I basically winged this birth. And I don't say that boastfully. I say it in utter disbelief. If you want to make me uncomfortable, ask me to be spontaneous.

Reflecting, I can come up with one expected reason and one reactive reason for this unpreparedness.

I have found that in pregnancy and birth, I willingly let go so much of the [perceived] control I seek out in other situations. I can't pinpoint why, but I don't need to know my baby's sex, birth date, size of their femurs, or even their name. Out of five births, four I've given over to intuition and I've found I mother best when I trust the process of my body growing and delivering another human being.

I hired a midwife. Done. And I hired a birth photographer for purposes surrounding previous postpartum depression and my ability to reconnect long after the actual birth was over. Done.

Beyond that, I avoided and/or waited to complete any task that, in previous births, I would've been eager to experience. I would pick up birth prep books and put them back down. I just couldn't connect long enough to stay engaged - not for a book, a podcast - or any of my go-tos in previous pregnancies.

This is what pregnancy after pregnancy loss x2 looks like, for me. Don’t commit.

I avoided maternity clothes for as long as possible. We didn't talk names. We installed car seats only after my water had broken and I was in labor. Despite loving my midwife and cherishing our time to connect, I had to drag myself to appointments (what if she couldn't find the heartbeat?). Baby clothes were still all packed up. And I held my pee longer than ever appropriate because a bathroom had the potential to reveal the greatest fear.

Around 10 weeks, I was sure I felt Baby fluttering. I was reassured by this, until I became almost obsessed. By 14 weeks, I remember telling my midwife I was concerned that the movements hadn't increased or become more frequent. And, even as I said it out loud, I couldn't bring myself to process what I knew: fetal movements that early are unpredictable.

I purchased a fetoscope and felt excited at the possibility of relief of fear with this new tool…. until I couldn't hear the heartbeat right away. Weeks went by and I finally heard Baby's heart pounding away inside my abdomen around 17 weeks. And, while there was initial stress upon not hearing anything, the $12 fetoscope ended up being the best money I spent during that pregnancy, as this was the only way I connected with Baby. In listening every night, I trained myself to understand her rhythm, her movements and position. It occasionally deviated, but 38 beats in 15 seconds was often what I'd hear. When I was scared, I'd listen multiple times a day. I didn't leave for any overnight trips without the fetoscope. It was my access to Baby and truly the most soothing thing I could do. More than any massage, float, or activity could provide...listening to the rhythmic sound of thump thump thump thump repeatedly kept my own heart and mind healthy.

This pregnancy was a constant rollercoaster of reassurance and fear. And I looked for every objective tool, within my comfort level, to keep me in line. This is the exact conundrum that is mothering: there's no amount of measurement or assessment that gives complete peace of mind. Decisions are made in hopeful optimism, but fear often lingers, pushing from behind.

My fetoscope checks were picked up on quickly by this Big Sister and she knew just what to do.

Mama and Big Sister fetoscopes ready to go!

Most people would have found reassurance in an ultrasound, however, that was a huge hurdle for me to overcome because that is exactly how I found out about my first impending miscarriage. “Looks like the baby stopped growing at 7.5 weeks” the ultrasound tech said as she hummed to Aerosmith’s Don’t Want to Miss a Thing. And that was it. So, while an ultrasound was clear and objective data, it was filled with the fear of possibly learning the unexpected. On August 21, around 11 weeks, we were getting to the point where I would need to tell people – my belly was growing – but I was anxious about doing so. I decided to visit my CNM (who was there for the 1st miscarriage) and was unsure of whether or not I would choose an ultrasound. After talking with her, I asked if she, herself, would be able to do an abdominal ultrasound and she obliged. I knew she would respect my wishes to have it performed as quickly as possible and she would also be compassionate if anything were to go wrong. Immediately, I saw the baby moving arms and legs and, hilariously, then asked if there was a heartbeat. I could breathe again and, when we decided to share, I anticipated that I would be slightly more comfortable.

Baby was so active immediately. Exactly what I prayed to see!

I wasn’t. It took until close to 15 weeks to share with family. And even then, I asked my husband to share without me. Too many expectations and I didn’t want the response of abundant joy. I wanted cautious acceptance. Joy would come with the birth, was my thought process.

I traveled quite a bit for work during the pregnancy and found telling complete strangers easier than telling anyone who would hold attachment to the outcome. During the first course of a series I attended, I mentioned privately in the context of our conversation “if I’m still pregnant at the next course….” and the instructor replied to me “when you’re still pregnant at the next course…” I remember thinking, at least someone sees this progressing.

Loss continued to cloud our already difficult year of two miscarriages, with our beloved dog and Johnny’s mom passing away. Grammy O wouldn’t meet her 10th grandchild. But in the coolest ways, she was very connected to this birth.

My babies have not held a pattern in timing of arrival according to their due dates. They are all over the place: 37 weeks, 38 weeks, 40 weeks on the dot, and 41 weeks. I honestly thought this baby would be early, TOO early. So, when each week came and went, we were shocked. On my due date, I had to laugh that Baby was still on the inside! That day, I cleaned out my car and used up just about every ounce of energy in doing so. We ate a big dinner that night with garlic and vegetables (which I regretted for hours afterwards). It was March 11th. And the day a pandemic was declared for our country.

My water broke at 4am on Thursday, March 12th. I remember thinking it wasn't a huge gush like I had experienced twice before, but it certainly relieved pressure. I went back to bed and waited a couple of hours. For 3 hours, I relished the fact that I was the only one to know that our new family member would be joining us soon. Around 7am, I woke my husband with: "Do you want to have a baby today?" To which he responded with his eyes closed: "Did your water break?" Seasoned labor and delivery dad. I laid there and contractions surprisingly started (not typical for my previous labor progressions). They were 15 minutes apart, which is how they would continue throughout the rest of the day.

After notifying my midwife and birth photographer, I readied the birth space and visited with a friend. My kids ran around all day and I was right behind them trying to clean up. I’m certain that this constant motion throughout the day made active labor shorter. Contractions didn't change throughout the day but I knew that soon after the kids were in bed, it would pick up. And it did.

The kids were in bed around 8:30 and Johnny and I went downstairs to just enjoy being in the birth space. It was magical. Contractions became stronger but still 10-15 min apart. We decided to sleep on the pull out couch, but sleep never came (well, for me). I listened to my birth playlist and can remember the point when I had to turn it off because it was a distraction. The fact that my favorite music became an unwelcome distraction made it clear to me that it was TIME. It was around midnight. The contractions were incredibly intense and coming without a break in between. Around 1 am I called Karen, our midwife, and remember telling her that I didn't know how long I could do this. I remember telling her it was like bone on bone pressure and pain. She lives 2 hours away, so it was already on my mind that she may not make it for the birth. Gratefully, I wasn’t worried. About an hour later, I got myself together to text the photographer to say that the midwife was on her way. And I gave in to the fact that the photographer also may not make the birth as she lives 3 hours away. Newborn pictures would have to be fine.

Most of the time between then and Baby's birth was a blur. I remember getting in the birth pool when the water was only inches high in order to seek relief (the one and only picture Johnny took, thinking the photographer wouldn’t arrive). And it helped for a brief time. I remember Johnny scurrying to try and do ALL the things while still giving me his hand to hold. I felt bad for not hiring a doula at this moment. But, importantly, I also remember thinking we are doing this thing ourselves, and that was empowering considering what we’d been through in the year prior.

I couldn’t wait for the pool to fill and got in just a couple inches of water to seek relief.

And I remember cursing more in about 5 hours of time than I ever have in my entire life. For some reason, it was the f word that felt right. My baby came into the world with twinkle lights and the f word. And the contrast makes me laugh. Not all births are calm and peaceful, but they are all beautiful.

The midwives arrived around 3:45 am. I do remember this shift. Someone rubbed my back. Soft words were spoken. But my eyes were closed. Everything was internal at this point. I was present in body, but not in mind.

I was in and out of the pool with the terribly loud plastic liner. I remember regularly feeling where baby's head was and using that as my measure of progress. But it seemed like it stayed and stayed at the same point. So many times, in frustration of what I felt was lack of progress, I either thought or verbalized "Why, God?! Get the baby out!"

Johnny asked if they kids should come and I reluctantly said no. Despite them being present at their sister’s birth, I didn't think I could tolerate him being gone to wake 4 kids, nor did I think (in my altered state) my intensity was appropriate.

Then, the doorbell rang. No one else heard it and they all probably thought I lost my mind when I told them to check the door. Liz, the birth photographer arrived just before 5am.

In other physiologic births, I cannot recall bearing down as a voluntary act. Instead my body was just overtaken by the urge and Baby came out. Not this birth. I had to push voluntarily and repeatedly.

Karen recommended the birth stool and I can still recall my trepidation. The most uncomfortable, vulnerable position....yet exactly what my body needed. I sat on the birth stool with my husband in front of me and I could instantly feel Baby's head descending. The only way out of the situation was through and I knew that so I gave in. Head half way out, wait wait waaaaaait.....Head fully birthed wait wait wait....5:36am Baby was fully born. Johnny caught Baby and together we immediately brought Baby to my chest. Separate, but closer than ever before. I got off of that wretched birth stool and laid on the bed. It was March 13th - Johnny's birthday and now Baby's birthday, too.

Johnny went to get the kids and together, as a family, we found out Baby 5 was a girl. 3 boys then 2 girls.

All I could think was “She is real. And breathing. Alive.” She seemed to do the impossible, surviving not only the pregnancy, but also the labor and delivery. Then again, so did I.

It was around the same time of finding out she was a girl that I noticed her right foot turned inward. I pointed it out and knew immediately that she had clubfoot, Talipes Equinovarus. I surprised myself with strong feelings of diminished concern and knew my plan for her before I even fully accepted her diagnosis.

“Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?” -Frida Kahlo

Liz took pictures and the midwives checked us out thoroughly. Johnny made coffee and my curious big kids watched everything.

The placenta came a little over an hour afterwards. Again, on the birth stool. It was while holding Baby girl and delivering the placenta that I realized how heavy she was. I even asked for support for my arm because I didn't think I could maintain her weight.

Back on the birth stool. This time with a baby!

We tied off her cord with a sweet rainbow tie a friend had given to us, matching the other kids rainbow bracelets, and then we weighed her. 9lbs 8oz! The biggest baby of our 5!

A rainbow umbilical cord tie for our Rainbow Baby.

I spy a sweet right foot coming into meet the left.

46 years apart, Grammy O and I were doing the exact same thing: bringing our 5th baby into this world! She was one of the first to know about this baby in the hope it would encourage her in her final days. She joyfully shared our news with her kids soon before she passed; the last day I visited with her. And there's no doubt she played a part in picking this baby's special birthday.

She called them her Angels. Our last visit.

A little over a week after Baby's birth, we chose a name for her:

💛 Vera Amelia Clare 💛

Meaning: Faith, work/fertility, bright and clear

Vera is shortened from Veronica for Grammy O
Clare is for Grammy O's mother and Papa Hill's mother
Amelia is for Grammy O's grandmother

The pregnancy began in uncertainty, continued through 10 months of uncertainty and she was born into the most uncertain time our world and our country has faced and continues to face.

But for you, sweet Vera, and for all of us:
"These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." John 16:33

WomanWise Midwifery

True North Midwifery

Professional images by Liz Hough Photography

No big deal. Just birthed a baby. Hanging with my girls.

Vera's Story

REquest an Appointment

Follow Us: @bloomphysicaltherapy