She’s 8cm! Call her doctor!” I vaguely hear her talking to my doctor on the phone “She’s 8cm, and in heavy labour, you need to come up here quick.”

I’m in a gown, and met with another nurse with another wheelchair. This time I don’t ask questions, I hop on this two wheeled seat on my knees, backwards, as I groan through another contraction. This nurse just laughs, and says, “Okay, hold on!” She is running me down the hall and to the elevator. Somehow, my doctor magically appears in the elevator at the same time. Is he Harry Potter? When did he arrive on scene?, I wonder. Branton is still no where in sight, but I can barely care at this point.

Elevator door opens, and I won’t let go of the inside handle. The nurse tries to tell me to let go, but I can’t talk as I hold on through yet another wave. It releases, and I release.

She wastes no time, running again until we are in the birthing room, where I’m met by two more women in gowns and masks. One asks me to get on the bed. I eye up a ledge just about my height, and I say, “I really don’t want to!”, thinking I’d rather ride the next hour or so of contractions standing up. She replies, “You don’t need to lay on your back, but this baby is coming!” I decide to give it a try, thinking I could always move around if need be.

I feel like a mama lion, roaring and clenching the pillow I’m face down in.

I hop on the bed on all fours and another contraction comes on. Quicker and quicker, more and more intense. I feel like a mama lion, roaring as I clenchthe pillow I’m face down in. Five minutes pass, and I feel the urge to push. I vaguely hear Branton walk in the door, throwing his coat off and grabbing my hand. I’m pushing now. The gowned nurse tells me to push if I feel the need to, and I’m already there.

Three more pushes and I can feel baby moving down, crowning. I’m encouraged by my team of nurses, my doctor, and Branton. Branton tells me I’m doing great and almost there. I tell him to shut up (sorry babe!). I’m in a zone and suddenly don’t feel encouraged by the chatter, and rather distracted. My doctor is doing warm compresses for me and helping to gently stretch as baby’s head crowns even more. For a second, I feel like I can’t do this. And then a moment later, I’m fiercely determined, knowing this feeling of almost defeat means I’ve made it, and baby is coming. I bear down and push as hard as I can, roaring louder. I don’t think it possible to push any harder, and then with one last almighty burst, I push and feel instant relief as baby slides out and is here.

Still on all fours, the nurse hands baby underneath my body to me. I’m in shock and overwhelmed, frozen in time. A nurse asks me if it’s a boy or girl and before I look down, I know it’s Olive. Confirming my feeling, I see and say it’s a girl! My Olive. The nurse says in the distance, “Born 11:11am, what a special time!” I can’t believe that all happened within 30 minutes of arriving to the front door.

Before I know it, I’m laying down with my sweet baby girl on my chest. I kiss her and feel euphoric. I am stunned at how quick she came, and so grateful! She’s perfect.

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I birth the placenta and the next thing I ask is “Did I tear??” With Orlo, I had a second degree tear and remember the recovery clearly. My doctor informs me there is no tearing and I can’t even tell you how happy I was to hear that!

I now relax, not wanting to leave, as I nourish my sweet girl for the first time. She latches as if we’ve known each other forever, and instantly she feels like home.

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I’m blown away, in awe, incredibly grateful, and flabbergasted once again at the magic and mind blowing experience bringing life earth side is. How is it that she has ten fingers and toes, a beating heart, and those bright sweet eyes? It amazes me she came to be from a seed, grew inside me, (came out of my body!), and is here. I’ll never lose my awe for the gift of life and am beside myself in gratitude that this is our story.

Welcome to the world, my sweet Olive.

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