Jonathan's birthday

Twenty-three years ago, on this day, I was giving birth to my fourth child, my beautiful brown-eyed boy.

It took me four tries to get a brown-eyed baby, but finally he arrived, the baby who looked like the baby I'd always imagined, the baby who resembled some of the old baby pictures of me.

Our babysitter, Debi, was with the other three kids, who were five (almost 6), four, and two (almost 3).

Jonno was the only one of our babies who was actually born at The Birthplace, that calmer, homier facility adjacent to the hospital.  It has since been shut down, in favor of keeping all births closer to emergency technology in case of complications.

Oddly, I don't remember much about leaving for the hospital, but it was sometime Saturday evening.

The Birthplace had regular beds, not hospital beds.  They were covered with quilted bedspreads.  It was all done in homey florals, with wallpaper borders and golden oak rocking chairs.  Today's homebuyers would sigh at the hopelessly out-of-date decor, nothing gray, nothing white, nothing stainless steel.  I think the idea was to escape a clinical, antiseptic look.  Personally, I thought it was charming, and comforting.

I took a bath while I was laboring.  They had a bathtub, and I tried to relax in a warm bath.

By Sunday morning, I was tired, and the labor continued.

In all my deliveries, I never had an urge to push.  I didn't ever dilate much past 8 cm, either.  I'd just get to 8 cm, and then it would stay there.  In the first three deliveries, they finally told me to push, even though I was only measuring 8 cm.  I did, and it was hard, and it hurt a lot.  It takes a lot of mental fortitude to push, inflicting that kind of pain on yourself, when you don't have any urge to push.

Finally, when Laura was born, (my third time around), I asked for a shot of novocaine (xylocaine?) at the point of exit.  This helped immeasurably.  So, I approached Jonathan's birth with the expectation that I would again have a shot of novocaine, for much needed help and relief in the final moments before birth.

However, I also hoped that I would develop an urge to push this fourth baby out.  I'd read everything about birth that I could find, and all the authors assured me that if one is patient and gives nature a chance, the body will eventually heave the baby out of its own volition.

At about 10:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, August 27, 1995, after something like 14 hours of laboring at the hospital, no sleep, and no food, I sat in a golden oak rocking chair and cried with exhaustion.

My midwife came in and told me that we could put an end to this dreary business, if I would just only push.  So I finally agreed to get on the bed and exert myself.  I said, "Can I please have a shot of novocaine, so I will not be so afraid?"

She said, "No.  It's still too early.  You will tear if we give you novocaine right now."

The bed was flatter than a hospital bed.  It didn't crank up into a supportive sitting position, nor did it have arms that flipped down for me to grab.  I sort of missed the hospital beds I'd had for my other three deliveries.

Meanwhile, Debi had taken the other three kids to church.  Everybody at church knew I was having a baby.  They prayed for us.  Jonathan's birth was covered by the corporate Sunday morning prayers of our church.

I told my midwife that I didn't want to push until I had a shot of numbing local anesthetic.  I told her I was afraid to push without that shot.  She told me I had to push until the baby's head crowned, and then she would give me the shot.

I was unhappy, but I complied.  I pushed until his head crowned.

"There's your baby's head!" she cheered.  "Do you want a mirror to see?  Do you want to feel his hair?"

"No!"  I replied, "I want my novocaine now."  Seriously, I am convinced that she thought she was going to be able to distract me into pushing him out without the shot.  I was mad.  She finally gave me the shot, and a few minutes after 11 a.m., my beautiful baby boy came into the world.  After the midwife delivered his head, Shawn pulled him the rest of the way out and cut the umbilical cord.  I remember he had the most delicious, plump little shoulders.

I took a long nap after that, while Shawn held our new son against his bare chest and watched TV in The Birthplace's living room.

That is the story of Jonathan's birth.  I am so thankful for this beautiful child, this gift from God, this son born on a Sunday, full of promise and hope, covered with blessing.