Kahmann's Korner: Happy Birthday Grant Miles Kahmann!

Once you give birth there is this switch inside of you that finds yourself fascinated with the stories of bringing a life into the world. It is the one thing that every single person has in common in this world: we were all created in the same way, grew inside a woman, and came to be due to the sacrifice that her body made to give us life. It connects each one of us, and when I hear a birth story I always pause whatever I am doing and listen out of respect for that woman’s sacrifice.

Grant’s birth story started two months before I gave birth. After two failed epidurals, and lasting complications due to those epidurals, I knew I wanted to give birth naturally. I went through my mental cache of all the birth stories I had heard in the last few years, and thought of my friend Alexandra, who had two relatively uncomplicated natural births that she actually enjoyed. She introduced me to the idea of hypnobirthing and I jumped right on the bandwagon. Hey, if she can enjoy birth, then I will do whatever she tells me to. For the following two months I spent every night listening to CD tracks, reading about hypnobirthing, and watching instructional videos on youtube. I was prepped and actually excited to try all that I had learned.

As my due date neared the down-there-doc did an exam and told me I was 3 cm dilated. Ecstatic, I went home thinking that I was going to give birth early. The energy slowed down after a few days when I didn’t go into labor, but about a week after that appointment I started to get strong, regular contractions on a Saturday night. After an hour they didn’t let up and I started to write down how often they were occurring. When they reached 5 minutes apart for over an hour I called the doctor and he told me to come down to the hospital, given that Sawyer’s labor only lasted under 4 hours. I told Keith and he immediately ran to the bathroom. I asked him where he was going and he said, “I’m going to get pretty! I’m sick of looking terrible in all the birth pictures.” I busted up laughing when he came out with his hair gelled up, in a button down shirt, and a big grin on his face.

My dear friend Luzy arrived shortly to stay with the kids and we took off for the hospital around 9:00. After checking in we went straight up to delivery. The nurse hooked me up to the monitors and checked me. My contractions were pretty intense, but she said I was still at a 3. We were just excited that things were going and walked around for a bit. An hour and a half later she came in to check again and said that not only was I a 3, but the baby was really high. We were sent home.

False labor was a huge disappointment for me. I had never experienced that before and was not prepared for the incredible let down I experienced the following day. I had strong contractions all night long and finally drifted off to sleep around 3:30 AM and awoke to nothing. No contractions, no movement. I remember laying still in bed and waited for the baby to kick. An hour later nothing had happened, even after poking and prodding, and I began to cry, thinking that he had been in distress all night long and I was going to lose him. Let me just say, me being a wreck is a complete understatement. A total breakdown ensued and I felt like this dark cloud just engulf me. About two hours later I felt a little movement in my belly and I felt relief that he was alive.

Despite knowing that he was well, I couldn’t shake the total disanimation I felt inside. I wanted nothing more than to give birth, to meet this little man, but I knew if I were to go into real labor that day I wouldn’t have the heart or energy to survive it. So I gave myself a day off. I was allowed to cry, to be frustrated, to feel depressed, to be annoyed at my body for the torture it put me through, and to be a poor sport. But then I promised myself I would wake up tomorrow and be fine, I would get up as though nothing had happened and I would move forward with a better outlook.

And I did. Monday passed without incident, I walked 3 miles at the gym, I ran errands, I prepared for my mom’s arrival that night, I played with the kids, and I relaxed. My mom’s flight came without major incident, despite the deep freeze enveloping the country and delaying thousands of flights, and when she walked into my room at midnight she put a hand on my belly and said, “Now you can come. Grandma’s here to help.”

I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Finally I fell into a fitful sleep around 4:00 AM and awoke at 5:00 AM to “pop” followed by a pretty strong contraction. My water must have popped a little, so I rolled over to watch my clock and they were 10 minutes apart which was too early to get excited. I tried to relax and just rest. By 5:45 they were coming every 3 minutes consistently so I called the hospital to let them know I might be in labor. I woke Keith at 6:00 and he started up the car and began packing it up. At one point my friend, Alexandra, had told me that the longest contraction I could even have would be less than a minute. I took that to heart, and logic evaded the pain as I decided to count through each contraction as I breathed. I was more curious than anything how long they would last and if they were each consistent. It took the pain away as I concentrated on the numbers.

When we reached the hospital at 6:30, I was smiling between the contractions and chatting with the nurses. They hooked me up to the monitor and “checked” me out. Surprised the nurse pulled back and said, “Baby, you’re at a nine!” She sent someone to tell the doctor to hurry as I sat back and kept counting. When the pain became stronger I asked Keith to bust out the ipod and I put in some meditation track. I chose the one that they call “Affirmation”, and hit repeat. It was awful nice to have some random lady reminding me in my ear that I was strong, capable, and my body was meant to do this. It reminded me of those last burning minutes in a race where my legs were ready to give up and my brain had to take over and push the physical pain away with mental strength. I knew I was near my birthing finish line, and all I had to do was remain steady.

The doctor came in around 7:30 and told me that as soon as I felt the urge to push to give him a call then promptly broke the rest of my water. Soon after we had nurses wandering in and out. I heard whispers, “She’s at a nine, can you believe it?” as I sat calmly counting (I found the contractions no matter how strong rarely lasted longer than 15 seconds). As they came stronger and stronger I tried to envision where my little man was, and what he was going through. I knew my pain was probably as great as his and I knew that if I stayed relaxed the muscles around him that were pushing him downward were less likely to engulf him and make him feel strangled. Between the counting I focused on his heartbeat, reminding myself that if he was steady it meant I was doing a good job staying relaxed.

But let me tell you, no matter how many ways they write that you can just gently push the baby out, that wasn’t going to happen in my case. I hit a wall suddenly and the pain was so intense that my calm demeanor slipped and I cried to Keith, “I think I’m done! I want to go home.” He reminded me that I was close and that I was going to make it through this last part. As soon as my whole mind went into a panic the doctor walked in with a flurry of activity happening behind him. Who were all these random people standing there watching me? I think that some kind of instinct must take over a body when it is time to give birth, including a panicky “Holy cow, get this out of me” feeling and I couldn’t calm myself during these last 15 minutes. Minutes later I would understand why the pressure was so intense.

The doctors and nurses guided me to push and push I did. Again and again. There was no gentle falling out here, but the doctor and head nurse guided me through and helped me get through those last minutes as Keith cheered me on quietly. When he arrived everyone’s mouth literally dropped in shock at the sheer size of him. We had guesses flying around during that last hour of labor and most people were between 7 lbs. 5 oz. and 8 lbs. 5 oz. Folks, he was 9 lbs. 15 oz. with a head the size of a one month old. Holy Goliath.

They placed him on my chest and we cried together. Finally my baby was in my arms, and he was healthy and huge, and oh so purply beautiful. And he was mine. We had done it! He continued to cry and I whispered to him, “I know, it was scary for me too, but we’re going to be just fine little man.”

After looking at him I turned to Keith and said, “His name is not Ezra. He’s too strong for that name.” Keith agreed and we tried to wrap our heads around him and the right name. Later that day we settled on our second name we had picked out – Hunter. After Keith went home that evening to rest and let me recover I kept trying to confirm his name, saying it over and over, but it just didn’t feel right. When Keith arrived the next morning he said, “His name isn’t Hunter.” I told him I wholeheartedly agreed and we just stared at the little-big-man-baby for a few minutes when Keith looked up and said definitively, “Grant.” I nodded and we both smiled. It was a name not even on our list, but it was meant to be his.

Following the delivery it was so strange to be told to hop off the bed and walk down to my recovery room. I stared at the nurse and said, “You want me to walk?” She said, “Why not?” So I stood up and walked next to Keith as he pushed the bassinet to our room. And that was that. I was in shock and wonder to be up and walking around.

When the kids came later that day I love that Sawyer immediately tackled me on the bed and said, “Now can I sit on your lap?” I laughed and pulled him closer and he sighed contentedly. He could cuddle with mommy again and that was all he wanted to know. He was really fascinated with my post birth belly and kept pushing it asking suspiciously, “Is there another baby in there?” It took a few days to convince him that I wasn’t about to have another baby and it would get smaller.

I have to admit, that giving birth naturally was less scary than I imagined it to be at first. I still am shocked that I was able to go through it so calmly and I’m incredibly glad that I didn’t know how big Grant was. I think I would have psyched myself out if I had actually known his size. I feel empowered and I feel like I can do more than I ever thought I could before, if I just set my mind to it. My first thought after I wrapped my head around Grant’s birth was, “I can’t wait to do my first triathalon!” Because, baby, I can do it all! (And man am I glad to not be pregnant anymore!)