Today is June 6th, 2019. Almost three months postpartum.
Scratch that today is July 13th.
Scratch that again, today is August 13th.
It’s October 15th.
Crosby’s birth story begins five days prior to his actual arrival and i’m finally ready to sit down and put it all down in front of me. Today is February 22, 2020 - almost eleven months postpartum. If you don’t know why I’ve been putting it off, it’s because Crosby’s birth was deeply intertwined with the unexpected death of my 62 year old dad, Mark. I’m hopeful that writing it down and sharing it will offer some sort of comfort or catharsis.
Crosby’s due date was March 20th. He wasn’t yet “Crosby” as we didn’t know if our new baby would be a boy or a girl. I liked the idea of a March 20th or 21st baby. It would be a few days before my birthday, the full moon and the Spring Equinox. Spring always felt so hopeful and fresh. I looked forward to my March baby.
The 20th came and went and so did the 21st.
I remember waking up around 3am on the morning of the 22nd with contractions. They were notable enough to start timing. Four to six minutes apart. This continued for over an hour. There is something really magical about this phase of labor. The anticipation of being at the end of the “in between.” Jana Studelska says it wonderfully in an essay she wrote, “It is a time of in between. Neither here nor there. Your old self and your new self, balanced on the edge of a pregnancy. One foot in your old world, one foot in a new world.”
Eventually, I made my way to the shower because at the time having fresh hair and makeup on my face felt relevant. I wasn’t planning to wake Josh quite yet, but he came into the bathroom with sleepy eyes and a quick, “is it happening?” question. I smiled and nodded, contractions had stayed consistent. A hum of anticipation filled the house. We had talked through the next steps so many times. Josh would text his dad and let him know that we would like him to come and pick up our daughter in the next few hours. I would call the birth center, text our birth photographer and update my mom who was planning to be at the birth playing the role of mom of the mom and doula.
6:00am we called the birth center and they recommended we hang at home, rest, walk and eat. If labor continued to progress over the next couple of hours, we would know it was the real deal. Next, I was writing these words to my mom in a text, “Hey mom, no need to do anything quite yet but I think today is the day - I'll keep you posted. You can update dad but tell him NOT to say anything to anyone.” Before I could hit “send” she was calling me.
My immediate thought was, “Oh wow, we’re having a Twilight Zone moment and she totally knows this baby is starting to make its way.” I was wrong. I answered, and before I could say a word I knew something was wrong. I thought right away, “Oh shit, my dad is either in or going to the ER. He had some health issues but always managed to “bounce back”. The cat with 9-14 lives, we called him. I noticed she was having a hard time getting her words out and I can’t remember them verbatim, but I know the only word I could say in response was, “no.”
“No.” over and over again until finally I was yelling it and then repeating it over and over again. I sat in the hallway, wet hair, in robe, and in complete shock while Josh held me and we cried. I heard Elouise wake up in her room and my heart broke for her knowing she could hear me trying to process it all.
It was Friday, two days past my due date and my dad had died. Labor had started at 3am and by 6:15am it had stopped. The world had stopped.
Saturday came and went. Contractions didn’t come back.
Obituary had to be written.
A photo had to be chosen.
Will he be cremated or not?
Would he have wanted a full mass?
How is he gone?
Does so and so know yet?
Looking through all the photos. Laughter and tears.
Sunday came and went. My birthday. Contractions didn’t come back.
Funeral plans had to be made.
A date had to be set.
All the things have to happen and they have to happen right away. Meanwhile we were still trying to wrap our minds around the fact that he was no longer with us.
Monday, 3/25 contractions started again. I can’t remember exactly what time, they were intense but never closer than 6-11 minutes apart. They eventually were every five minutes apart but they weren’t kicking into the next phase (true active labor). This continued all night. Intense contraction, fall asleep for a few minutes, intense contraction, repeat, repeat, repeat. It was exhausting and infuriating.
Tuesday, 3/26 we were going to go into the birth center. Contractions continued all throughout the night and we’re getting a little closer. We knew we would end up being sent home, but I was feeling anxious for support and desperately wanted to hear our baby’s heartbeat. Our birth center had been a warm and welcoming place throughout my entire pregnancy so I was not surprised when they wrapped me in support during such a difficult time. I felt intimidated by the hospital setting during the birth of our first child, so I was grateful we had made the decision to work with a birth center and midwives, especially considering the circumstances. We did a series of Spinning Babies moves because we thought maybe the baby was in an odd position and not engaging fully to advance labor. They also recognized that I was completely exhausted, emotionally and physically. They checked me and I was around 3-4cm and then I was sent home with one plan - sleep. I took Benadryl and CalMag and actually slept for hours. Contractions continued through my sleep.
I woke up around 10pm with contractions that were 4.5 mins apart and super intense. I knew in my gut this was it. My body was finally kicking into the next phase (though I was terrified that labor would still stall). We arranged to meet our midwife at the birth center by 1am, March 27th.
We got ourselves settled at the birth center (less than a mile from our home). I was strep group b positive. I would need to have the IV antibiotics, but we wanted to make sure I was actually progressing before getting them started. My only goal was to turn the lights off and get into the birthing tub. The tub was the most incredible relief. I actually got concerned that labor had stalled because the intensity of the contractions had subsided significantly. As it turns out, the hot water was just that soothing.
I called my mom and sister (my sister had flown home from California once she learned about my dad’s death) to let them know we would be staying at the birth center, so if they were up for it, they could come. I felt a little guilty calling on the off chance they were sleeping. Of course, they were not and said they would head over. Josh took the opportunity to sleep since he hadn’t the last few days.
The next portion of the story I lose most sense of time but these are some things that stand out:
Sometime after 2am:
My doula’s kind and quiet voice. The birth center had called in one of their doulas to come and provide additional support.
Washcloths being placed on my face.
Josh, my mom and sister supporting me.
Midwives coming in and out, but overall leaving me space to labor on my own.
Not being able to listen to music because it made me cry.
Listening to Hypnobabies tracks on repeat.
The smell of Valor essential oil.
Pressure/contractions feeling incredibly intense.
No one had checked me. I remember being checked frequently during my daughters birth. Was I progressing? How much longer was left?
Breathe.
Light starting to trickle in to the morning sky.
I started to feel pushy. I wondered if that was okay?
Reassurance from my midwife that my body was telling me what it needed and that it was okay to listen.
Starting to push.
My midwife and birth assistant staying close from this point on.
Me looking my midwife in the eyes and saying to her , “If i’m doing a good job, I really need you to tell me.”
The need for affirmation didn’t fall far from dad’s tree..
My fingertips touching my babies head and guiding him out as I pushed.
My midwife telling me to lay on my side, to push differently because he seemed to be stuck. He had the cord wrapped around him like a lifejacket.
Baby in my arms.
Tears.
Relief.
Fear.
Wait. Baby isn’t crying.
Oh God, I cannot handle anything traumatic. Make this baby healthy!
Breathing support with resuscitation mask.
Baby crying.
Mom crying.
Everyone crying.
Loud sweet crying.
Is it a boy or girl? BOY.
Relief.
Squishy squishy baby face.
Oh my gosh he needs a name.
Which one?
Crosby Mark.
Elouise, Crosby, Josh and Me snuggled up in the bed.
Family coming, hugs, tears, smiles.
My dad should be here.
The days that followed were a blur. I remember thinking that Crosby would have curly hair due to the amount of tears that fell from my eyes to him. Tears of relief that he was finally here. Frustration that Crosby and my dad missed each other by days. Tears for Elouise thinking of all the changes she was faced with so abruptly. Hurting for my mom, sadness for my siblings. Anxiety about Crosby’s breathing. Nursing him in the back room of the funeral home during the visitation. Anger as we drove to my dad’s funeral with a crying 3 day old and screaming 2 year old. Anxiety about germs and people touching him. Frustration putting on normal clothes. The months that followed were truly the most difficult of my life. Crosby was colic so he cried most of the day. I think they classify “colic” as a baby who cries for more than three hours per day the day and he consistently surpassed that. Anyone out there who has had a colicky child understands our struggle. We were so unprepared. Our postpartum time with our first child was serene and lovely. I think she slept through the night starting at week 4. Of course we had difficulties, but for the most part I felt like Wonder Woman. After Crosby’s birth I mostly felt like a tired, sad troll.
Through all of this hardship there, too, was so much love. I’ll never forget the people wrapping in line around the block to come and comfort my family at the visitation, and the friends and family who surrounded me and my babies that night. “No he wasn’t famous, he was just really good at being a great friend” was our response to strangers passing by. We felt so much support from the people who came into town or sent love from afar, the meals dropped on our doorstep, and all the cards and messages. His funeral would have made him insanely proud. It was the most beautiful ceremony I’ve ever witnessed.
It has been 11 months since my dad died and Crosby was born. I like to think that my dad’s death was God’s way of protecting him from a future of health related suffering. Now, he is fully healed and full of light and happiness. I find myself searching for videos with his voice. I drive around medicine lake and listen to his favorite songs. I read his texts and study his photos. I’ll add this story to the list of ways to connect with him. Crosby’s birth will forever be tied to my dad’s death. Maybe they didn’t get to meet earth side, but I know in my heart that they are connected.
Kelley
Photos from Crosby’s birth were taken by Meredith from Gather Birth.
Birth Center is Roots Birth Center in North Minneapolis.