The Path of a Racecar: Part 2 — Mrs. WRITE Balance

If you missed the first installment of our little Racecar’s journey into the world, you can read it here: Part 1

What felt like a victory in getting pregnant at all turned out to be just the beginning of a rocky journey. Mr. Butler had already set his mind on no more babies so it took him a couple of weeks to warm up to the idea. Pretty quickly I started in with morning sickness like a freight train. I really didn’t throw up, but my energy and productivity bottomed out. A vacation got cancelled, Jude got really good at putting Zoey down for a nap, and my poor housekeeping skills fell to abysmal. My body was a lot older this time around and I felt it.

Somewhere around 20 weeks, where I had started to get a little energy back, I had a day where I progressively felt worse. I felt bloated pressure on my bladder, but couldn’t seem to empty it. Around Mr. Butler’s drive home from work, I called him begging him to take me to the emergency room. You know something isn’t right if I’m asking to go to the hospital because I HATE hospitals. But pain can motivate. After checking out the baby, who was fine, they emptied my bladder and the nurse claimed it was the most she’d ever seen come out of someone! After that I immediately felt better. They ran tests and double-checked all the things. My potassium was a little low, but nothing they came up with then or at later appointments could account for what happened. Terrifying, but all’s well that ends well.

Life moved on and my belly grew out. I couldn’t tolerate a lot of foods and had to be selective about what I ate, but there weren’t anymore events. Physically things calmed down with my body, but the stress was just ramping up. In late November, both of our cars died on the same day within a mile of each other. If hadn’t lived it, I wouldn’t believe it myself. We replaced the engine in my CRV and bought a new (used) one for Mr. Butler, something we certainly had NOT been planning for right before Christmas. My parents were building a house which added activity to everything in the following months. And still my belly grew out further.

On the day he was born, only a couple days after his ‘due date’, I hadn’t had any contractions really. I hadn’t felt well, but I was 9 months pregnant. That morning I had asked my mom to come over and work on my feet - she does reflexology - and I just wanted to feel better. It felt great, but I was still pregnant. As the day progressed, I felt worse but no contractions to speak of. I took a shower and proceeded to feel worse, but no evidence of labor. Probably around 3pm or so, I developed severe pelvic pain. No contractions, just increasing sharp pain. Mr. Butler kept asking me if I was in labor but I didn’t know what to tell him. I knew what contractions and labor felt like and this wasn’t really it, but it also wasn’t normal. Finally, he called my mom and the midwives to come over. Jude was already with my dad and Zoey was taking a nap. The pain was getting more and more uncomfortable. I couldn’t lay down but felt weak standing up. The pain was exponentially worse than my other two labors and there was no comforting me with headphones and music. It just agitated me. Finally the pain was so bad that I stood at chest high cabinet and fluctuated between squatting and guttural noises. So, clearly in labor but none I had ever experienced before.

When the assistant midwife arrived, they moved me into dining room. Why? I had given birth at home twice before, though not at this house. Had I determined that the most comforting and meaningful place to give birth was in my dining room? Nope. It was the closest room with tile and not carpet, so way easier to clean. While it seems a little bizarre to me that cleaning was the deciding priority, boy was it wise this time around. Remember, the pain is so much worse than my two other very natural births and I’m feeling completely sideswiped by this labor. The assistant midwife takes a look at me and says I’m going to need my other bag. While she set up what she had, Randy ran to the car and grabbed everything he saw. As soon as they (Randy, my mom and Chelsea, the assistant because the head midwife hadn’t made it yet) got everything setup, I was either going to die from the pain or have a baby. So, with just a few pushes, he came gushing out. And I mean gushing. All liquid, contents and his whole 10 pound self game out in a single wave. That tile floor certainly came in handy.

That chunky race car opened his eyes and I saw him. He was right there. I was in shock and full of oxytocin. And then he closed them and started to fade. The oxytocin kept me convinced - in a way only mothers can do - that he was going to be just fine. “Just give him a minute.” I said. Chelsey, the assistant who had helped deliver miss Z, was amazing and professional from start to finish. She did all the things to get him to come back to us. It only felt like a few seconds, but it was a lot longer and Mr. Butler and my mom were in no way calm like me. They were - appropriately - afraid we were going to lose him. But in what felt like moments to me ( but in actuality a lot longer), he coughed and started brightening back up. All was well. Rory Emerson Butler was born at 6:31 pm barely 30 minutes after Chelsey arrived.

And that was just the beginning.

If you are looking for the rest of the story, click here: Part 3