The Birth Connection

Labor Begins

This post is dedicated to all the women who have given birth and to motherhood that demands our best selves to show up every day.

Six days after our last checkup, I was in bed wondering how Pete’s mom was doing back in Illinois. Her health had been failing for several years due to emphysema, and the ultimate impact genetics, inactivity, and unhealthy personal habits have on all of us over a lifetime. A loud pop interrupted my early morning thoughts.

A warm liquid began flowing from me, and I made a waddled dash to the bathroom. The date was May 12; the time was 6:25 AM. I knew my pregnancy was ending, and a new precious life would enter this world.

My doctor instructed me to call him immediately if the water bag broke. When I reached him, he apologized that he would not be able to deliver the baby because of a scheduled surgery for himself later that day. He said he would call his office to arrange for one of his associates to examine me immediately and follow through with the delivery.

I was disappointed and shaken because I had developed such trust in the specialist who had given the baby and me excellent medical care and emotional support. I was going to miss his sense of humor to help me through the day of unknowns.

A panic set in that some doctor I had never met would have my baby’s life and my life in their hands. How painful would the birth be? Would I embarrass myself by yelling out horrible obscenities? Would it be a natural delivery or a C-section? Would Pete faint or make it all the way through as my birthing coach? How long before I saw the little person who had shared my body for the last nine months? Since the baby was arriving two weeks early, would it be fully developed? Would we welcome a Mary Kate or a Glenn Ryan into our lives?

Since I was The Queen of What If, my hospital bag had been packed for weeks. It was a fragrant, sunny spring day, similar to the beautiful fall day when we first got the news. Pete took a picture of me holding the bulging bag of overnight necessities resting against my bulging belly. Then off we went in nervous excitement to the unscheduled office exam.

Even though I was a first-timer, I knew my leaky trail to the bathroom earlier only meant one thing. The checkup confirmed that the water bag had broken. The baby was ready to leave its aquatic home and enter the light of the world. The baby had begun moving down the birth canal.

To The Hospital

After the exam, we headed straight to the hospital to check-in. I was relieved to find out that a private birthing room was available. Even though the birthing rooms were decorated to look inviting and like home, it still felt like a hospital. The air was cold. Everyone was a stranger to me. There would not be any family members or close friends physically present to help us through labor and share in our joy. The time had arrived, and I was scared. In my usual way, I held my emotions inside to appear calm on the outside. I trusted that the Divine Protector would honor His promise and protect His children, including myself and the new life trying to find its way out of me.

Pitocin Drip

My dynamo birthing coach, his favorite wide-brimmed Stetson chosen for the special day’s event, started playing solitaire. He took a break now and then to look over and ask, “Anything yet, Mar?” My husband took pics of me hooked up to the monitors with the baby still inside. Around 10:30 AM, the OB/GYN decided to induce labor since the baby had quit moving down the canal. Okay, inducing labor was not part of my plan, but that slow, little drip sure got things going after awhile. The medicine forced a rhythmic wave of painful contractions. I was ready to see my baby, but I believe the delivery staff underestimated my novice ability to make that happen so quickly.

The nurses were directing the process at that point. I was maintaining control of the pain, breathing, and pushing. My coach was by my side, holding my hand and keeping me focused on my work. Suddenly, the baby was in a perfect position with the help of medicine-driven labor.

The nurses caring for me were amazed and hurried to find the doctor for the final phase of the birth. Then they halted the pushing until the doctor arrived. He finally returned to the birthing room about 30 minutes after their frantic request. The abrupt halting of things, unfortunately, caused some problems.

The Cold Swinging Rag

One thing you can throw out the window while giving birth is retaining any modesty. I tried every pushing position the staff suggested. I did not care what body parts they were seeing up close and personal. I did not care where they had to put their gloved hands to help me push the baby out. Nothing seemed to help.

I was having trouble at this point staying focused on breathing. The relentless waves of intense pain were getting to me, and I struggled to regain momentum. No matter how hard I tried, the baby was stuck in the birth canal. Pete tried to help me by keeping a cold cloth on my forehead or swinging it around my head to keep me cool.

I kept asking the nurses and doctor, “Why won’t the baby come out?” I was growing tired and frustrated. I am pleased to write, however, that I did not do the blame, scream, and cuss thing. Pete had lost his poker face and looked worried.

It was getting late in the afternoon. I was losing my patience and willpower with the drips controlling every moment of that miraculous day. The medical team suggested that an additional medicine might help me relax and focus on the pushing. I reluctantly agreed, but the medicine worked.

Enter Mary Kate, No Glenn Ryan, No Peter Hayes Jr

At 6:24 PM, almost twelve hours to the minute after the water bag broke, our son made his grand entrance into this life. Not Mary Kate. I will never forget Pete’s gasp of amazement when he saw our baby slide out of me. If there was ever a look of pure joy, that was it. He could not take his eyes off the life we had created together. While the doctor and nurses were busy with all the afterbirth responsibilities, Pete kept his watchful eyes fixed on his son.

My husband decided shortly after the birth that he wanted his son to carry on his name, so Glenn Ryan was out. Peter Hayes Fuller, Jr., weighed 5 pounds, nine ounces. He was 19″ long. He had a cute face, a pixie-turned-up nose, reddish hair, and all his toes, fingers, arms, and legs. We had our healthy baby. What a blessing and a relief. Hayes’ birth was the happiest day of our marriage.

Eternal Connection

After a short time, I got a better look at God’s gift to us when the nurse put our baby on my chest, all decked out in fashionable baby headgear and the blanket to match. Looking into his slits for eyes, I wondered if he knew his mom was holding him. With my son lying so sweetly on me, I knew my one true purpose in life had finally arrived. Inwardly, I renewed my promise to Hayes and God that I would love, nurture, and be the best mom I could be to my little guy.

The nurses wanted our baby to spend some additional time in the nursery. I took advantage of his time in the nursery by taking a shower in the birthing room. Shortly after my shower, a nurse brought in a wheelchair and gave me a wild ride to a different floor before the shift changed. It was 10:45 PM, and Pete and I were both exhausted. He headed home to share the news with family and close friends and get something to eat and sleep.

Laying in the unfamiliar white bed in the equally unfamiliar white room, I thought about how my new life would be with Peter H. and Peter Hayes. I wondered how our baby was doing with his co-arrivals. I pictured pastel ski-capped bundles all in a row. Some babies were crying, while others rested peacefully in their tightly wound blanket cocoons after a hard day’s work.

It had been a big day for me as well. My eyes were closing. I was giving up on trying to stay awake any longer. I kept asking the nurses how much longer it would be until they brought Hayes back to me. I got the same response, “Your baby is doing fine. You lost a lot of blood today, and the doctor wants you to rest and let the medicine work.”

Don’t Smother, Mother

At 4:00 AM on May 13, I held my son for the second time. He was hungry, and it was my first attempt at breastfeeding. I had taken the classes and read books about breastfeeding. I was ready. The nurse helped position Hayes, a mini person, on my breast. She reminded me, “Don’t smother, mother.” The word “mother” really struck me. I was officially acknowledged as a mom now. Wow.

Hayes was doing good, having passed the newborn screening that checks for specific disorders of body chemistry. Hayes posed for his first photo-op. His pediatrician visited briefly and gave me verbal and written instructions for Hayes’ care and safety. I was also in good shape and wanted to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. Pete arrived around 8:00 AM, and we got the okay to go home.

When the three of us arrived at Home Sweet Mobile Home from the hospital, Pete surprised us with the decorations. I was so grateful and breathed a huge sigh of relief, inspired by Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation, and said to myself, “I did it!”

If this is the first post you have read, the previous one High-Risk Pregnancy about the importance of prenatal care might be worth checking out.

Several months ago, I stumbled upon the possibility that a tribe in remote Africa celebrated children-to-be in a loving, unique way. The tribe believed a Birth Song was a significant part of motherhood and the child’s future.

The pregnant woman and friends went into the wilderness. United together, they waited to hear the song of the child not yet born. They believed every heart has a unique beat and wild purpose. Once the song manifested, they sang it out loud.

When they returned from the wilderness to the tribe, the child’s unique song was taught to everyone. Then, when the child was born, the tribe circled around and sang the Birth Song to the infant.

Whether it can ever be proven or not, I love that idea. How wonderful the world would be if every child had a Birth Song and a lifelong connection to their community. If every baby had a Birth Song, they would always remember who they are and have a wild and worthy purpose.

Although I am not a member of an African Tribe, I am a member of the universal Tribe of Motherhood and Advocates for Human Rights. This is the Birth Poem/Song that I wrote for my wild child. One of Hayes’ favorite songs turned out to be “Born To Be Wild” by Steppenwolf.

Tough Cookie Tip: It is a glorious feeling to experience the miracle of giving birth. I believe it was also the birth of the strongest connection two spirits can share. No other experiences in life ever compared to the joy and wonder of Hayes’ Birthday and being his mom.

Copyright © 2022-2025 Marilyn K Fuller. All Rights Reserved.

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