Thursday, March 26, there were only a few trivial things left on the baby to do list. I decided I would go grocery shopping as the necessities were scarce, and I wanted to make some meals to freeze for the new baby.

The day started out as any normal shopping day. I went to the Dollar Tree, finished up Mikey's Easter Basket, Aldi and Wal-Mart to get everything Ashley and I needed to make our meals to freeze for the new babies. It was a long six-hour shopping day, and I must have walked miles. I thought I was just tired.

I got home, unpacked the groceries and went to class. I started having consistent contractions at 25 minutes apart in my Statistics class. I decided to go ahead and go to my 8 p.m. class, and the contractions were consistent.

Thursday night my contractions gradually got closer together, 25 minutes, 15 minutes. They stayed at 10 minutes for a while. I was able to get about four hours of sleep, and of course this happened to be a week that Michael was sick, allowing me and my husband about five or six hours of sleep a night since Monday. I remember my midwife saying, "Don't worry, you won't sleep through labor." Besides, I still had a week and a half to go. No way was I going to be this early. So I tried to sleep.

Thursday night I told Mike that my contractions were getting closer, and we might need to go to the hospital soon. He told me I was overreacting, and then he started snoring. I tried to sleep. I got about four hours of sleep, and then cat napped in between 10-minute contractions for an hour or so.

Ashley came over that morning about 9 a.m. My contractions were about six minutes apart. I decided to go to the hospital at about noon. My contractions had been going on for 15 hours, and they were consistent, and getting stronger. I also had bloody show, so after about an hour or so of making lasagna, of which Ashley kindly finished, Mike came home and off to the hospital we went.

Contractions at five minutes apart in a car, going down LaGrange, are less than comfortable. I gave my husband very few responsibilities over the course of labor and delivery. One, however, was directions to the hospital. My husband passed up Route 83, insisting Route 53 was the way to go. Long story short, he went about 15 minutes out of our way, which made our gas light go off. Here I was at the gas station swaying my hips as he filled up, worrying that I might actually make the news with a new baby on the side of the road.

After fighting traffic and an hour of contractions in the car we were finally at the hospital. When we arrived I was 4 centimeters dilated, which I was happy with. I wasn't in active labor yet so I was able to get into the bathtub.

After laboring for four hours I was checked again and was a 6, which meant I had to stay on the monitors.

At about 6 o'clock, my contractions got fast and hard, and were all in my back. They were teetering between three and four minutes apart, lasting about a minute. At that point I found a renewed respect for natural child birth, and back labor. Tethered to a monitor with a midwife, labor and delivery nurse and my husband, I felt such an urge to perform, but how could I with a pain that I could only compare to a dull fork being stuck into my back, deliberately and slowing turning in such a painful way?

I was so exhausted at that point, with little rest the night before, and half of a bagel as my only source of energy. I tried to remember every one of my natural childbirth buddies that gave me so many words of encouragement. I tried to labor on all fours, the birthing ball, the dancing position. The closer I came to transition, the worse I felt. My contractions were accompanied by vomiting. Considering I had only had a bagel that morning, most of it was dry heaves, but there were few contractions that the nausea gave way to stomach acid, which was awful.

Finally it was through one of many contractions that my knees gave way and my husband just held me up. It was so painful I instinctively bit my husband. Luckily I realized what I was doing before I took a chunk of my husband's bicep out. My husband was the best coach ever. Aside from losing his sense of direction, he couldn't have done a better job. He diligently urged me not to get the epidural, and read a list of reasons why not.

I was sobbing at that point because I could no longer remember the purpose I began this day with. I had been having consistent contractions for 24 hours, and I completely crippled. I begged for an epidural. I would have climbed any mountain to get away from that pain. I could care less about anything. I allowed my mind to take control. I no longer had the time to recoup between contractions. So 40 minutes later I got an epidural. That was the longest 40 minutes of my life.

Looking back, even if I would have known that I was a 7 – almost 8 – at that point, I still would have gotten the epidural. I couldn't do 10 more minutes, much less two more hours.

The midwife checked me right after the epidural was in. I could still feel the contractions pretty intensely, but they gradually got less painful. Initially I was scared to death that my VBAC would be damaged by beginning intervention. I was upset that my midwife would be disappointed. I had begged her to take me on in my third trimester. I swore I would be the model of natural labor. She was so loving and nurturing, telling me that plans change, and there was no reason to be so disappointed in myself.

My No. 1 goal was a VBAC. Natural childbirth was a second goal, because I was worried an epidural would slow my contractions. I never meant to be a cowboy in my attempts at natural childbirth, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, my motivation was not for the baby necessarily, but more so my attempts at a VBAC – which is best for Baby and me.

My midwife assured me I gave it a great try and first labors are usually longer, and harder to prepare for. She reiterated the main goal here was a VBAC. I never had a contraction with Michael as he was a planned Cesarean section because of his position. I have such a renewed respect for contractions, and the natural process.

When my midwife checked me after the epidural was in, I was a 7, almost 8, which I had guessed based on the contractions. She broke my water, and an hour and a half later I was complete, and at a + 2 station.

I hung up the phone with Ashley at about 8:15. I began pushing minutes after. I had three good pushes and out my baby girl came. I had a wonderful epidural that allowed a lot of participation. I was able to move, and ended up pushing on my side. I was able to feel my contractions, and my baby's head stretching through.

My baby girl was in my arms by 8:34, three pushes, 15 minutes later. When her head was delivered it was quickly noticed why I had been having such painful back labor. Rather than being head down, she was looking East (for a lack of a better description. Thankfully she wasn't sunny side up. I couldn't believe my baby girl was here, and I did it. I actually did it. I did have an internal tear. That wouldn't have been so bad, had it not torn through a vessel, which caused me to lose a lot of blood. Three pints, I believe.

These last few years I always felt like I had failed Michael in some way. I hadn't done my research. I should have known he was breech and brought it to the OB's attention. I should have been working on my pelvic thrust, and other position techniques. I never understood how I had this beautiful baby boy, that for a lack of a better description, saved both me and my husband. I didn't deserved Michael. I didn't give birth to him.

I always felt like there was something I did wrong throughout my pregnancy that resulted in his breech position. I always felt like I didn't deserve such a wonderful child, because I certainly didn't do any work for him. I had failed him as a mother before he had even been born. Through my research and the relationships I built, I realized that I had and was suffering from "Cesarean Depression," which is often compared to post partum depression.

I did almost everything differently in this pregnancy. I researched what labor was about, and what I wanted my labor to be about. I was going to be accountable for the birth of my next child. Cameron's birth was perfect and there isn't one thing I'd change. Achieving our VBAC goal has allowed me to accept and move on from the awful residual of feelings from my first birth experience. I feel so at peace with Michael's birth. I don't feel as robbed, and I don't feel so angry and disappointed with myself.

Special thanks to my husband, family, midwives and my mommy friends. I enjoyed hearing all your wonderful stories, and thought of you during labor. Friday night, I went from a VBAC hopeful to a VBAC success. I couldn't be happier or more proud.