To everyone who’s been asking about Teddy’s birth story, thank you for your patience. I usually let these stories sit for a bit before writing—Clara’s took almost a year because of all the mixed emotions—but Teddy’s birth felt more straightforward and far less frightening. After a traumatic first birth, the idea of a routine, scheduled delivery was incredibly comforting. For the most part, that’s what we got, and I am so grateful. There were a few surprises, but the biggest challenge during this pregnancy and delivery was managing the worry and fear left over from my prior experience. In many ways Teddy’s birthday felt like the culmination of four years’ worth of emotions.
This time I had a scheduled C-section because going into labor posed real risks for both me and Teddy—labor was what triggered my placental abruption with Clara. Knowing the date ahead of time felt strange at first, but it was a welcome constant after the loss of control I’d felt previously.
The date was April 16th, and it arrived without any false alarms or labor scares beforehand, which felt like a huge blessing. We had to be at the hospital around 6:30 a.m., so we left Clara with the grandparents and drove in. It was odd to arrive at the hospital without contractions; when I went into labor with Clara I was in a lot of pain on the way. The calm was mostly nice, though it did allow old anxieties to creep back in—my last birth had gone fine until it suddenly hadn’t, and that memory lingered.
They got me into a gown quickly and started an IV. I joked that I have terrible veins and it usually takes a few tries. Sure enough, it took three attempts by three different people—the last was an anesthesiologist who numbed my hand before finding the right spot. Because I’d been asked not to eat or drink that morning, I was dehydrated, which made my veins even harder to access.
That small IV struggle helped keep my mind occupied instead of spiraling. A monitor was on my belly the whole time, which felt reassuring, and the anesthesiologist was funny and friendly, so we chatted. He told us his daughter had just slept through the night for the first time, which put him in a great mood and made the day feel positive. It was soon time for the epidural; I would be wheeled alone into the operating room and John could join me once it was in.
Even though it might sound strange, being separated from John during my emergency C-section before had left me panicked. As they wheeled me down the hall this time, I had a small panic attack—my chest felt tight and I had trouble breathing. Once I realized I could breathe, I felt embarrassed and tried to steady myself with positive thoughts: “Get it together; this is an amazing day.”
In the operating room, I sat up and curled my back for the epidural. My spine decided to be stubborn just like my veins, so it took several attempts. At one point I felt fluid running down my back and asked if it was blood; it turned out to be spinal fluid. Odd as that sounds, moments like that kept my mind active and distracted. Soon the epidural was working, I was laid down and lifted onto the operating table—then I looked up.
I recognized the room instantly. It was the same operating room where Clara had been born. I’d stared at that ceiling for what felt like forever while willing Clara to cry. Seeing it again hit me hard. John later said he had the same realization from the hallway, standing outside that door and feeling nervous all over again.
Once I was on the table, John was allowed in. He took my hand and everything felt okay. A rush of excitement washed over me—we were about to meet our son. I may have squeezed John’s hand a bit too tightly, but he didn’t complain. He later showed me a picture he took while I had my eyes closed; we’d missed many photos during Clara’s birth, so he made sure to capture more this time.
About ten to fifteen minutes later the doctor said, “He has so much hair!” and “He’s so big!” I remember anxiously asking, “Why isn’t he crying?!”—all I wanted to hear was that cry. The doctor laughed and reassured me: “He’s still inside, I’m getting him out right now,” and then he started wailing. The sound was an incredible release. Tears came immediately; it felt like the greatest relief.
They placed him on my chest for skin-to-skin a few seconds later. He lay there breathing, occasionally opening his eyes just a sliver to look at me. John and I held each other and stared at him—so close I could see every tiny hair and freckle. We laughed about the little hairs on his shoulder and jokingly called him our tiny werewolf. They took him to be cleaned, weighed, and measured, and he cried again. We were both laughing and crying; it felt overwhelming in the best way.
There was some postpartum bleeding on my end because my uterus wasn’t clamping down, so they gave me a shot of pitocin to control it. Thankfully that worked and I didn’t need a blood transfusion. After they stitched me up, I nursed Teddy for the first time. Lying there, taking in his tiny face, I looked up and saw John getting teary again. Healthy babies are born every day, but to us it felt like a miracle.
Once we were settled in our postpartum room, we introduced Teddy to John’s parents, my mom, and Clara. Watching Clara gently pet his head and asking to climb into bed with us left me nearly speechless. My heart felt like it might burst. I’m so grateful to the medical team who helped bring both our children safely into the world and who cared for me throughout this pregnancy.
Recovery from this second C-section was easier than the first. I’d experienced more trauma and blood loss the first time, and this incision was smaller, so I was moving around in the hospital by the next day—I even managed a morning shower—and I was off pain meds by the time we were home. One thing I loved after both C-sections was the abdominal binder the hospital provided. It’s a wide, Velcro band that supports your abdomen and feels like having constant bracing. It made laughing or sneezing less painful and helped me stand and walk more comfortably. I wore mine for about four weeks postpartum and it made a real difference. If your hospital doesn’t offer one, ask—they’re hugely helpful.
I want to thank you all for the love and support during this pregnancy and at the time of birth. Your well wishes were deeply comforting during such an emotional season. Big wet kisses to all of you. (Also: I think Teddy has a present in his diaper for you—oh wait, that’s for John.)
One more thing: how is my baby boy already this big?! Pure insanity!
