He's here!

He really kept us waiting.

After my last day of work, I figured he'd arrive pretty promptly like his brother did. No such luck. Day after day slipped by. My husband stayed home from work, afraid of being too far away at the big moment. I had hours of sometimes strong contractions that never seemed to go anywhere.

My prenatal appointments were weekly. Each week, as I set up the next appointment, I'd think to myself that of course I'd never actually have to go to that appointment, because the baby would arrive first. And then the week would slip by, and I'd be making another appointment. I was feeling very frustrated. I was using leave for nothing, and my body was tired. And of course, after two years of trying to have this baby, I was anxious about getting him into the world safely. The delay grated on me, and my husband and I both felt very discouraged.

I was due October 2. On October 4, we went to the hospital thinking (or maybe just hoping) that the big day had arrived. But I knew the contractions weren't quite right. They faded away as we sat in the waiting area. By Friday, October 5, the midwife told me I should be thinking about induction. On the way to the office, my husband and I had agreed that we would NOT be bullied into an induction. But our resolve wavered. Though I'm skeptical about the deterioration of uterine conditions, I didn't want to come all this way and then risk losing the baby at the end.

We agreed that if there was no baby by October 10, we'd try breaking the water and then induction. I felt reluctant and had mixed feelings about the process. I was skeptical that it was really needed. And secretly, I was thinking that it would never come down to that anyway -- I couldn't possibly go that late. But then the weekend slipped by, and suddenly October 10 didn't seem so far off any more. We were both feeling very anxious.

FINALLY, on that foggy Monday morning, I awoke with distinct contractions around 6:15 am. I watched the dawn light creep through the windows and waited. I didn't time them, because I'd had so many hours of pre-labor contractions that were close together, and they did not mean anything. Instead, I waited for them to get stronger.

By 6:30 a.m., they were even more distinct. They didn't really hurt, but I could feel that they had intensified. I woke my husband, and we dressed and got our stuff together. By 7:15, we'd put the squeaker in the car and headed out into the foggy Monday morning rush hour.

It felt like a long drive. When we arrived at the hospital 45 minutes later, I was feeling some pretty intense contractions. I was making a lot of noise. The squeaker said I should stop because he couldn't handle it. Luckily, his grandparents met us there and took him to their house.

We went inside and they handed me a form to fill out. I could tell they didn't really appreciate the need for speed. I told them that if they didn't move things along more quickly, I was going to have a baby in their lobby. I knew it was pretty imminent because my hands were shaking and because I could feel the need to push. For me, that means that the dreaded transition stage was already well underway -- or done.

They insist on carting laboring women around in wheelchairs in this hospital. The journey was a long one -- in and out of elevators, past maintenance workers, through lots of double doors. By the time we got to the right place, I was tired of the delay. Again, they didn't seem to appreciate the urgency.

Finally, when they checked me and discovered that I was fully dilated, they hurried me towards a delivery room. I climbed on the bed. There were a lot of people in the room. I could hear snatches of their conversations -- "fully dilated," "IV access," "artificial rupture,"blah blah blah. I had to tell them that I was not getting an IV. The midwife didn't look happy.

She broke the bag of water. At some point, I was thinking, what are we waiting for? When can I push? So I asked, and it seemed that they were waiting on me. So I began. I hate that stage of labor. I'm not that good at it, and it is pretty uncomfortable. I couldn't get into the same rhythm of concentration that I had in my first labor. Then, I can remember the contractions coming like waves on the beach, and I could feel them as they began and follow them through to their crest. But this time, they seemed less distinct, and I felt distracted by trying to figure out when I was really having one. I was also uncomfortable. The semi-sitting position wasn't working for me. I wanted to sit up more or stand. But I heard the midwife murmur "counterproductive."

A few times, I got the sense that the midwife thought I'd "missed" a useful contraction, and that was discouraging. But I kept at it -- what choice is there? -- and I felt better when they said he was crowning. His shoulder got stuck briefly, and I heard some talk about "urgency." My husband said softly, "You've got to get his shoulder out now. Do it this time. Ready?" And I concentrated on his voice, and gave it everything I had. He told me later they seemed ready to intervene if I didn't finish the job quickly.

The pipsqueak was born at 9:15 a.m. At about 3 hours, this labor was about half the length of my first. But it was less satisfying in some ways. I felt less in control than I did the first time, and I had less confidence that this midwife and I really understood each other the same way that the squeaker's midwife and I did. Also, when a woman is that far into labor, being forced to jump through the procedural hoops at a hospital is a real pain. I wanted to get on with it!

But the end result is the same -- a healthy baby, and I managed to avoid the IV and all the other things I really didn't want. I stayed one night in the hospital and then came home. My boy has a head of soft dark hair and a curious little expression. He is a bit of a barracuda at the breast, but that's a welcome contrast to the sleepy little nursling I had before.

Whew.