Our Hero’s Journey

I gave birth to my son Hero, with his father Christian Rosso, on March 10th, 2021. This is his birth story.

8:30am

I woke the morning of Tuesday, March 9th four days overdue. It was just after 8am, but I felt like I had slept in. I did a scan of my body, as the sun blinked in through the venetian blinds. Good mood! There was a special feeling, waiting for labor to begin: a sparkling rainbow of emotions. Yesterday had also been good, but the weekend before I’d struggled with racing thoughts and anxiety – This birth story would happen soon, but how would it begin?

Rolling over (massive effort!) Christian and I snuggled. He had the day off work. We checked in together. He’d also slept well, over eight hours – unusual for my Honey. 

 “If I give birth today, at least we’ll be well rested!” I joked.

 Yet more snuggles ensued, and we made plans for the day. I usually work from home for Nordo and have an accordion lesson on Tuesdays. But this week I had taken my maternity leave on my due date, and after 40 weeks, my baby belly had finally outgrown my beloved accordion and I had canceled the lesson. 

 “Why don’t you come with me? It’s the first day of TSB softball league. Practice starts at 11.”

Christian plays in a pick-up softball league for restaurant industry folk. You can imagine, after 2020 he was curious to see who would be there, what stories they would have to tell. Before you ask, yes – outdoors and distanced for safety from the virus.

 I can go watch Christian play! I jump out of bed and pull on a cozy, huge sweatshirt. Best part of the third trimester fashion, if you ask me. No pants needed. I lope down our apartment’s long hallway to the kitchen and make us coffee. Christian follows, and as I add the cream and sugar we hear a splish splash as drops of liquid hit the floor between my legs. “So much pee!!” I laugh. I’m four days overdue, it’s hard to control!!! So. Much. Peeing. My Chef kneels and checks out the liquid. 

 “Not even half a teaspoon. But it’s not mucus. Are you sure it’s pee?” He looks up at me with his blue eyes. He’s been to every doctor’s appointment with me, and he’s as excited and eager as I am. 

 “We have an appointment with Dr. Sonja at four anyway, we’ll let her know. I feel great. No swirlies. It’s probably pee.”

 Swirlies

 Swirlies are what my Sister named the light contractions I’d been having off and on for over a week. I had told her about my preference for an unmedicated birth, and that part of my pain management was re-framing the word “contraction” which I associated with something painful, with a less loaded word, like surge, or rush.*

 *Thank you, Regan Hesse, for introducing me to Ina May’s natural child birthing canon. 

 “Are you having a…” Sister struggles to remember my chosen words “a…swirly?” she asked on my due date, her hand on my belly, eyes above her green mask filled with wonder to match my own. 

“Swirly!” another belly laugh, joyful tightening and baby kicks, “That’s what I’ll call them!!”

 No, I was not having any swirlies on the morning of March 9th. But Baby Peachey Rosso was moving and grooving and I was resolved to relax and let my body do its thing. 

 11am

 And that was sit in a sunny Loyal Heights ballpark and watch Christian hit the first home run of the season!

 He was also the first person to go shirtless. I love my man.

 I left the practice early as I had what I hoped would be my last prenatal craniosacral massage scheduled*

 *Thank you to Melissa McClintock and her magic hands for guiding my body through a delightful healthy pregnancy.

 If you’re not familiar with craniosacral bodywork, it’s a gentle approach with intense results. My masseuse, Melissa lays her hands on me and lightly balances and adjusts my fascia. My experience as a client is very mentally active – I’m visualizing my chakras opening and paying attention to specific images and symbols that come up. 

 Often I will go into a semi-conscious zone while receiving my massage but during that hour I started feeling swirlies! Was this finally labor? There had been so many false starts this past week. 

 As we checked out, Melissa commented on what she found during the session, “I was getting a lot of fantasy images, like a fairy tale world. Also, there’s obviously a lot going on in your pelvis. We spent time there so hopefully this will help you progress!”

 Christian picked me up from Melissa’s home studio in Wallingford and we drove to the clinic for our appointment. 

 “I’ve been feeling swirlies, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

 “Well, they are doing the fetal monitoring at our appointment. Let’s see what Dr. Sonja says.”

 He brought me post-massage snacks, sweet man. Pretzels and hummus, cheese sticks and two bottles of ‘moosejuice’.

 “Moose??!!”

 This was one of our nicknames for Peachey Rosso in utero. Since we chose to wait until Baby’s birth for first names and gender reveal, I liked calling my child Moose – the animal that represents his primal zodiac: his year of birth, the Ox,, and his Pisces sun sign. So, this green juice with a  ginger kick and sweet apple finish was a perfect find from Christian to get our baby moving for the fetal monitoring we had scheduled!

 4:00pm

 “Are you having a contraction?”

 Alison, our OB nurse,  looked over her glasses at me intently. The printer spit out graphs that proved yes, I was in gentle, early labors. Still irregular, 7-10 minutes apart, and more like a tight squeeze to my belly button than the dull back ache I had been promised. Alison assured us that our child’s heartbeat was strong and did not dip during my “swirlies”, a positive sign.

 “Any bleeding, fluid, or cramps?”

 For our last three weekly appointments, Dr. Sonja and her student observer Brianna always had the same list of questions. But, at four days overdue, there were strong recommendations as well. “If you haven’t begun active labor by Friday, we will induce.” Seeing my blanched expression, Dr. Sonja smiled reassuringly. “My first baby was the same. You’re already 3 centimeters dilated and almost fully effaced. It’s likely your baby just needs the nudge.”

 A tight deadline! This artist understood that, and I bet my unborn child did too, I thought, ruefully.

 “Is it possible to break my waters to induce, before using Pitocin?”

 Pitocin

 If you don’t already know, Pitocin is a synthetic hormone made to mimic the big doozy birthing hormone, oxytocin. Baby Oxy gets the show on the road! And, as a first time Mama in the 35+ club, the risks to me and my baby outweighed the benefits of staying pregnant over 41 weeks and beginning labor naturally. No one would force me, but induction in the tech medical hospital world is very common, and they use Pitocin. 

 I’m not trying to get high fives for going natural. Like every birthing parent, I want what is best for my baby and my body. But I was afraid of this particular artificial hormone. Why? Because every scary birthing story I had heard involved Pitocin, from my mother, to multiple friends who received it to speed labor, and said that ‘the chemical nudge’ did not make a long labor short, but that the painful contractions were made even more so because the artificial hormone did its job – it rushed them!

 My swirlies felt like a strong menstrual cramp at the most. I didn’t know what to expect from the promised pain. But I did know I wanted an unmedicated birth for the benefits to my baby, and my own body and spirit. And I knew I was less likely to ask for an epidural without a chemical induction. I was afraid Pitocin would take the wheel and hit the gas before I was ready.

 But if what was best for Baby Peachey Rosso was a lowered risk of complications, I would take the Pitocin.

Christian and exchanged looks and nodded to Dr.Sonja, willing my labors to pick up naturally before Friday.

 “Do you want to tell her about the fluid this morning?”

 Oh, right. 

 It’s 5pm on Tuesday the 9thand now is when the tempo picks up. When we told Dr. Sonja about the tiny splish splash over coffee she asked if I wanted her to check to see if my water bag had sprung a leak when she did my cervical check.

 Cervical Check 

 It’s as fun as it sounds. My OB inserts two fingers into my birth canal and uses her fingers to measure how many centimeters my cervix has opened. I was at 3cm, and yes, she did see fluid. Her warm eyes crinkled with an unseen smile over her mask.

 “Opal and Christian, you are going to have your baby today.”

 Because my waters had broken before the active labor stage she was sending us to Swedish tonight for an immediate induction with Pitocin. 

 “What happens if I chose to wait for active labor to start naturally? You said the monitor showed I was in the early stages already.”

 “There is a risk that labor would move slowly and the amniotic fluid would drain out before you were ready to push. This could cause a septic infection for you, and for the baby.”

 Sepsis

 In 2017 I suffered a septic infection that was very serious. I obviously survived! But I knew first-hand how quickly an infection can spread, even with minor symptoms. Bring on the Pitocin! What I wanted, a vaginal delivery with no epidural, was still possible. But I would need the help of a few key players in this birth story. Hero’s avengers, if you will.

 “We’ve called in your induction to the hospital, but it’s not like in the movies. You don’t need to rush, you still have some time. Go home, have something to eat, grab your bag and get excited! It’s time.”

 Stunned, wobbly and a lot giddy, Christian drove us the 10 minutes home. While my Chef made us open faced sandwiches with leftover carnitas, homemade mole and avocado, I lovingly packed my last items and did a final sweep of the nursery. We’d be coming home with a baby? The swirlies gently squeezed my belly, and the baby’svigorous kicks said YES!

When I joined Christian, he had set our dinner out in front of the TV.

 “Hey! Here I am, checking you out!”

Eurovision: The Legend of Fire Saga was playing <3 

 I planted a big one on my man! This was my one request for the birthing environment. If you haven’t seen Eurovision, it’s Will Ferrell’s magnum opus about the European song contest. It’s hilarious, sweet, the score is fantastic, and the female lead played by Rachel McAdams is capital A -Adorable. Christian and I spent the pandemic and my pregnancy watching, singing along and re-watching this film. It makes us so happy. No matter what. I knew I would need that feeling as I let my body split in two. 

 We ended up playing the movie three times throughout the labor and birth. So, if you haven’t seen it, what are you doing reading this birth story?! Go watch it. It’s on Netflix.

 Purple suitcase, car seat, double back packs, check! Christian drove us the fifteen minutes to the hospital. Emotions were high, but I felt pretty chill. Honestly, I was preparing myself for them to send us back home to wait it out. This feeling grew stronger when we checked into OB triage and the nurse frankly told us they didn’t have a birthing suite available. We should expect a wait. We were escorted to a little pod for triage patients, separated from the nurses station by a screen door. It was 8pm. We were both getting tired. Christian, from playing his first softball in 6 months, and for me, the swirlies were moving faster. I could still talk through them but I needed to move: downward dogs and hip circles in a 6 x 6 pod room, blocked by an awkward hospital bed. 

 “You look like you’re not in a lot of pain, but sometimes it’s hard to tell?” Dr. Emily, the attending physician, checked in on us and apologized for the wait. She’d just come from a birth. A birth! We assured her we were feeling good. After she left, Christian flopped onto the cot.

 “If you’re not going to lay down, I will.”

 “Watch, my Honey, we’ll be admitted and you’ll be the one asking for meds for pain. I’ll sneeze and the baby will just fall out.”

 Oh, Past Peachey. So cocky. You had no idea.

 Christian took my sarcasm in stride, but as the minutes ticked by, we started to feel a little sorry about the situation.

 The doors to triage banged open. There was the sound of rushing footsteps at the nurse’s station, and the loud crackle of a speaker output, Chinese to English translation. 

 We froze and melted, as the woman explained to the triage nurses through the translator that she was bleeding, a lot of blood.

 “Am I going to have my baby today?”

 “No, we’re going to try to keep you pregnant. Everything will be okay.”

 The output crackled,

 “Please, one speaker at a time, I can’t understand her”

 I met Christian’s blue eyes. It was a glass of cold water to my face. We were and are so grateful for my healthy pregnancy.

 Dr. Emily returned to confirm our room was almost ready. We assured her there was no rush. She felt my belly for the next contraction and said they did seem to be progressing. I had resigned myself to Pitocin at this point, I just wanted our baby born safely. It’s why I chose Swedish First Hill for my birth. Just in case. There wasn’t much besides the language barrier that separated me from the mother on the other side of the screen.

 The door banged again. “Oh god, oh god, oh god!! Wow! That was a big one!”

 The next arrival we overheard was straight out of every TV sitcom. Christian and I exchanged smiles, on my due date we’d watched the silly 2012 rom com “What to Expect when you’re Expecting” and we imagined this gal was a ringer for Elizabeth’s Banks’ character. 

 “The loud ones always get moved ahead in the line” one of the nurses remarked with a smile, , but our suite was ready. Christian was piled with our suitcase, his backpack and the car seat.

 “Are you sure you’re okay with your backpack, Babe?”

 “Absolutely!” I was raring to go and slung my pack over my shoulder as I had for the last week. Did I want a wheelchair? No!

 That’s when the swirly became a breaker. As I started walking down the hall, I felt those same OMG’s raising in my throat. WOW! That was some PAIN! I somehow made it to the room without yelping. My active labor had begun. 

 Active Labor

 Labor nurses are just so cool. Nurse Emily (yes, two Emily’s at my birth) she’s calmly taking my vitals, following me as I pace, semi-frantically trying to remember months of birth training. What was supposed to feel good? Hands on the bed, cat cow pose, low moans like in acting school vocal class.

 Christian is following me too, wide eyed. I see him processing everything I am not, the machines, the nurse’s station, the view, facing east towards the telephone towers on Madison. My beloved Cap Hill hometown.

 I’m putting all my effort into candle breathing when I realize Nurse Emily is explaining I will need an IV, yes the whole time, attached to an awkward 6 foot tall stand on wheels, dripping the low dose of Pitocin into my left forearm. She tells me in 2-3 hours I’ll have another cervical check. 

 Once she has placed the fetal monitors on my belly – also on the entire time as I have graduated into the high risk category. My Baby needs close monitoring. 

 “But you can still sit in the tub with them on.”

 Sitting? Oh, hell no. But kneeling and waving my butt in the air like a feral animal sounds good. I can’t wait to take off my street clothes. I’m always cold but suddenly feel bathed in sweat. I turn down the hospital gown in favor of a soft, red smock made by my friend Cassy. I wanted to wear it for the birth, hoping it would give me strength.

 As Nurse Emily turns back to her computer, I feel another urge…not a surge, but in the same family as a swirly.

 Poop and pregnancy

 I did not grow up in an open bathroom door house. I do my best to pass gas politely. I prefer blue humor to toilet jokes. Are you the same? If so, you might want to move along, because poo is a big part of this birth story. It’s funny, stinky as hell, and even romantic. 

 Everyone poops. And a butthole and a cervix are not so very different. 

 My Doula told me, “In the days prior to active labor, you’ll have loose stools”. “Really? Is that a promise?” I have a shy bottom. If I travel, or if I am stressed out, it will clamp tight shut, no matter my fiber intake. Now you know why I do so much yoga! 

Birth is stressful. Happy stressful, sure. But my point is, despite the doula’s promise, I was a couple days behind schedule for a #2. 

 I’m setting the scene for romance, can’t you tell?

 Me and the IV waddled towards the bathroom as fast as we could. I tried to gracefully shut the door, but Christian was there, holding my hand the whole time.

 “I’ve got you, my Honey. Keep breathing.” As the Pitocin sped up the process, the back door swung open. I sat down hard.

 “I’m so sorry, it smells so bad, I’m so sorry, Christian.”

 “Don’t be sorry. I love you. I’ll take it in like a bong rip.”

 I know!!!! Cringeworthy! And yet, so romantic. Afterwards, Christian told me that I visited the toilet at least 15 times, back and forth from swaying with a yoga ball balanced on the hospital bed, to yet more poo.

 “It smelled…very specific. Like the hog farms back home in Jacksonville.” He slays me, my sweetheart, southern farm boy. I’m going to marry that man.

After the hog farm experience, I decided I wanted to squat in the tub. Even in labor, the thought of jacuzzi jets was very appealing! Nurse Emily drew the bath and tried to wrap plastic around the Pitocin IV as Christian struggled to remove my beautiful birthing gown, tangled in my IV dance partner.  It felt like an old school comedy routine: How many hands does it take to get a laboring woman into the tub?

 This is the point where my memory changes.  My birthing research called it “ a focused state”. Okay. For me, I could not keep my head up. Christian told me, “It had been a long time since I’ve seen you shwastey, but that’s what it was like, your eyes were rolling around, you couldn’t look at me straight.”

The clock ticked 3:00am as I moved towards Transition, the third stage of labor. The nurse suggested we call my doula, Anna. 

 Transition

 At this time, something happened. The Inner Opal began to make her voice heard. I make this distinction because Inside Opal felt very different than Outer Opal, who was in charge of my body. Outer Opal had a little girl voice moaning “owie owie owie!” Inner Opal knew that good birthing positions were necessary. Inner Opal wasn’t in pain at all, and she was ready to run the show. 

 Unfortunately by 3am, all of me was exhausted. The only thing that seemed to make the contractions bearable was the bed/yoga ball dance. Christian urged me to find a position where I could get off my feet. My legs were starting to shake and I was having trouble managing the pain with my breath – I was tensing up, making it worse. 

 “Bring me the Captain, I would like some fentanyl please.” My code word. The Captain is in reference to a Davey Wong oil painting that hangs above my side of the bed. A brutish caricature of an ape dressed as a sea captain, with a gruesome bloody hook. The Captain would protect me from myself. I was serious about the fentanyl. No epidural yet, but in the wee hours with the intense Transition labor barking at the door, I needed a boost to give me some rest. I also knew the effects of this opiate would wear off relatively quickly, before my child drew breath. I was going to break and take the drug. 

 My opinion? It helped. I felt high, basically, and my muscles relaxed enough to allow me to kneel on the bed instead of standing. Oh, I still felt the contractions! The drug lasted under an hour, another 10 crashing waves of my Baby moving closer to the earth. Eurovision was playing through again, and I tried to singalong, but my throat was bleeding and hoarse by this point. 

 Christian had called Doula Anna, he was getting tired too. I could tell from his voice that he was worried about me, that it pained him to see me in pain, and this was almost as distressing as the Transition.

 “I think I would like an epidural now please. Would you forgive me? I’d like one now.”

 My sweetheart said exactly the right thing.

 “Anna is almost here. Can you hold out until then? I bet she will have some ideas on how to help you.”

 The Captain stayed at the door with his bloody hook as my Doula rushed in like a fairy godmother with bags of birthing magic.

 “Anna, I can’t do this.”

 My head was roiling with pain. I was aware more women had entered the room, but I couldn’t focus on them. It was time for my second cervical check to see how far I had dilated over the past five hours.

 “Eight centimeters!!”

 The positive energy that flowed from everyone present, I kid you not, worked better than the Fentanyl! Doula Anna came down to my level, I was doing my cat cow pose on the side of the bed.

 “Opal. Do you think you can do squats? If you can, your baby will be born before dawn.”

 Hell yes, I can do squats! This yogi was ready. With Anna seated on a short stool behind me and Christian leaning over the bed to grab my hands when I stood, I rode the waves of pain, squatting as low as I could and falling back into Anna’s arms as they passed. Then, back up to my love. 90 seconds between each crashing wave. 

 I went from 8 centimeters to fully dilated and ready to push in an hour. The Captain was not needed. I had my Hero saving me, though I didn’t yet know his name. 

 Now, Transition was more painful, but it wasn’t confusing to me, I had trained to do it. Pushing was another story. The Pushing stage of labor gives the birthing person a rest. Contractions become further apart and longer, as our Baby moved through the cervix, under my pubic bone and down the birth canal into Christian’s waiting hands. 

 Yes, my love was going to be the first hands on our child. 

 It is the original home stretch.

 In the hospital, you must deliver your baby on a bed, for insurance purposes. But my position was up to me, and my baby. My mother told me I would love the Pushing stage. She said it was easier. The books I had read said the pain was less intense. This was not my experience. I pushed for over an hour. On my side, on all fours, I couldn’t bear to lay on my back. 

 During the breaks, Outer Opal was drooling and whimpering and so very tired. Inner Opal was getting frustrated. The contractions felt so different than they had in Transition. I was having trouble pinpointing the all-important “urge to push”. So, I performed. I “pushed”! THAT HURT! The voices in the room started to fade out. I could feel Christian’s hands on my rear, supporting me as I strained. At one point during a break, he massaged my feet. 

 “Christian, Christian!! That feels so good!” He said I surprised everyone because I popped up from my comatose resting state, loving the rubs. 

 More pained pushing. Then, a piece of a story came to Inner Opal, from my dear friend Caitlin, telling me about witnessing her sister birth her nephew. 

 “She was intent that no one tell her to push. She would push when she was ready. Then, Chris was born in two minutes.”

 So, I let the voices go. I just waited. This is when Inner Opal took centerstage.

 I was sitting in a dark room, like a film noir interrogation, a spotlight bright on my face. Across from my chair, I could make out the silhouette of a man standing in front of a door, golden light streaming through the cracks from the other side. Once he saw me see him, he turned, opened the door and walked through, closing it gently behind him. 

 It was that easy.

 Outer Opal was moaning, “I can’t do this! Is the baby okay?” Inner Opal said, “Walk through that door.”

 Dr. Sonja had arrived. When? She asked if I wanted to feel my baby’s head crowning. I reached between my legs. There was a living crystal ball, creamy and warm. The final torch song of Eurovision soared

 “My hometown, my hometown…” Christian told me later that the doctors on our team would step out from my labors to watch choice scenes while he and Anna talked me through the pushing. It’s a great flick!

 I moved onto my back, happy baby pose. Doula Anna was cheering me on “That’s right! Your body knows what to do! There will be a big surge soon, don’t run away from it, go towards the pain”

 I could hear movement. Christian told me they were laying down the plastic sheet to catch the birth fluids and prepare him to deliver. There was cheering and applause. Dr. Sonja telling me my baby would be here before sunrise. Was I alright with her stretching me to help move things along? I heard Inner Opal speak, “Let me try one more round of pushing before you stretch me.” No Baby. “Stretch away.”

 I pushed so hard I felt the blood vessels bursting in my face, my eyes, my throat, like fireworks. 

 Then, the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.

 “Nah! Nah nah! Nah nah Nah!“

 And Christian crying

 “It’s a little baaaaby!“ 

 Our child came out singing! Not a cry, but a strong, articulate Nah Nah, a perfect mimic of the beloved vocal warmup I have done before every performance for the past decade.

 My face and eyes were so swollen I could only make out the shadow of Christian placing our son gently on my silky soft, emptied belly. I strained to open my eyes, but my ears could hear all I needed. His song, and Christian’s joyous, joyful tears.

 Our Hero was born. 

Afterbirth:

 Our son spent his first hour of life watching the sun rise over Capitol Hill on a clear as a bell late winter day, rosy light streaming over the mountains into our birthing suite.

 Christian enfolded me in his arms and we admired our little one as Hero impressed the birthing team by lifting his head to scoot towards my left breast and voraciously latch on to my nipple.

 My body went into shock and began shaking like a leaf (thanks to another friend for sharing this odd yet normal side effect with me, so I was prepared). I held our Hero to my chest as Christian wheeled me into our postpartum room to begin life on the other side of my golden door, as the Peachey Rosso 3.