I’m obsessed with even numbers and a bit too competitive when it comes to outdoing myself. So after having my daughters, getting divorced, remarried, and having my son it’s only natural that I go the distance.

No we’re not working to repopulate humanity or anything, but something inside me had to have at least as many kids with my new(ish) husband-my REAL husband-as I did with my x. That and I couldn’t leave it at an odd number.

If you’ve been following me, you know some of the story. This pregnancy has had just as many wacky adventures as the others, plus a Labor Day that consisted of 10 hours of “false labor” that really fooled us. The midwife came over and we were really ready to have a baby.

But my little guy wasn’t ready. I had no idea he was even a HE. I like surprises and having an extra reason to push.

I like to let my body do what it does. No ultrasounds, sonograms, blood tests. None of that. I like to leave it up to fate. And that’s always worked for me. (It’s def not for everyone, but I don’t care what everyone else does so long as I can just nest and hope for the best while talking to the Gods about my fears of the worst).

So after having a world of Brackston Hicks, prodromal labor, and all the false labor a woman can handle, I didn’t know what to trust.

When the real deal hit last week, I was convinced that the baby would never come and it was another false alarm. I told my husband, “This baby isn’t coming” and went to bed.

But the contractions got stronger and by the time I got up to pace the floor they were 3 minutes apart. I went and told my husband.

It’s annoying because everyone has that look on their face when I talk about this. The “You’ve done this before, shouldn’t you KNOW” look. It makes me want to scream, of course, there would be time for screaming soon enough.

I called the midwife and she headed out, but I knew things were moving too fast. The contractions went to 1 min apart right after I called her.

I had my husband call to have the midwife’s assistant come over since she lives closer. It was terrifying. The possibility of having to deliver the baby ourselves was REAL.

My husband has PTSD and is not good with seeing blood or really any bodily messes. He was starting to panic, I could tell, despite how hard he tried not to. “What do we do?” He asked.

I told him to get the big floor pads from the birthing kit and wake the eldest up. She wants to be a veterinarian, isn’t squeamish about much and had asked to help out anyway.

She wandered into the living room rubbing her eyes as I got the pads under me just in time for my water to break.

Water breaking is never a Hollywood affair. Movies are garbage. My water only ever breaks right before its time to push. As soon as it goes, the baby is right there.

I asked my daughter to get a towel and get behind me as I leaned against the couch on all fours. It’s really a great birthing position, but when your ten year old is readying herself to catch a baby, it’s pretty intense.

I kept starting and stopping the stopwatch on my phone like it would make the midwife come sooner.

“It’s moving down!” I screamed. I felt that crazy urge to push and… pooped on my daughter. If I didn’t have a sense of humor I’d be super embarrassed, but she had a towel and caught it.

My husband had to step out for a moment. The baby was really coming and I just did what my body told me to, like every other time.

The midwife’s assistant rushed in just as the baby’s head crowned. She coached me through the rest. The baby’s shoulders got stuck for a bit but I did as I was told. It was “One more push,” for about 5 or 10 more pushes, but once that little guy was out, he was out and I could breathe again.

It took a minute to get him going, like it does, but my baby boy, Carlin, was my biggest yet weighing in at 9 pounds 9 ounces. His head and his chest measured the same size haha.

The midwife walked in literally a minute after he was born. It was crazy. But I was grateful.

These women work so hard. They don’t just safely birth babies with women at home, they clean and examine mother and baby, and make sure everything is nice and on track before leaving you to the euphoria of parenting.

My youngest daughter and the toddler both woke up and came out to meet their brother right after he was born. We destroyed our sleep schedule introducing everyone to the chubby new addition to our family and hugged and laughed, like ya do.

Everything worked out. It always does.

So yeah, I’m now writing as a mother of 4, while all my kids are asleep. Somehow. I didn’t think that would be possible this early in, but I’ve got a good gig here and my family seems to get it. Even the baby.


11 thoughts on “#4

  1. Content Catnip says:

    This was the most beautiful and personal post Jessica, I love how you involved your ten year old daughter in the labour, this would have been a profound experience for her. Congrats on the new arrival and may the gods forever be watching over your Mabon baby 😘

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