My Birth Story: Rafferty Kipling

Birthing my son into the world was one of the most significant experiences of my lifetime. Nothing can compare with the intensity of those feelings.

While pregnant, I devoured every book on natural childbirth I could get my hands on. I learned about our culture’s approach to childbirth versus the traditional practices of old. I understood my body as being fully capable of delivering my baby. I learned how to tackle my fears and misconceptions about labor and birth. The more I learned about the female body and the miracle of it all, the more I desired a fully natural birth. When the big day arrived I felt confident and ready.

I was 38 weeks and five days pregnant. At four in the afternoon, I pulled myself off of the couch to visit my friend, the toilet. I took care of business and sat, thinking about my unborn baby and how ridiculously huge I felt. A pop. A sort of snapping sound. Then a fast, straight stream of fluid into the pot. Wait a second . . . did my water just break? I wiped. Clear. I smelled. Odorless. Yup, my water just broke. Relief. It was beginning!

Dustin was working. I knew he would want to be told the news in person, so I waited until he came home for the big announcement: “You’re gonna meet your baby tonight!” I quickly called my mom so she could start the long road trip out to mountain country. (She literally was on the road for the 12 hour trip within moments!) Next, my sisters were called. Finally, Dustin came home and we began the process of waiting. Neighbors stopped by to pray with us. I made myself eggs and toast and drank a big glass of milk. I changed my pants, but eventually gave up on the idea of being dry because a steady stream of fluid just kept coming and coming. Dustin went about his business, trying to finish up his work as I did whatever I could to keep my mind busy.

The clock continued to tick and I was feeling nothing more than the uncomfortable sensation of menstrual cramps. I sat down to watch American Idol and sent Dustin off to bed. Slowly but surely, the contractions began to make themselves known. The next hours did not happen. I’m sure of it because I have no idea what I did to pass the time. I have one mental snapshot of crouching on my hands and knees and pacing in our little cabin living room. I tried to sleep. Moans crept out from my gut and woke up my sleeping husband. The next hour began my understanding of the word "labor". It was difficult to manage each contraction. It was even more difficult to time the contractions. When is it starting? Is it over? I thought I just had one, how can I already be having another? After an hour or so of attempting to log the times of each contraction, we figured they were about three minutes apart. Hospital time!

It was 1:00 a.m., and lightly snowing outside. We took the car ride to the hospital, about 40 minutes away from our cabin. I was beyond being able to stay quiet through the waves rocking my body. Hoarse lips and low moaning accompanied each contraction. My sister Rebekah met us at the hospital and together we were checked in. From the rather dramatic noises I was making, the nurses attended to me quickly, probably assuming I was well along into the laboring process. When I was checked . . . two cenemeters. Bummer. I hung up the poster I had made with all of the important laboring tips I wanted to remember. Staring at my written encouragement, I buckled down for hard work.

Sadly, all of the rooms with bathtubs were occupied making laboring in water a non-option. So Dustin and I "slow danced" and Rebekah kneaded her fists into my lower back to help counter the back labor that had began. Before too long, I couldn't bear to stand up anymore. I sat on the birthing ball at the foot of the bed, my upper body draped over a high stack of pillows. I stayed rolling in this position, riding out each contraction for an eternity. I threw up. I cried out at the peak of a contraction so unbearable I thought I'd die, "I can't. I can't. I can't do it." Oh crap, what do I do?" I was frightened because I actually believed in that moment that I would not be able to give birth. I had to either quit and go home or they'd have to go in after my baby. Suddenly, I stood up, felt an insane amount of pressure, and literally screamed, "I have to poooooop!" It was the most intense feeling of having a bowl movement imaginable. I could feel my baby's head moving down and pushing hard. A huge gush of fluid flooded down my legs and I was helped onto the bed to be checked. I was ready to push. Not because the nurse told me to, but because my body was demanding it!

I was on my left side, having the blessing of about two minutes between each contraction. I would push, sounding like a dying cow with strange "moo" like moans, then collapse, almost in a sleep state. This continued for about an hour and a half. Then my midwife had the nerve to tell me I had to push harder. Are you crazy?, I thought. I thought I was pushing hard!

(Meanwhile, my mom was still on her way to the hospital. My sister would tell her to hurry, that she wasn't going to make it. She did make it! She RAN up to the birthing suite, literally with only a few minutes to spare! I will always be so thankful God worked out this timing so my mom could witness the birth of my first child.)

My midwife had me reach down to feel my baby's head. I didn't respond well to this because I couldn't make sense of what I was feeling. They asked if I wanted to see with a mirror, but I refused. I think I said no only because I had no real ability to decide anything in that moment and simply answered with whatever word came to mind. I caught a few nervous glances between the nurse and midwife, reading the alarm in their eyes. After another push or two, the midwife looked at me and told me I needed to have my baby now. (I found out later his heart rate was dropping). She offered the mirror again, this time I agreed, knowing I needed something to help me give more momentum to pushing. Seeing my baby right there, so close to being in my arms forced me to into gear.

Another extremely difficult push or two, and out came my child at 6:45 a.m., March 10, 2010. Dustin caught him and placed him onto my chest. We all cried, "It's a boy! It's a boy!". What a thrill of a moment. To hold my son, to see my husband shed tears of surprise . . . it was priceless. We announced his name, Rafferty Kipling, Dustin cut the umbilical cord, and I quickly delivered the placenta. I had a minor tear and received a few stitches. Thankfully, I was able to hold Rafferty on my chest for several minutes before he was taken away to be weighed, giving us that precious time to bond.

I was flying high. The oxytocin rush was a-mazing! I was instantly in love with my boy. Nursing went well from the beginning, which I am so very thankful for. I had been very nervous about a hospital birth, but it was overall a very blessed experience for us all. I had wonderful support from my husband, sister, and terrific nurse and midwife. Looking back, I am so glad I was committed to a natural, unmedicated birth. There really is something to feeling each contraction, working so hard for the greatest of miracles.

Even when I was convinced I could not, I did.

Being alert (both myself and Rafferty) allowed us to soak in and enjoy the wonderful release of love hormones after birth.

I believe that as women, we have this amazing gift, an opportunity to face the greatest of physical challenges with what God gave us- able bodies.

I worshiped the Lord with a new sense of wonder after natural childbirth. Look at what our God can do!

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