lola's birth story

It's been nearly two weeks since Lola joined our family in the most surprising way! I'll always remember that day, but wanted to share our birth story since the reality is always so different from the expected.



After our relaxing one-night stay in Palm Springs, Erik asked if I wanted to check out the area. I shrugged, "Nah, let's just go home." That's completely out of character for me -- I usually jump at exploring. We got home in the late afternoon. I made dinner and got ready for a busy work week. At 36 weeks, I was planning on banging out a last batch of deadlines before winding down for maternity leave.

Around 2 or 3 a.m., I waddled to the bathroom. After finishing peeing, more liquid came out. "Huh," I thought. "I must be entering the incontinence part of pregnancy." On went a pad, and I rolled back in bed. I woke again after a few hours and used the restroom; there were twinges of brown sediment in the fluid. I nudged Erik awake. "Maybe it's your mucus plug," he mumbled sleepily. A Google search revealed, as with any pregnancy-related question, a zillion different answers, including "YOUR BABY IS GONNA DIE." (Seriously, you can search "pregnancy hiccups" and there's some grim reaper on a thread.)

Alarmed, I rang the doctor on call. "Sounds like your water broke. Time to go to the maternity ward," she said pleasantly. "Congrats!" Wait...what? It was too early! My to-do list wasn't finished! It was 20 minutes until my obstetrician got in; I'd double-check with her. When I spoke with her, she sounded surprised and also told me head to the hospital. "It could be cervical mucus," she said. Oh good, I thought, I'll get checked out and go home. I tossed together an overnight bag (just in case), and we made the trip to Cedars-Sinai.



In the triage room, a lovely resident examined me. When she checked my cervix, a woosh of liquid flowed out. "Your water definitely broke," she says. "And your cervix is 80 percent effaced. You're having a baby today!" Erik and I blinked at each other. "So I'm not leaving?" I asked. She laughed and explained that the light cramps I'd been feeling were actually contractions. Because my water was already broken and I was at risk for infection, they gave me pitocin to speed things up.

Around 1 p.m., they wheeled me to the maternity ward. It was a clear, sunny day, and my room had a gorgeous view of the Hollywood hills and sign. I was feeling fine, so I turned to Erik. "Can you hand me my computer? I think I can finish up this one story before real labor starts." He laughed. "You're so New York right now."

Before he could reach for my laptop, the pitocin kicked in and my uterus seized up. So this was labor. For the next hour or so, the contractions increased steadily. "Should I get my epidural now?" I asked. For some reason, I felt like I needed to experience labor before getting one. After I breathed through an intense bout, the verdict was in: I decided on a walking epidural, which is basically like Painkiller Lite. It dulls the pain, but still gives you function of your legs. (With a full epidural, you're completely numbed and can't walk.)

The anesthesiologist came in and administered the IV. I knew it was a big, scary needle injected into the spine, but I was so focused on my contractions that I didn't pay attention as I grasped Erik's hands. The result was as promised: My contractions felt less like searing pain and more like intense pressure that I breathed through.



Throughout it all, I kept wanting a point of reference. "How long before I push? How I do I know when it's time?" I asked the nurse, an amazing pro named Marina who had the steady earthiness of a yoga instructor. "Since it's your first time, it's usually hours and hours," she responded. Huh. "But it feels like body just wants to push; it's almost harder to hold back," I gasped. She looked at me sharply, and then examined my cervix. "You're 10 millimeters," she said. "It's time to push!"

My immediate response: "Wait, is it too late to get a full epidural? I want a full epidural!" She said something calm and reassuring, but I could tell that I wasn't going to get one. HOLY BANANAS CRAP. During each contraction, I pushed as hard as I could three times, with Erik and Marina cheering me on. Erik held my hand and gave me a cold washcloth; I was sweating from all of the adrenaline. Funnily, pushing didn't feel at all like I thought it would. In fact, it's exactly like you're doing a enormous number-two. It's the same straining movement. I pushed on my back, side, and on my hands and knees.

In a lot of ways, active labor reminded me of the inside section of a brutal set or mile 23 of the marathon. I was so exhausted and wanted to rest/give up, but everyone kept encouraging me through through the pain. Each contraction was like all-out sprint. Between each burst, I was so tired that I almost drifted to sleep. I couldn't tell how much progress I was making -- Marina told me that Lola was inching down the birth canal. Finally, she said excitedly, "I can see the crown!" I turned to Erik, who looked at me wide-eyed. The doctor, a friendly, upbeat woman, joined us. I kept pushing; after about 1.5 hours of active labor (and 5-6 hours total), Lola was crowning. That was one of the most intense moments of my life. "A few more giant pushes," cheered my doctor. Erik was a champ. I had been nervous that he'd freeze up or pass out because of the blood, but he remained calm and encouraging. I gathered every ounce of strength I had left, and at 6:03 p.m. -- woosssshh! -- I felt her slippery body slide out.



What followed was surreal: The nurses laid Lola on my chest, and Erik and I just stared at her and each other. I couldn't believe that she was here! It's true what they say about motherhood: That rush of hormones and adrenaline immediately turns into the purest, most intense love. I hardly noticed as I delivered the placenta and the doctor collected my cord blood for the public bank and stitched me up; my eyes followed Lola, who was getting checked out by the pediatrician (because she was one week premature).

Marina brought Lola back to me and placed her on my chest. I breastfed her, and she immediately latched. I've never felt closer to another human in that moment. They wheeled us into the recovery ward, and I made eye contact with a woman walking through a contraction. "Congrats," she winced. "It's worth it!" I beamed.



After countless tests and checks from nurses and doctors, it was finally just our little family of three. Erik and I spent much of the time staring at our perfect little person. When he held her, it was as if a million rays of light was shining out of my heart.



Because Lola was premature, we stayed in the hospital two nights. I'm happy we stayed that extra day, because it was a crash-course in baby-rearing coupled with the pain of recovery. (Post-partum is a doozy…more on that later!)

My labor experience was such a surprise. It was easier than what I thought it'd be, thanks to the quick timeline, walking epidural, and wonderful, competent Cedars-Sinai staff. It was also the most beautiful experience. My body knew exactly what to do, and Erik's level-headed nature was so reassuring.

Most of all, I'm beyond grateful to have our healthy, determined, gorgeous, funny, grunting little Lola in our life. Sure, motherhood is about exhaustion, selflessness, and responsibility, but I've discovered that it's brimming with pure joy, laughter, and fun. Lola, I'm so glad you're ours.