If you are among the many Nigerians populating my Facebook friends list, you’re probably aware that since my last post, I went on to spend the better part of 2011 knocked up (Christian and I referred to this as “Plan B”), which eventually culminated on October 3rd in the shockingly loud birth of yet another (but not the 7 millionth) member of the human species, Serafina Kidan. When the birth announcement originally went out, there were several requests for comparisons between giving birth in China and giving birth in Austria (since I am now a worldly expert at both), which I proceeded to ignore in favor of seeking counseling. Two months on, however, I suppose I have recovered to the point to put into a few words how the second (and final) round of my life-creating career played itself out. As for a comparison, you’ll have to hop back in time to round 1 and compare for yourself. I’ve parsed this particular adventure out into an easy step-by-step guide for those who want to recreate the Austrian birth experience at home.
- Prepare like you’re the first person to have ever given birth in Austria’s long and glorious history. Sign the husband/translator up for private birth classes. Get acupuncture. Drink ridiculous amounts of magical “uterine-toning” tea. Take an at-home self-hypnosis course. Switch hospitals mid-pregnancy after major meltdown. Whine a lot.
- Run to the hospital five weeks early with false labor contractions. Get annoyed when the doctors use their own magical concoctions to temporarily stop the pains. Promise not to return until the baby is crowning.
- Put up with four more weeks of contractions of varying intensities. When water finally breaks, suggest watching one more episode of Modern Family and encourage the husband/translator to take a shower before heading to the hospital.
- At the hospital, partake in all kinds of fun and exciting tests as labor pains intensify. Try not to cry when the midwife declares you to be about 1 cm dilated nor kick the doctor during yet another ultrasound. Contemplate the surprisingly violent art hanging on the wall instead. Who was in charge of purchasing that giant bloody explosion and what were they thinking?
- After tests are finished and you are settled into your own private labor room, proceed to beg for drugs. Do this loudly and insistently. Refuse all natural offerings such as birthing balls, jacuzzi baths and that damn hypnosis recording. Don’t resort to biting your husband/translator during an especially painful contraction, but seriously consider it.
- The more you beg for drugs, the slower everyone in the room moves. You must be at least 2 cm dilated to receive an epidural. Congratulations! You are 3 cm. The husband/translator must fill out a pile of forms. Rejoicing in actually getting to fill out forms he can read, he proceeds to do just that. Very. Very. Slowly.
- Seriously consider getting a new translator.
- Perhaps you can call the husband/translator’s father. His English is pretty good. He is Dutch, after all. Good English seems to be in their genes.
- Progress! You finally get to move to the actual delivery room. The midwife promises just fifty more checks/tests and then she will call the anesthesiologist. You briefly regret all the violent thoughts you’ve entertained about the midwife up to this point until the next contraction hits.
- Oops! Nevermind. You’re dilated to 10 cm, but the baby’s still a little high up so the midwife gives you permission to push “a little” to get it into a better position.
- Whatever you do, do not end this push. If you do, it may take another month to get this baby out. Out pops the head. Keep going! And there’s squirmy jumble of limbs.
- Take a breath and hang out. As the midwife didn’t have time to call the doctor nor get her gloves on to catch the baby, there are a lot of forms to be filled out and tests to be run before you and the snorting baby get to move to the next phase of this adventure.
Est. time from hospital admission to baby: 2 hours