The birthing, part Deux.
It was time to push. I felt sick to my stomach. Not over the excitement that I would soon be a mother, or over the fear that it would hurt. Nope. My paralyzing fear was that with a whole team of people watching me I would make a poo on the delivery table. My doctor and everyone else in the room was well aware of this fear, since in my loopy state I kept saying “I’m so so sorry. I ate Chipotle. I’m so sorry. You’re a really nice nurse and if I’d known, I wouldn’t have eaten the tacos.”
Typically I’m not the type of person who is easily embarrassed. Tyler has walked in our bedroom many times to find me shamelessly working something out in the master bath. He HATES it, but in my defense, I feel that the sight of me going #2 is nowhere NEAR as traumatic as the smells he leaves behind. I’d also been reassured by a friend that as soon as she made a poo during delivery it was whisked away so quickly nobody knew it was ever there. I imagined this team of people standing there in biohazard suits, tissues in hand, just waiting for the event. That gave me some hope, but it didn’t take the fear away.
My doctor came back in the room after the dreaded 45 minute wait, and took the bottom of my bed away so she could sit eye level with my lady bits. Tyler, my sister Courtney and my mom were there. I think Tyler and Courtney each held a leg, but the memory is blurry – we were like 17 hours in at this point. My super nice nurse was there for a long time and even stayed past her shift in hopes to meet Kensie. Unfortunately the total pushing experience took longer than we hoped - almost 2 hours. Imagine trying to push a watermelon out of your lady parts for the ENTIRE duration of a full length movie. Such a treat.
When the pushing started my doctor warned me:
1. Do not make faces, it wastes energy
2. Do not scream, it wastes energy
3. Do not clench your bum cheeks, it wastes energy.
Let me tell you what wastes energy: concentrating on NOT doing the 3 things that you want to do most while trying to get a human head out of your body. After about 15 minutes of pushing and concentrating on NOT doing these things, I heard my doctor say “oh look at all that dark hair!”. I saw my mom covering her mouth. My sister and Tyler both looked like they were REALLY regretting having to stare at my vag for this long. I was suddenly regretting the hours I spent making headbands for my unborn child who I was convinced would be bald. More than that though, I had this false sense that since we were only 15 minutes in, and we saw hair, I would be done with this thing in like 5 more minutes and the nurses and doctors would shower me with kisses and carry me on their shoulders as the greatest pusher of all time (#epickegelfail). At this point they wheeled the mirror over at my request so I could see what was going on down there. This was a great idea –at first. I felt so encouraged by the fact that I could see her, that I pushed with 3 times my previous effort for a really long time.
The problem with this was that what I pushed out wasn’t a baby.
As I gazed into the mirror at a horrifyingly unfamiliar vagina, I noticed something even more terrifying roughly 2 inches south. Mr. Poo, apparently disturbed by all the commotion, was peeking out his front door to see what all the fuss was about. I guess out was better than in for him, what with the head crowding his space ‘n all. I tried to clench and stop him, but there was nothing I could do. As if in slow motion the small round poo rolled out. It fell sloooowly. “Ohhhh noooo”, I shrieked. I could tell by everyone’s facial expressions that they were waiting to see how I’d react. They knew I’d been dreading this moment, especially in light of the Chipotle.
The poo hit the table. BOOM.
In a panic I looked at Tyler and said “Get it! Geeeet it (girly whine voice)!” After all, he knew this was my biggest fear, and I would have done it for HIM.
“WHAT?!” he said. “I’m not getting that. Gross! I don’t even have rubber gloves”.
Final dagger through the heart. I lost it. I mean really lost it. I was hopeless. It wasn’t enough that a whole team of people was staring at the horror between my legs. It wasn’t enough that I couldn’t get this kid out.. ohhh no. I’d just pooped in front of them. I mean not like “oops I forgot to close the bathroom door” pooped. Like POOPED. Straight out the bum POOPED. And where the f- was the team of tissue wielding clean up specialists? At this point I couldn’t stop crying. My doctor gave me some tough love and basically told me to get it the f- together. The poo was then removed.
Kensie didn’t move from her exact location in the old birth canal for another hour. I pooped 3 more times. My nurse tried to encourage me after a while by telling me I was really doing a good job and making progress! (Apparently at this point I turned to her and yelled “YOU KEEEEEP SAYYYYING THAT!!!!”).
At about an hour and 30 minutes into the pushing a nurse came in and asked if I was wearing jewelry. I knew this meant they were considering a c-section. I was ready for this to be over and started saying “Cut ME juuust CUT ME”. I didn’t think I could get her out.
My doctor was apparently concerned too. At this point she looked me straight in the eye and said “do what you need to do, if you need to scream, scream”.
I screamed. I yelled. I raised the dead. This, coupled with an advanced pilates style pulsing/pushing technique squeezed the little darling right out of me.
What a relief. She was perfect. She was beautiful. All icky and bloody, but beautiful. They handed her right to me and I started crying. I couldn’t see her face, so I put my hands under her arms to support her, and the nurse turned her toward me. Right then she pushed down on my chest with her little legs and tried to stand up.
And then….
She pooed.
Right on my chest.
Black, gross, nasty poo.
She wobbled her little head toward me with her squinty little newborn eyes as if to say “it’s ok mommy, look! I did it too!”
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