Eloise Margaret Wilcoxson

24 October 2011

2:39 am

7 pounds, 11 ounces

21 inches tall

In a nutshell: When I fell asleep Sunday night, I was pregnant. When I woke up Monday morning, I wasn't.

*Men, feel free to stop reading here and wait for Chace's manly version to satisfy your manly curiosity. Women who've asked for details, proceed with caution.

Several weeks ago, I started feeling really unsettled about our arrangements for the birth of this baby. We had planned to have her with the same midwives and at the same hospital as Matilda, where we had received wonderful care and had a great experience. But as the due date approached, I felt more and more uneasy. I felt like we should have this babe at home. So we contacted the one home-birth midwife covered by our insurance. She was booked solid for the entire week of my due date. No go. But another midwife gave me the name of her back-up doctor who also attends home births, saying he lived quite a distance away, but it was worth a try. Sure enough, he was covered by our insurance as well and was willing to take me on, even at eight and a half months pregnant and over an hour's drive away. Plus, he was (is) awesome. We were all set and I felt at peace for the first time in weeks.

So when I went to bed Sunday night (after watching this with Chace's parents--so good!), I anticipated a glorious night of sleep after a long week of yard work behind me and a long week of house projects ahead. But I was restless. And there was a wonderful thunder and lightening storm going on outside. It must have been midnight before I fell asleep.

I woke up with a jolt a little after 1am. Ouch! That one hurt! Maybe it's time. I tip-toed to the bathroom to wait it out for a while and let Chace sleep as long as possible. He was in for a long week too, after all. When I was pretty sure that I was indeed in labor, I went downstairs for some vittles to get my energy up for whatever lay ahead. I grabbed a few bites of cottage cheese and filled my "sippy cup" (the big Medline cup I got from the hospital when I had Matilda that I use ALL THE TIME, and the main reason I wanted to have another baby there! You can't have too many free sippy cups, says I. But maybe there's an easier way to get them than having a baby? Any of you, Gentle Readers, work for Medline? Or know someone who does? Or know a nurse or doctor who can hook me up? But I digress...) I found that laboring while standing in front of my open fridge trying to decide which leftovers to reheat was not very comfortable. So I grabbed a pear and went back upstairs. After a few more minutes in the bathroom, I decided I'd better wake up Chace.

I nudged him and said, a little giddy, "Honey, we're in business!"

Confused and annoyed, and still half asleep he mumbled, "What? Business?... What business?...

What are you talking about?"

"Sweetheart, I'm in labor. We're having a baby tonight."

That woke him up.

I set him to gathering some supplies from the doctor's list while I hopped in the tub and got in my groove. Things were heating up faster than I had anticipated. I should have thought to have Chace time my contractions sooner, but in my concentration I think waited a little too long. Time doesn't really make sense during labor. Each contraction seems like an eternity and a half and you're just sort of hanging on for dear life. And then it's gone and you bask in the release and relish the silence, breathe, pray, prepare for the next one, take a bite of pear--and boy, was that a tasty pear. By the time I called Chace in and asked him to watch the clock for a bit, the contractions were about a minute and a half apart.

He called Dr. White right away and while he gave him directions ("Yes, that's Wesmere Lakes... not Westmere... No, no "t"... W-E-S-M... yes, fourth house in...") and as I cursed the stupid name of our street, my contractions changed and, all at once, I was pushing. I've heard that some women don't experience a distinct urge to push, while others feel an undeniable, irrepressible, uncontrollable, indescribable, unbelievably overwhelming one. I definitely fall into the latter category.

"He's not going to make it," I pant from the tub. "Just tell him to get here as soon as he can." I could feel her hard little head just inches away from birth. All I could do was breathe, pray, and fight that extraordinary impulse to actively work to push with the contraction, not because I was trying to wait for the doctor--not a chance--I just wanted to slow her down and give myself a little time to stretch. And boy, oh boy. People talk about transition. They talk about the "ring of fire." That's nothing! Try NOT pushing with a pushing contraction! For me, at least, that was the hardest part (both times!)

Chace continued to bustle around, gathering supplies. I told him that if his parents wanted to see this baby born, he'd better go get them. It wouldn't be long now. He disappeared and came back with his mom. She came and sat by the edge of the tub, patting my leg during the next contraction. When it passed she asked "Are you in a lot of pain?" I remember that that seemed like the weirdest question she could ask at the time. I didn't know quite how to answer her. I said something like, "Well, I'm between contractions. So no, not at the moment. But just give me another minute and I will be!" And then I thought, what an amazing process, this birth business. How crazy and awesome to be able to feel my body working completely independent of my will to expel this little tiny human. How strange to feel such agony in one moment and such relief and exhilaration the next. I was struck with how surreal the whole experience was--sitting in a bathtub in the dark with my mother-in-law and my husband, in the middle of the night, having a baby!--and how strange that I felt absolutely no fear, no panic. For one of the few times in my entire life, I felt like I was made for this, like I knew exactly what I was doing, and that I was the only one who could do it. It was a sweet gift of peace at a time that could otherwise have been a little frightening (and, I later discovered, was a little frightening for others of the party!)

I remember saying something to Michele like, "Paul can come in if he wants," and her saying something like, "Oh... he's okay." So when the time came that I couldn't hold her back any longer (yes, I was literally holding her in for a minute there), I finally gave in to the urge and pushed out a fuzzy little purple-gray head, followed shortly by a slippery little purple-gray body. Chace lifted her out of the water and handed her to me. She was quiet for a few seconds as I toweled her off before she gargled, coughed and cried, promptly turning nice and pink. I held her low on my abdomen to facilitate easy flow of all that good stuff from the cord and we snuggled like that for a couple of minutes until she'd gotten from it all she was going to get. Then we got all wrapped up and she began to nurse. Paul had come in sometime after hearing his new granddaughter cry, and we all sat around my bathroom looking at each other like, "Well... that was crazy! Now what!?"

After a few minutes, Paul and Michele went back to bed while Chace and I waited up for the doctor, who arrived an hour after Eloise was born. While he took the baby to check her out and weigh her, I took the most heavenly shower of my life. Then I sat and nursed Eloise again while Chace kindly rubbed my legs to ease those post-labor contractions--yowzers! Killer. Then the doc gave me a few instructions before taking off to another birth! Paul and Michele, too excited to sleep, got up again and made scrambled eggs for everyone. We all sat in the loft and talked a while, ogling at our sweet new bundle and eating our eggs. Then the yawns began and we all said goodnight, again, just as the first light was beginning to creep through the blinds.

*****

My little Weeze has followed her sister's example thus far by being a very nice baby. She's a champion eater and napper. She likes the shower. She has a pitiful, kitten-like mew of a cry and a sweet, pensive disposition. She has one soft, fuzzy noggin, one crooked little snout (almost straightened out) and, at present, two blue eyes (though one is bound sooner or later to be poked out by Big Sis--there have been several failed attempts!) It's been a fun challenge these past three weeks to figure out how to foster closeness between these girls and keep Eloise alive. Matilda is very affectionate... dangerously so. At first I tried to keep Eloise out of Matilda's reach, only letting her see/touch her under close supervision. Lately I've changed my strategy, putting Eloise where Tilly can see her and interact with her more, and letting her hold her whenever she wants, even if it's not convenient. I don't want to create a sense of separation. I want these girls to be inseparable pals. (Mothering advice on this subject welcome in the "comments" section!)

Motherhood feels a lot more full-time these days. I still try to get a nap in when the little women are both asleep, but that's iffy. And between laundry and diaper changes and feedings and baths, and then cleaning up from feedings and baths, I can pretty much forget about doing much else during the day. I feel like a superstar if I get a little make-up on, a few groceries bought and dinner on the table at a decent hour (meaning before about 10pm). It's work, folks. But I sure like my work. And I sure have a new appreciation for other moms, like mine for example, who did this TEN TIMES!?!? And I sure have a new and deeper love for my sweet husband who gives me early morning back rubs after long nights in twisted, trying-to-sleep-while-nursing-without-squashing-this-child positions. And I sure have a new respect for time and how quickly it passes. It seems like we were just here with Matilda and now she's doing somersaults and reciting the Lord's Prayer in Latin! (Alright, alright, she can't recite the Lord's Prayer in Latin. Or in any language. But she can do a mean somersault.) And I sure am thankful for my visiting teachers and my in-laws and my washer and dryer and... I could go on and on.

Most of all I'm thankful for repentance and forgiveness. Like I told Chace late last night as we talked about how we'd seen the hand of the Lord in our lives that day, as we do each night before bed, every day is such a roller coaster. One moment I feel like the best mom in the world, snuggled up all lovey dovey on the couch with my precious, perfect girls reading Bible stories. The next, I totally lose my cool and my perfect girls have turned into little snot-nosed hellions out to destroy my life and I'm screaming at Tilly or nudging her a little too roughly "OFF OF THE TABLE!" or "OUT OF THE BABY'S BED!" Then come the guilt and the hot, shame-filled tears. And then, miraculously, comes my girl, right back for more, holding out a book for me to read to her or a spoon heaped with some imagined concoction from her little toy kitchen for me to 'taste'. And I get another chance. Hope I don't blow it. And I will. We're learning and growing, and there's really no place like home for the kinds of lessons we're being taught--mostly that we really just need to be more like our kids.

I've heard that the times the Spirit is strongest in a home are the times surrounding death and birth when the veil is thin. I don't have very much experience with death, but Eloise's birth has brought a sweet, calm spirit to our home. We love to guess what she's thinking when she gazes up at us with those serious eyes and we wonder if she remembers a time before she came to us. She is a special girl, and we're so glad she's ours.