The story of my birth

I decided to make my debut in this world a year or so after my parents met, nine months after they married, and precisely on my due date.

Labor began while my parents and my dad's best friend were in the middle of watching Charlie's Angels, which is extremely rude behavior before the age of DVR's or even VCR's.  How much more polite to come earlier, when my mother ran around the house several times vainly hoping to entice me? Obviously, my vague distaste for exercise existed even in the womb.

Despite her earlier attempts to jump-start labor, after only one major contraction my mother changed her mind entirely about that whole "delivering a child" thing. It obviously was not for her and she simply was not going to do it. My father, despite knowledge of my mother's fierce determination in most things, still realized the flaw in her argument and persuaded her to go to the hospital anyway; his persuasion taking the form of enlisting his friend's help in carrying her to the car.

I was born in rural, rural Arkansas in 1976 which  meant a few things. First of all, I would never like to wear shoes (true story) and would feel compelled to shop at WalMart (who shares its beginning in rural Arkansas).  Also, they didn't go into all those new-fangled things like epidurals or allowing the father's presence in the birth room. No, they still used laughing gas and made the father pace outside. As they wheeled my mother away, she grabbed my father's hand and left him with immortal words of wisdom: "Honey, I forgot to iron your shirts." I think they still used laughing gas just to give the husband teasing ammunition for the rest of eternity.

The rest of my birth is sort of unreliable as my mother was a little bit high and my father was not there.  I can assume that it actually happened. Pretty sure I wasn't dropped, even if that would explain a lot. It couldn't have been too horrid, either, as my mother did it 5 more times without any medication or epidural.  My siblings can thank me for their existence later.


Now anyone who has ever said, "What's in a name?" has never been through child naming negotiations. Sorry Shakespeare, but apparently there is a lot in a name. My parents were no different. My father, the driving force behind "Charlotte", made solemn vows to never abbreviate my name to "Char", a nickname my mother did not appreciate. I can't be certain what threats were made, but they must have been severe as the nickname was never used. On rare occasions when people insist my name needs shortening, I have gone by Charlie. I'm sure this is some cosmic commentary on interrupting Charlie's Angels with my birth.



I would like to preemptively apologize to my mother for the preceding story. Obviously I can only go on what I've been told about my birth and, re-reading it, it must be my father who told me. Why else the knowledge of what was on TV and the good-humored teasing of my mother? Any inaccuracies can be blamed on waiting until late to write this so I couldn't call and double check facts and/or my own faulty memory . I was born under the influence of laughing gas, after all.

Teddy Bear into an Elephant. (In cake surgery)

I've decided to take up surgery as a hobby. To be more specific, Species Changing Surgery. I have all I need: knives, prosthesis, frosting. No training needed, on the job experience is enough.  Did I mention that the animals I'm working on are made of cake? That's right, I recently turned a teddy bear into an elephant.  (Or as my friend called it, an teddyphant)

I've shown before my transformation of this same teddy bear into a monkey.  In case you missed it, here is the before/ after.

For Joseph's birthday I transformed the same teddy bear into an elephant.  I actually got the idea from the pan maker's site (Wilton Stand Up Cuddly Bear) He had wanted one for at least the last 7 months. Here is the process

1- Make cake. I use a recipe called WASC (White Almond Sour Cream), which uses a box mix and tastes yummy while adding density.

2- Cut out elephant ears from cardboard.  Wrap in aluminum foil.  Tape dowel rods to back.  Add dowel rods to marshmallow for arms and trunk.  (I put 4 for the trunk, but cut one off at the end because it was too long.)

3- Make buttercream frosting and use Wilton gel dyes to color.  I needed white, black, pink and LOTS of gray.

4- Frost front of ears pink.  The edges don't matter as they will be covered by gray.

5- Cut off bear ears.  Add elephant ears, arms, and trunk by inserting dowels into cake.  Frost bottom of feet pink.  Frost eyes following (more or less) shape of cake.

6- Start adding gray.  Continue adding gray until you think there is nothing left in life but making tiny gray stars.  Then take a break for a couple minutes to regain sanity and continue. (see how the trunk it too long?  Looks much better in the final picture with just three marshmallows).

7- Add finishing touches like outlining the eyes, adding small white tusks, making gray frosting dots along hands and feet for toes, and writing "Happy Birthday."

8- Make a wish and blow out candles.

6 Births and 1 Epidural Part 2

Having already birthed a child, I was, of course, a complete and total expert on pregnancy. Or at least I would have been, if only all pregnancies were the same. Despite a very different pregnancy, I dreaded most the worst part of my last labor: the pushing.

A little over two weeks before I was due I went in to a doctor’s appointment and was pleasantly surprised to find I was dilated to a 2 and starting to efface. Since I had been nothing with Elise at the doctor’s appointment the day before I had her, I took this news to mean I was seconds from labor. Seconds. Any idea how many seconds are in 2 weeks? Enough to feel like an eternity or two.

Two days before my due date I was miserable. Dilated to 3.5 cm and seemingly 150% effaced, it felt like the baby was ready to drop out. I was busy watching a terrible Sylvester Stallone movie( I know, I know describing Stallone movie as terrible is redundant) when my labor FINALLY began. We dropped off Elise, grabbed my bags which I had packed and ready to go weeks ago, picked up my parents and sister and headed to the hospital. I was still dreading the pushing phase.

And then my husband slept through my labor. Or at least that is how I like to tell the story…

Trying to save enough energy for that detested pushing, I quickly decided I wanted medicine, unfortunately, not quite quick enough. Too late for an epidural, I was able to get a sedative of some sort that allowed me to sleep between contractions. I woke for the actual contractions, though! I remember distinctly waking during one and looking to my husband for comfort only to find him snoozing in the chair beside me, his head resting on my hospital bed. I almost killed him! He claims something about working a night shift the night before, already late into the night, me already asleep, blah, blah, blah. I just remember myself in pain and him in dreamland. I try to never let him live it down.

Like my first baby, this one was posterior. I spent transition on my side trying to get him to turn before entering the birth canal, thoroughly unpleasant, but effective. After what seemed like forever, it was time to push; I had been dreading this time for 9 months. It took all of 15 minutes and only a few pushes. I was greatly relieved.

Ryan was born on a Friday (I think). On checkout day, which was a Sunday, I requested my church clothes brought in so I could change before leaving. We went straight from hospital to Church. Two weeks later we moved half way across the country for Peter’s medical school. Apparently I enjoy moving while pregnant or with a less than month old baby. I’ve done it thrice.

Six Births and One Epidural Part 4

Shocked. Incredulous. Honestly, a little scared and angry. I looked at the pregnancy test and saw two faint pink lines. Two? Two. Two! I counted to nine over and over, but the result never changed: my husband’s graduation from med school was just overscheduled with the birth of our fourth baby. I was waiting for the first day of my cycle to switch from the mini to regular birth control pill. That day wasn’t going to arrive for 18 more months.

A little over seven months later I was eight and a half months pregnant. Two weeks earlier I’d flown half way across the country with three children and my mother (a story that deserves its own post) to attend Peter’s graduation in Missouri. Peter had met us there with the moving truck and then continued on to PA. We both flew back to Utah to await the baby’s birth.

My official due date was 2 weeks after Peter was due to begin residency across the country. A lot of math, frustration, and scenario brainstorming had led us to one conclusion: we had to have this baby early. Factoring in Peter’s start date, time to travel from Utah to PA, and recovery time for the baby and me, we had a “no later than” date 2.5 weeks before the due date. Somehow we convinced the doctor to schedule an inducement.

The day of the inducement, I woke up feeling odd. I had a tightening feeling that came and went. It wasn’t painful, regularly spaced, or consistent in duration or intensity. My mother began to worry after 3 hours and suggested I go to the hospital. Mostly to humor her, I went. The doctor met us there to check me out. I was ready to give my mom an “I told you so” after being sent home. I wasn’t, after all, in any sort of pain. Instead the doctor informed us I was dilated to 8.5 cm.

Not yet in a delivery room, the nurses offered a wheel chair as transportation. I declined in favor of walking. I remember the nurse proclaiming in awe to her colleagues that I was walking to my room while dilated to 8.5. Soon we were settled and the doctor broke my water. I had my first painful contraction and directly afterwards felt ready to push. It seemed only one large push before our baby was born. It was the easiest labor imaginable.

Some things I learned:

• This was the only birth my mother-in-law was able to attend. Want to get bonus points as daughter-in-law? Have a relatively pain free labor where you can joke around through the whole thing and let her watch.
  
• After four kids, delivering the head and then waiting to deliver the body is next to impossible. That baby comes out like a projectile.
  
• If you can mildly walk down a hall, smiling and joking, while minutes from delivery, you increase your chances of getting the best delivery & recovery room in the hospital.
  
• Nurses talk. I was visited at every shift change by all the new nurses asking if I was “the one who had that labor.”
  
• After a labor like that you will be paranoid the next baby will fall out in the middle of washing dishes or something.
  
• Travelling across the country with a 3 day old isn’t as bad as it seems- they are still sleeping a lot.
  
• Always listen to your mother.

6 Births and 1 Epidural Part 1

There are so many things that can not be described, only experienced. Like color, kissing, chocolate, and (of course) child birth. That is why, a week before my due date, I had no idea I was in labor. Well, that, and the fact that I am very good at being in denial.

It all started when I kept waking up to this uncomfortable sensation. My constant thrashing was bothering Peter, so I decided to get up, hoping that moving would make the pain go away. Now, in my defense: 1) sleeping when 8 ¾ months pregnant is always uncomfortable; 2) all women start with false labor to warm up for the real thing and I had had nothing, 3) the day before at the doctor’s office I had not been dilated or effaced at all, and 4) I had watched Brazilian women giving birth in one of the 2 birthing classes I attended, and my discomfort was nothing to the (obvious from her screams) excruciating pain of that poor woman squatting over the floor.

Anyway, I may not have known what was happening at first, but an hour or so into the Perry Mason rerun, when the “discomfort” was coming exactly 7 minutes apart and lasting about 20 seconds, you’d think I’d figure it out. But I didn’t. Oh sweet denial! I did, however, walk past the bedroom and inform my husband of this weird “tightening” and its timing and duration. Due to his tendency to sleep deeply, I received some mumbled reply. And less than 30 seconds later a wild-eyed Peter burst into the room, “You’re having WHAT every 7 minutes?!?” I assured him it wasn’t labor. More like menstrual cramps (funny, I couldn’t relate uterus contracting to get rid of tissue with uterus contracting to get rid of baby. Oh sweet, sweet, denial).

Peter forced me to call and ask my mother, who assured me that what I felt WAS labor and I should start the drive to the hospital. And, low and behold, she was right. I had decided to keep the epidural option on the table and see how I went without it; I knew that after transition it would be too late. After a while in the hospital, I wanted to know how much time I had left to decide, so I asked the nurse how long it would be before I hit transition. She looked at me like a freak and told me I was already halfway through transition. This meant, of course, that I WAS a freak, since I obviously wasn’t going to need an epidural.

Things went great until it was time to push. That was when we discovered the baby had decided to come out turned the wrong way (posterior). So, during the next contraction, they flipped her. And she flipped back. Thrice. So they flipped ME onto my hands and knees. The baby turned, but as soon as I was on my back again she re-flipped. So I spent the next 3 hours on my hands and knees, pushing out my baby. At one point I asked if I could rest through a few contractions. Everyone laughed, but I was completely serious. Sweet denial that I could just stop myself from pushing even for one contraction.

Finally, the head crowned and I could flip back over. She still came out sideways. And then the nurse told me to stop pushing. Are you kidding me? My entire entourage (Mom, Dad, and husband) abandoned me for the foot of the bed where they could oow and awe at the baby’s head and now the nurse is telling me to breathe in a hyperventilating fashion and not push out the rest of the baby yet. Not push! Who was in denial now?

And as post script, when packing my bags for the hospital I was unsure what to wear home. I asked my mom and she told me (TOLD ME!) that she wore her regular clothes home when she had me. So I packed my favorite jeans. You know when I fit those jeans again? Never. I wish I could stay in denial about my pant size.

Only 2 more births left. Read about the other 3 births here!

6 Births and 1 Epidural Part 3

That December in 2000 was one of the most organized in my life. And I made no plans. I was due to have a first millennial baby: January 1, 2001. (Everyone knows the millennia really began 2001 NOT 2000.) My first two children had come early and I was petrified that my third would arrive at the most inopportune time- Christmas. This fear drove me to finish buying before the first of the December and wrapping before its first week was over.

And then I waited. The eternal wait of the last month of pregnancy. Any day, any hour, any second. Every RSVP ending in “unless I have the baby, of course.”

Two mornings before Christmas morning, we planned on heading over to my parents (in case I wasn’t there for Christmas, grandparents would have to substitute). My family was lounging around in bed with me when the first contraction came. By baby number three, labor was routine and we didn’t panic. We leisurely got ready, loaded the car, and headed over to my parents. All while timing the contractions. Then I helped my mother finish wrapping (she was not as prepared as I and needed to get finished quickly now that her next few days were going to be otherwise occupied).

We were still wrapping later in the morning when the contractions contracted to 4 minutes apart and we headed off to the hospital. When the nurse found out it was my third labor and I waited till 4 minute spacing before coming, she wisely decided to call the doctor before getting me checked in and checked out. And she was glad she did, because I checked out at 8 cm. Do you know what that means? I will tell you. No epidural.

Being strep B positive, I needed two shots of antibiotics, an hour apart, before the baby was born. Someone forgot to tell my baby. The doctor came in to check me and I mentioned I felt like pushing. “Well give it a try next contraction.” I know he wasn’t expecting the reaction to that push. I know because he was still dressed in his street clothes. I pushed, the baby entered the birth canal, and things started moving quickly around me. Through the intensity of pushing, I remember nurses frantically dropping the table down, throwing scrubs over the doctor, and preparing the baby bassinet. Less than one hour from entering the hospital, I was holding Ethan in my arms. Born two days before Christmas with beautiful, angelic white hair.

His voice, however, was not so angelic, unless you’re including the angels with trumpets. Ethan’s cry was loud! That adorable raspy newborn cry has never exited my son’s mouth. He was born hollering loud enough for the entire floor to hear. Nurses came to see who was making the commotion. I could hear him from my room as the nurses tended him in the nursery. Even now, his voice can rattle the windows.

In fact the doctor decided his lungs seemed so healthy, we could go home early, skipping the 2 day watch period necessary for missing the second shot of antibiotics. (I’m sure this had NOTHING to do with the fact that the doctor would otherwise have to come in on Christmas Day). Ethan left the hospital on Christmas Eve in a cute red stocking.

And I missed my first try for an epidural. Reason? Waiting too long before coming into the hospital.

6 Births and 1 Epidural Part 5

*I thought a fun way to celebrate my little ones’ birthdays would be to tell the stories of their birth days. Amazingly each was unique and a little funny. I hope you weren’t hoping for suspense on which pregnancy had the epidural, it is the second story I tell*

Before I begin I need to explain my previous experiences. There are two facts that help make sense of my state of mind. First, my last delivery had never hit hard labor, and second, in four deliveries I had never felt false contractions. Of course, I was terrified (and a little hopeful) that I would be doing dishes one day and the baby would just fall out.

The baby. This was the first time we didn’t know the sex of our soon to be child. Pennsylvania had a “great” custom of doing the ultrasound at 12 weeks and then charging $300 to do a later ultrasound to discover the sex of the baby. Since we already had 2 boys and 2 girls, we opted to skip the 2nd ultrasound.

Three times I started contractions. Three times I waited to “make sure.” Twice the contractions didn’t stop until after I went to the hospital. That was a joy. No really, now I was worried the baby would fall out without warning and determined not to go into the hospital unless I was 100% sure I was in labor.

So one morning I woke to contractions again. Ever resolute, I said nothing and went about my daily business. With such a great poker face, my mom (who had flown in to help out hold the baby) knew I was in labor. I’m not sure what tipped her off. Surely not that I stopped every few minutes to breath deeply with my hand on the small of my back. Really, it must have just been inspiration. Well, I waited all day. Until my kids got home from school and my sister arrived from her half hour drive to watch them.

And just my luck, when I arrived at the hospital and got all checked in, I was only dilated to a 3 to 4. I am probably the only woman in the world to be ecstatic to find that, upon arriving at the hospital, I wasn’t progressed very far. If I hadn’t been 9 months pregnant I would have leapt for joy. “Yes! I am only at the beginning of labor. That is awesome!”

You see, I, ever observant, had noticed- during the ritual telling of labor stories required whenever in the presence of someone in their last trimester- that many women’s eyes slightly glazed over during certain parts of the labor story. One day I realized they had no idea what I and others like me were talking about. You mean most other women use pain medication? Twice I had tried and failed at getting an epidural. But determined to see how the other half lives, I wanted to one day make it to the hospital in time to get one. And this rather stubborn and teasing baby had provided the opportunity.

So I got my epidural. Peter was worried about it, and even the doctor double checked with me. “Are you sure? You just seem to be handling the labor really well.” Yeah, I should be punished for a high pain tolerance? Not this time!

And then I read a book. The doctor came in to check and was ready to send me home. After all, I was calmly reading, as were my husband and mother. Until she examined me and I was dilated to an 8. “Don’t worry,” I told her, “I’ll call when I feel like pushing.” And when the feeling came I called, pushed, and had my baby. Did I mention that epidurals are A LOT easier than going natural?

After our baby BOY was born and cleaned and left with us, Peter and I started discussing names. We knew our girl name but had only a narrowed down list of boy names.

“None of those names seem to fit,” I stated.

My husband agreed, “Do you have any names in mind?”

There was one name I kept thinking, but I didn’t want to suggest it because in all our numerous name discussions- for all the children- this name had never been seriously discussed. Ever. But my husband wanted me to start the name game.

“What about Joseph?”

My husband was shocked, “That was the name I kept thinking. I didn’t want to say it because it had never even been considered.” Not even when our 3rd child was born on Joseph Smith’s birthday, and my dad strongly suggested it. So Joseph it was. By the way, he is still stubborn and a tease.

P.S. Trying to get this written in the morning before my preschoolers woke up caused the kids to miss their bus. I hope you appreciate my sacrifice ;o)

6 Births, 1 Epidural Part VI

*I thought a fun way to celebrate my little ones’ birthdays would be to tell the stories of their birth days. Amazingly each was unique and a little funny. Since I thought of this idea just this week, you will get part 6 first*

Matthew:

After giving birth 5 times, I was prepared for this last labor. And by prepared, I mean I had absolutely nothing ready. As I sat thinking one afternoon, one whole week before the due date, I realized I had yet to find somewhere to safely stow the rest of my children while I was busy “welcoming” their youngest sibling. Keep in mind, 3 of my 5 children had been born a week or more early. Like I said, prepared. Very, very prepared. So I looked up some friends and asked if they would be willing to add some kids into their schedules at anytime of day for any amount of time. Amazingly enough, 2 agreed. Even though they had met my children before. Gotta love good friends.

We decided to split the kids into 3 groups: the 2 boys needed to stay in our small town so they could go to school (or get picked up depending on the timing), I wanted the 2 preschoolers to go to a place near the hospital (about 20 minutes away) and Elise was coming with us. Everything was working out great! I think I even pulled out the infant car seat and washed it out. Although I have no recollection of washing baby clothes, blankets, or any other superfluous baby items.

That very evening I was getting ready for bed. As I climbed into bed (no small feat for a 9 months pregnant woman), I wet my pants. That’s right, I said it. I wasn’t even embarrassed or flustered when it happened. If you’re shocked, I am jealous of your non-6 child bladder. Even now, I can barely hold it when I sneeze, not a chance with a 10 pound load stealing my innards’ limited space. Anyway, I got up, changed, cleaned and got back in bed. Only to wet again. Strangely enough, I wasn’t having the normal warnings so I could practice my kegels. I rolled my eyes, changed again, added a towel to my bed (in case I lost all control of my bladder in the night), and climbed into bed again. You can guess what happened. Oh, how jaded I had become not to suspect what you all must realize by now. I just thought my body was finally giving up.

It was just after this 3rd moment that my dear mother, come to hold the baby help out, walked by the door to wish me good night. I rolled my eyes (she has 6 kids and was bound to understand) as I told her about my poor, overworked, squished bladder. Always a wise woman, she suggested my water had broken. My water, break? Not a chance. I had 5 kids and had never had my water break without "help". Yeah, long crochet hooks are great. No really. Nevertheless, the smell test verified it. I was not losing control of my bladder, just my expectations on what labor is like. And it was just at this point that my water REALLY broke. Everywhere.

First, I called Peter, thankfully already on his way home from work. “Call the doctor,” I could practically hear him pressing the accelerator to the floor as we talked. So I called the doctor,

“Have you had any contractions?”

“Why no, it has been 15 minutes since it broke and, hmm . . .
ohhh . . .hmmm. Yeah, I just had a contraction.”

“You better head on in.”

(As I reread this post, I thought I should note that Peter worked at a different hospital from where I delivered. I know that shows real loyalty, but this one had a NICU and Peter always likes to be safe, having seen too many “situations” to risk it).

So my mother and I (and soon Peter) began gathering what we needed to take (like I said, prepared). We called our friend who had agreed to take the boys. By the time I found the number of my 2nd friend, I realized this was going to be FAST. “Call back Susan and tell her she’ll have all four. We won’t have time to stop twice.” 15 minutes had passed from that 1st contraction, and they were progressively becoming quicker and stronger.

We practically dumped the kids at the doorstep as we sped to the hospital. Dropping off the kids plus the 20 minute drive took barely 15, Peter trying to convince me not to have the baby in our car the whole time. I don’t think the nurse believed how close I was until she checked me. I was in a monitoring room (definition: no drop away exam table). After she checked me, she was more convinced of the urgency.

“We aren’t going to have time to switch rooms; you’re ready to
go now.”

“Does this mean no epidural?” I know, silly question, especially
when I heard the reply,

“Epidural? The doctor isn’t even going to make it.”

Thankfully, the doctor walked in just as that statement was made. Apparently when a 6 time mother calls with first time broken water and has a contraction while on the phone, the doctor doesn’t wait to be called again. He walked in, I pushed (never knew how nice that drop down birth table is until I went without), Elise almost fainted (I will never forget her face), and Matthew made his rushed debut- all in about 10 minutes from walking in the hospital door. In no time at all I was in a recovery room and Peter was swinging by to take the kids home (“Done all ready?” my friend asked). It was all so quick, I felt in total shock. I can’t be done all ready! Not that I was complaining, mind you, just surprised.

And that is part six of how I had six births but only one epidural. Reason: Too Fast (expect 5 different reasons over the next year of birthdays)