I really attempt to do things the more natural way when it comes to parenting, but natural birth… if only we could use this as a form of punishment against terrorists. I think many men and women would think twice about strapping on a bomb.
They would run screaming from the bomb.
I’ll start this on a proud mommy note. I had a gorgeous baby girl one year ago! She is perfect. And not perfect in the way every mother looks at their offspring and claims “they are perfect”, she slept thirteen hours straight through the night her first six months of life, THAT kind of perfect.
Berkley is a super smiley baby who laughs at anything and everything. She is content sitting right next to Mama, which is awesome because I am constantly chasing around my 2-year-old making sure he doesn’t consume something harmful. That kid eats any object that is put in front of his face. Rocks, bugs, crayon, chalk, paper, stickers, play-doh, pens, cords, soaps, lotion.
He’s tried to eat a push pin, glass….. everything in the mouth.
Damn. Just eat your boogers, son. Glass!?
Back to B – she’s an amazing bundle of joy. I’ll be obnoxious and say she’s just straight up cute!
However, how Miss Berkley came into this world is far from cute.
It all started Friday night, January 30th around 10:30 pm. I noticed that my contractions started feeling different. I had contractions starting around four months into my pregnancy and they literally never stopped, so contractions 3-5 minutes apart were normal to me. I went to sleep and woke back up at 3 am because they were getting really uncomfortable. I had never experienced this before because we had to induce Von. *inducing is fantastic.
So 3 am, there I was, sitting on my butt rocking back and forth on the floor of our closet. I call the doctor who is on call, explain my hurty situation and was told to take a bath. Again, It was 3 am…. so I didn’t take a bath like I was told to do.
I go back to sleep and wake up around 7 am and I am really getting the vibe that we need to go to the hospital.
We head to the hospital only to be sent home one hour later. I was only 1 centimeter dilated, which was almost unbelievable because I was in so much pain.
I go home, I take a warm bath, a Tylenol and I lay down for a short nap, as instructed.
The entire afternoon I am in pain but refuse to go back to the hospital due to embarrassment of having jumped the gun that morning,
Mike took Von (my first born) out to get some dinner that evening while I was at home alone sulking and in pain, confused about what the hell was happening. I had just gotten off the phone with my mom, talking about how ticked I was at the whole situation, and describing my pain level… when it happened.
I sat up to go pee and my water broke. In my bed.
Where I lay my face every night.
Freaking sick.
I jumped up immediately, as to not let my baby juices soil the sheets. (I succeeded in this, by the way. No fluids on my bed.) I called my mom, called my mother in law asking her to come watch Von for us, and then I called Mike. The next fourty-five minutes were kind of crazy. I got ready to leave, Mike came home with Von and we waited for my mother in law to arrive. Mike kept insisting that we get in the car and drop Von off somewhere on the way, meeting my MIL in the middle to save time, but I said I was fine so we waited at home. My contractions were 1-2 minutes apart, clearly it was time to depart.
But we waited. because I’m an idiot.
When we finally leave for the hospital, it is pouring rain. We get stuck behind a slow driver, of course, just like a scene out of a comedy film. We pass four hospitals on the way, but I was determined to make it to my hospital so my doctor could deliver me. I LOVE my doctor and only wanted her. We had a thirty-five minute drive ahead of us when it wasn’t raining, so who knew how long it was going take us.
The ride became terrifying about half way through. At first, I was silently praying that I would make it in time for God’s gift to all birthing women, the epidural. About fifteen minutes into the drive my prayer changed to “Please good, good Lord, do not let me bring this child into this world in the front seat of our Jeep Grand Cherokee….” and this was no light-hearted prayer, I meant it with every fiber of my existence.
I can handle being in the “natural birth club”… but the “I had my baby in my car on the side of the road club” Hell. No.
We make it to the hospital. We park the car in the middle of the drive-up area and ditch it. I can barely walk. I’m doing this weird limp-hop walking thing, not even paying attention to if Mike is with me or not. I had birth goals. One being to birth this child in a hospital bed. It was in my birth plan, dammit.
I make it up to labor and delivery and announce, “I am Jennifer Todryk and I am about to have my baby on your check-in desk.” No time needed to be wasted. They immediately lead me to a room, ask me to go into the bathroom and change into my gown.
Change my gown in the bathroom? You’re about to have your hand nine inches up inside me while I am spread eagle to the world.
No. I did not walk into the bathroom, fold my clothes neatly and shimmy my cute little cellulite infested butt into the backless gown. I stripped right in front of her… as if I was on fire.
Go in the bathroom she said.
Someone fire her immediately. Please.
I throw myself on the bed and they check me.
“You’re at 8.5 cm.”
“Okay, I need the epidural now.”
“You probably won’t have time for one.”
“Yes, I will, give it to me.”
Five torturous minutes later the epidural shows up but there is absolutely no way I can hold still. I felt as though someone was cutting into my stomach, I was squirming and flailing around like I was possessed.
No epidural. I was having this baby sans medication.
I was not thrilled, but I was terrified. A kind of terrified that is way beyond crying. There were no tears that night. The pain is too bad to cry, which seems crazy but it’s true. When you’re in THAT much pain, you actually can’t cry. Crying just seems silly at that point, too much energy would be wasted.
“Should have come earlier.” – Nurse Betty chimes in from across the room, looking like she hates her job and possibly babies altogether.
If I had not been starting a contraction that felt like my insides were being scooped out of me with some form of gardening tool, Nurse Betty would have died that evening. So count your blessings lady, God spared you.
About two minutes after the harsh realization that this was how my birth plan was going down, I was done. I tossed in my mental towel. I was laying here being tortured and I wanted no part of it any longer.
“I’m pushing! Right now! I’m pushing!… I can push right?”
And I did. And out came Berkley in one long, horrible push. One push. Forty-five seconds. Sounds nice doesn’t it?
Does being set on fire for forty-five seconds sound nice? Does chopping off your limbs for forty-five seconds sound nice? Because those are honestly the only things I can imagine hurting as bad as giving birth to a baby without any pain medication. I blacked out. It was my own little first class trip to hell and back. Lucky me.
I’ll spare you the intense details of what exactly you can FEEL your body doing during this exciting process. I am most definitely emotionally scarred, to say the least.
I absolutely now suffer from PTSD. (Kidding, kind of.)
I shudder at the thought of what could have gone wrong, having my baby on the side of the road, in my car, in the rain, my husband as the doctor… I’ve thanked God on many occasions that this was not the case. Berkley was in my arms fifteen minutes after pulling up to the hospital. That does not leave much room for error.
In all seriousness, I do appreciate natural births. Women don’t want to “drug” their babies and various other personal reasons – I get it and respect that so much. If I was strong enough I would have chosen it myself, but considering the fact that I’m down for the count if I get a splinter in my foot, I thought, eh, better not.
I am so thankful for my sweet healthy child and if I had to do it all over for her again, of course, I would. I think another factor as to why it was so horrible for me, is that I never wanted it. I had no choice in the matter so I was unbelievably scared. I didn’t get to walk around for nine months asking myself if I wanted to play in the big leagues and do it au naturale. I didn’t get to read countless blogs describing experiences that women have had and weigh the pros and cons. It was NEVER in my plan.
The minute I heard “vaginal tearing”, I was out. TAP ME OUT. No ma’am. I told my doctor she had one job – She was to do whatever needed to be done in order for me not to feel my lady parts being mutilated. Anything. Epidural? Yes please, I’ll insert it myself if needed. Medicinal marijuana to get the party started? Sure, never done that before but let’s do it! A little speed for boosted energy and numbing? Absolutely, I’ll take that speed. I’m in. For all of this, I am in. One job doc, you have one job.
No. Natural birth was not even an option I was willing to entertain.
With Von’s induced birth, I shed the Omg I had a baby boy and he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen tear, I got some amazing intimate photos, gave family members hugs, smiles and laughter filled the space. It was the epitome of a perfect birth. I was so happy in the moments that my son was born. With Berkley’s birth, well, sadly I can’t say the same thing, and that kills me. I hate that I look back in photos and see that I am clearly in pain. That’s not a new mom glow in that photo, that’s sweat. That’s not a smile on my face, I look like I’ve been stabbed with a shank. That’s not tinted chap stick on my face, that’s blood.
(Just kidding…. there was no blood on my face.) Gotcha.
Here is the one photo I have where I don’t appear to be dying.
Yes, it’s a great moment of me and my mom, very sweet. (This woman is my rock, mentor, and everything I want to be. I love her so much!)
But look at me. I’m not even there mentally.
I’m just playing, that’s not really me. No one looks that bad after giving birth. Come on.
This is really what I looked like after birth…
#naturalbirth #nofilterneeded #blessed
I didn’t have time to do my hair but thank goodness I was prepared and had my makeup on.
Gotta be Facebook ready at all times.
#naturalbirthnaturalbeauty #peacelove&placentas #nofilterEVER
Many of my friends have asked me if I plan on getting an epidural for the third child (if the third child ever exists). Once I am eight months pregnant I am checking myself into the hospital and not leaving. If they try to make me leave, I’ll sue.
Hell yes, I am getting an epidural.
To wrap this fairy tale up, I will say that I do believe that God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle.
I also believe that God sometimes throws us curve balls. I just think maybe God got a tad too zealous with my curve ball, smacked me right in the face with it, and then sent me into surgery without any pain meds.
#ouch.
– Until the next time this redhead rambles.
For more humorous and bluntly honest parenting posts like this, please “Like” my Life as a Rambling Redhead Facebook Page!
Or subscribe, so you never miss a new post! Your life will be changed for the better. Follow on Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube .
