September 26th, 2019.

The Unexpected Arrival: Our Daughter’s Swift and Surprising Birth Story

Every first-time mom anticipates the signs of labor, often meticulously planning for the big day. My own journey into motherhood, however, began with an unexpected jolt in the pre-dawn hours of September 26th, 2019. The tranquility of our home was abruptly shattered around 4:30 AM when our loyal canine companion, Juniper, let out a series of uncharacteristic barks. This was profoundly unusual for her; she was typically silent throughout the night, respecting our slumber. Her unexpected vocalization was enough to pull me from a deep sleep, stirring a faint sense of unease. Initially, I dismissed it, attributing it to a squirrel outside or a nocturnal creature, and mechanically got out of bed to let her out for her morning potty break, still half-immersed in the lingering haze of sleep.

As Juniper and I headed back upstairs, a vivid memory of a dream I’d just had began to surface. I had dreamed, with startling clarity, of giving birth to a baby girl. The dream felt intensely real, a premonition perhaps, yet I didn’t dwell on it. Moments later, as my head gently touched the pillow, an entirely different sensation erupted – a sharp, unmistakable pain, unlike anything I had experienced throughout my pregnancy, hit me with the force of a tidal wave. It was an instant, undeniable shift from drowsiness to acute awareness, signaling that something monumental was unfolding.

Early Labor: From Confusion to Confirmation

The intensity of that initial pain was so profound it sent me straight back downstairs to the restroom. As soon as I finished, another wave of pain crashed over me. This was perplexing. My mind, still grappling with sleep, calmly posed a question: “Are these labor pains?” The thought was almost absurd. This was a Thursday, and our scheduled induction wasn’t until the following Monday. Up until this point, my pregnancy had been smooth, without a single Braxton Hicks contraction or any discernible signs of impending labor. The suddenness of it all was disorienting, yet strangely, I remained composed.

I recalled the birthing class wisdom: “You’ll have plenty of time.” They spoke of long latent labor phases, opportunities to take a walk, enjoy a movie, or even nap. Following this advice, I reasoned that if these truly were contractions, I had hours before anything significant would happen. So, I decided to take a warm shower, hoping the soothing water would bring comfort and relaxation, perhaps even make the sensations subside. Instead, the pain steadily intensified, each wave growing stronger, longer, and more frequent. It was then, standing under the spray, that the undeniable truth settled in: “Shit. I am definitely in labor.” The calm gave way to a dawning realization that our baby was making an early, unannounced entrance.

Around 6:00 AM, emerging from the shower, I hastily pulled on some pajamas. Every movement was now accompanied by a dull ache, and I hobbled upstairs, the gravity of the situation fully sinking in. I gently woke Bret, and as I whispered, “I think I’m in labor,” a torrent of emotions overwhelmed me. The hormones, the vulnerability, the sudden shift in our plans – it all culminated in a burst of tears. I needed his strength, his presence, and his calm. True to his nature, Bret responded with unwavering reassurance, simply stating, “Okay, let’s get ready to have a baby.” His steady voice was a balm to my frazzled nerves, anchoring me in the swirling chaos.

We descended the stairs, and despite the growing intensity of my contractions, Bret calmly made coffee and prepared a simple breakfast for me – a slice of toast with peanut butter and banana. He knew I needed sustenance, especially after the morning’s unexpected digestive events. I focused on my breathing, trying to ride the waves of contractions that were now consistently three minutes apart. In an attempt to maintain a semblance of normalcy, and still clinging to the birthing class narrative of a long home labor, I tried to blow-dry my hair and finish packing my hospital bag. The irony wasn’t lost on me; here I was, painstakingly preparing, while my body was clearly on an accelerated schedule.

The Birthing Class Misconception: “You’ll Labor for Hours at Home”

Let me tell you, those birthing class instructors were, for me, completely off the mark. By 8:30 AM, the contractions had intensified to an agonizing degree, forcing me to breathe through them with increasing effort. The only positions that offered even a sliver of relief were sitting on hard surfaces, like a dining room chair or the toilet. Lying down was simply not an option; the pain became unbearable in that position. By this point, talking was nearly impossible; each word felt like a monumental effort squeezed between contractions. Recognizing the urgency, Bret made the call to Rose Medical Center, informing them we were en route. We were no longer “taking our time”; it was clearly time to go.

By 9:00 AM, I had been in active labor for approximately five hours. The car ride to the hospital was an ordeal of its own. Every bump, every slight jolt Bret navigated, sent a fresh wave of agony through my body. I felt a pang of guilt for Bret, who was doing his best under immense pressure. When I’m in pain, I tend to go silent, my entire focus consumed by enduring the sensation. He would ask if I was okay, and the only way I could communicate my status was with a quick thumbs-up or thumbs-down in the brief respites between contractions. It was a testament to his patience and understanding that he navigated this silent, painful journey with such calm.

Hospital Arrival and the “Rockstar” Revelation

Upon our arrival at Rose Medical Center, the valet service – a true blessing for laboring patients – was a welcome sight. I looked at Bret and simply stated, “I need a wheelchair.” The relief of being wheeled through the automatic doors and up to the third floor was immense. Still breathing deeply and quietly, the nurses led me to an exam room. They probably assumed, based on my composure, that I was a first-time mom in early labor, perhaps only 2 centimeters dilated. “Um, NO,” was my silent response. The nurse checked me, and her eyes widened in surprise: I was 6 centimeters dilated! Both nurses in the room were genuinely stunned. Their expressions perfectly captured the unexpected speed of my labor.

They kept asking me, “Are you sure you’re okay? Most women come in at 2 cm and are screaming for an epidural. You are a rockstar, lady!” While I appreciated the compliment, I certainly didn’t feel like a “rockstar” in that moment; I was simply focusing everything on enduring each contraction. We were quickly admitted to a labor and delivery room. By this point, I was utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. The relentless waves of pain had taken their toll, and I turned to Bret, admitting, “I don’t know if I have enough fuel in the tank to make it to the end.” After about 45 minutes of trying to push through the increasingly powerful contractions, a clear decision formed in my mind. I opted for the epidural.

The Best Decision Ever: Relief and Relaxation

Choosing the epidural was, without a doubt, the BEST DECISION EVER. As soon as the medication began to take effect, the world transformed. The agonizing pain receded, replaced by a profound sense of calm and relaxation. The tension that had gripped my body for hours melted away, allowing me to finally breathe freely and rest. From approximately noon until 3:30 PM, Bret and I were able to genuinely relax in the labor room. We watched episodes of Cobra Kai on YouTube, listened to podcasts, and chatted about all the crazy adventures we had shared over the years. It was a precious period of peace, allowing us to connect and mentally prepare for the next stage of our journey without the overwhelming distraction of pain.

While the epidural provided immense comfort, it did slow down my labor progression slightly. To help things along, my water was broken around 4:00 PM. This intervention proved effective, and by 5:00 PM, I was fully dilated and ready to push. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Our incredible OBGYN wasn’t officially on call that day, but she was finishing up work in her office nearby. Knowing I was close, she kindly stopped by to check on me, arriving just as I reached full dilation. It felt like fate, having her familiar and reassuring presence there for such a pivotal moment.

The Pushing Phase: A Team Effort and a Sweet Surprise

With the epidural, I could still feel my legs, but the “who-ha” area, as I affectionately called it, was blessedly numb. As a first-time mom, I had no idea what to expect during the pushing phase, but the charge nurse expertly guided me through the process. She gave clear instructions, and then, with a playful glint in her eye, told Bret to grab a leg. And so, the scene was set: my wonderful OB front and center, the charge nurse – who, humorously, wore a fanny pack emblazoned with “PUSH IT!” – holding my right leg, and Bret steadfastly holding my left. I remember telling Bret he didn’t have to be “down there,” trying to spare him what can’t be unseen. He simply looked at me, a determined and loving expression on his face, and said, “I’ve got this.” His unwavering support was everything.

And then, the pushing began. Everyone in the room counted with me, providing rhythmic encouragement, followed by moments of relaxation. Since our OB also happened to be our neighbor, we even managed to catch up on life in between pushes – a surreal but comforting touch that added to the unique intimacy of the experience. I pushed for approximately an hour. Our plan was for Bret to be the one to announce the baby’s sex once our OB delivered. Both Bret and I had been convinced it was a boy throughout the pregnancy, a certainty I held right up until that morning’s vivid dream. With one final, strong push, our baby emerged, letting out a vigorous cry that filled the room with life.

Our OB held the newborn up, turning to Bret and instructing him, “Tell Mom what it is.” Bret, still expecting a boy, peered intently, searching for the tell-tale “twig and berries.” When he found nothing, a look of utter confusion crossed his face, and he turned to the OB, exclaiming, “I don’t know what it is!” A gentle laugh escaped our OB as she clarified, “Dad, you have a little girl.” She then gently placed our screaming bundle of joy onto my chest. Bret, overwhelmed with emotion, instantly started to cry. Eventually, through his tears and sheer joy, he managed to tell me, “We have a little girl.” That moment was absolutely priceless. We were both so utterly surprised, yet beaming with an indescribable happiness that we had finally welcomed our precious Charlie into the world.

Naming Our Daughter: A Decade in the Making

A little side note about her name: we had actually picked out a girl’s name almost ten years prior! In the final moments, we added Charlotte to her full name, giving her the option someday to run for president or simply if she preferred not to be called Charlie. Her middle name, Marie, is a tribute to my Aunt Joan. And just in case you were wondering, Charlie was never our boy’s name; we had a completely separate name chosen if we’d had a son. Discovering it was a girl after so long of expecting a boy made the moment even more special and surprising.

Post-Delivery and an Unexpected Upgrade

For about an hour after her birth, we simply marveled at Charlie while I was being stitched up. I had a minor tear, and for a tense moment, there was a concern about a membrane bleed. Thankfully, the medical team was able to stop the bleeding, and everything was fine. In that moment, I was profoundly grateful for the epidural; I didn’t feel a thing during the repairs. This allowed me to concentrate entirely on our newborn daughter resting on my chest, soaking in every precious second of our first hour together.

After everything had settled and all medical procedures were complete, we were moved upstairs to the recovery area. Due to ongoing construction in a majority of the postpartum rooms, and what appeared to be a particularly busy afternoon for new arrivals, we received an unexpected upgrade. We were ushered into the luxurious Six North Suites. These suites are typically not included in the standard birthing tour, but they absolutely should be! It felt less like a hospital and more like a stay at the opulent Fairmont Hotel. Our suite boasted a huge walk-in shower, a closet, and a breathtaking view of the mountains. We even had access to a private chef, our own dedicated nurse, and Bret enjoyed the comfort of his own queen-sized bed. We were spoiled to the max, an utterly delightful surprise after the intensity of labor.

Reflections on Our Childbirth Journey

If we are blessed with another child, my heart is set on staying in those suites again; it truly felt like a mini-staycation. The three of us snuggled close, watched TV, and tried to rest after the whirlwind of the past 24 hours. Looking back, the entire labor process was far less terrifying than I had imagined. A huge part of that positive experience was due to Bret’s incredible calmness and unwavering support, the phenomenal staff at Rose Medical Center, who were truly exceptional, and my ability to trust my body to guide me through what it needed. This journey has left me feeling immensely blessed to have a healthy child, a loving and steadfast husband, and a newfound zest for life. Plus, can we just agree that our Charlie is absolutely the cutest?