Ozella Marie Smith
Born Friday December 2nd, 2022 at 12:13 AM
6 pounds 9 ounces
21 inches
I’d had a great pregnancy. I was in the perfect frame of mind. Thursday I was 41 weeks pregnant but I knew the baby was measuring small, I have a history of 42 week pregnancies and I was pretty sure this one would take me into the forty second week in order to fill this baby out. The fact that I was “waiting” really hadn’t crossed my mind, I wasn’t even close to impatient.
I noticed first thing in the morning I had to go to the bathroom a couple times and told Wesley somewhat mockingly that ‘other women would think this might be a sign of impending labor but I know it’s probably just something I ate.’
He went to work, I started my day.
After feeding the kids lunch and having a single contraction that made me tell the kids “that was a real contraction, if I had more like that I could think I was going into labor”.
We moved on. I read Jonny Tremain to the kids, we finished and I noticed a few more decent contractions. Time to leave for Bible study. While at Bible study I knew the contractions were continuing but they were inconsistent, even if they were building. Some were noticeable enough that I had trouble concentrating on the discussion. Good signs, I started considering the fact it might be early labor, I’d know by tonight when we went home, if I could just go to sleep they’d go away, and I truly believed they would.
We stayed for dinner and fellowship, my contractions were completely erratic but if it didn’t turn into labor I still knew they were productive for preparing me for labor, they were definitely doing something.
At 8 I told Wesley I thought it might be early labor, at 8:30 I told him I was ready to go home and rest, either so they’d stop, or so I’d be rested for labor.
At home we settled in and got the kids to bed. I texted Shay to tell her I thought I might be in early labor, my contractions were intense enough they made me feel panicked, very typical of labor contractions for me, but, they weren’t the official 5/1 ratio so even though they felt like labor contractions they might just go away.
Shay asked if I wanted her to come and check on the baby. I was a little worried about the babies position and just in case it was labor I thought I might as well find out to know if I should labor in a certain position. She arrived at 10:30PM and I told her if it doesn’t turn out to be actual labor don’t hold it against me, “just pretend you’re stopping by to visit at 10:30 at night”.
Baby sounded good, position was okay. I asked her to go ahead and do a vaginal exam, in general I prefer not to have them but I felt like I needed to know if the contractions had caused any progression because I still couldn’t tell if it was labor, the contractions were just so random, short and intense.
I was dilated to 5 but baby’s head was all on one side of my cervix not putting pressure evenly. Shay suggested laying on my left side if I wanted to progress, laying on my right side if I wanted it to slow down and let me rest for the night, either way she said baby was on its way. I chose the left side. I was already halfway there, might as well go for it. I laid on my left side, I had two contractions and it crossed my mind that I should tell Shay to call Barb, my other midwife, this was labor. A few more contractions over the next twenty minutes or so and I told Wesley to let Shay know Barb should come. She had an hour drive. I was still sure that was plenty of time, I’m always so nervous I’ll be a newbie mom and embarrass myself by having the midwives come too soon. I told Wesley to let my mom know to come. Shay came upstairs and observed a couple contractions, I told her I felt a little pushy. I saw the panic in Shay, she knows better than I that when I start feeling pushy our time is up; she told me she needed at least 20 more minutes in order to have backup. Barb wasn’t going to make it but another midwife from Avon was closer and could get here to help. She asked me to blow through contractions and roll off my left side to slow things down. It is still surreal to me. I rolled to my back and had about ten minutes between a contraction where I was joking with Shay that I didn’t want to wait for another midwife but I would wait because I might as well have a December 2nd birthday, 12/02/2022 was a nice birthdate. Another REAL contraction took over and I felt like pushing, I tried blowing, I got panicky, Shay reminded me to “just breath” I relaxed and made it through. I watched the clock, I contracted, I breathed low and tired to stay calm. I knew I was getting close to the point where I wouldn’t be able to hold back. I think I remember Shay saying Cassandra had arrived, I could start pushing as soon as she made it in. Wesley pointed out my mom was only five minutes out, I thought ‘guess she should’ve driven faster’ I was done waiting.
I stood up out of bed, planning to squat and push for the next contraction but I didn’t really have time, I just accepted the first contraction and continued to focus on my breathing. Second contraction I squated; too deep, horribly uncomfortable, no urge to push, just irritation that I didn’t push. I stood, another contraction, the urge to push was back, my waters broke, it was a horrible mess. My waters were full of meconium, so much water, so much baby poop, uncontrollable urge to pee. Another contraction and Shay said “I need you to push”. I was hoping to let go and just breath the baby out, but knew the meconium must have caused a need to rush. I dreaded it but I started pushing with the next contraction and everything just clicked into place, the dread melted, I said “she’s going to crown with the next one” I reached down, contracted, felt her crowning, it was euphoric. I wasn’t even sure if I was having contractions anymore, I just relaxed and pushed. The baby birthed. Shay had a hand on her, I held her, Shay announced “the cord!” I blubbered “it’s Ozella, I was right, it’s a girl! Ozella, right? She’s Ozella Wesley?”
“Lower her Haley, the cord” from Shay who still had her wits about her. That’s when I noticed how wound up in her cord she was. I’ve never seen a baby so tied up. It was around her neck twice, crisscrossed around her body, looped around her ankle. We tried rolling her one way and got a loop off, rolled her another way, I unlooped one from her neck, there was so much unwinding to do.
My mom did make it at some point, maybe not in time to see Ozella be birthed, but she slipped into the room, camera on, capturing the process of unwinding Ozella from her cord.
With my history of hemorrhage, and continuing to struggle with anemia throughout the whole pregnancy the midwives had advised pitocin immediately following birth to prevent a hemorrhage. I allowed it so once the baby had been birthed Cassandra administered the first dose, I didn’t even notice. Throughout the period following Ozella’s birth I continued to have a steady bloodflow so received a second dose of pitocin and eventually the lowest dose of cytotec. Part of me is disappointed that my body failed, again, at this aspect of labor and delivery, but most of me is just thankful to live in a time and place that has the means and allows for help: I have professionally trained midwives, with the knowledge and means to stop my bleeding, so even if it takes modern medicine, there being no natural way of doing it, I am grateful. I have given birth six times in seven years, I have asked a lot of my body, so I choose to see it as a blessing that God allows me to continue doing what I love and providing the lifesaving details necessary.
I’m truly surprised my baby is already here; I have worked hard at preparing myself mentally for labor, I’m ready and willing to trust my body, it’s instincts and knowledge. I always read and learn about labor and birthing positions for optimal comfort and results. A part of me believes I’ve applied the knowledge and let my body take charge and do what it was designed to do, but most of me continues to believe it was a fluke, next baby I’ll probably go back to “normal” and have a long hard, many hour labor.As it was, I probably had an hour and a half of active labor.
This is really a stupid post, but I have words, and I have sadness.
When I was maybe twelve or thirteen, our 4-H club picked up trash along county roads in our area as a community service.
At the first ‘S’ curve north of Bainbridge I found this cup on the right side of the road, down in the ditch, nestled in crab grass. Now who would’ve ever thrown a perfectly good coffee mug out into a ditch? It was just past April 30th, an odd time for heart mugs, but, maybe it was the result of a broken relationship following what was a happy Valentine’s Day two months prior. That has always been my story.
I kept it.
I’ve had it ever since.
And ironically it’s the cup I pull out of the cabinet, out of the way back because no one else is allowed to use it, when I’m feeling nostalgic for parts of my childhood, when I’m lonely, or when I just feel incapable of being the parent and adult I should be.
Ironically because the day I found the cup is one of the (many) worst days of my childhood. It’s a day cemented in my mind, I can only imagine how it lives in my little sister Shelby’s mind since it was the day we celebrated her birthday. But, it was one of those days that made me want to stop. Life wasn’t going to be worth surviving; not that day, probably tomorrow, and definitely not for the years and years I still had to live at home.
But the cup was only ever a joy to me.
I bragged to people about having and using a cup I found in a ditch. I thought being gross to people was the coolest thing.
Every possible kind of emotion is tied to this cup.
I used it for my highest highs, when I had a crush and the hearts described my teenage whims; it was used during my lowest lows, when I was depressed and the hearts stood for true Love that is anchoring.
I used it all the time when it stood for nothing at all but was simply my cup.
I have memories of spending time with loved ones while drinking tea or coffee.
Memories of mornings by myself, a clean kitchen, goats waiting to be milked, breakfast ready for siblings.
I married and at first I used it in happiness all the time; I was pregnant! We were planning a trip, I had success in flower growing. Little things, big things, happiness.
As time went on it was used less, and then it started getting pulled out when I was disconnected, angry, frustrated, depressed. When the memories and familiar feelings from my childhood and teen years welled back up.
It got a lot of use for the year and a half we lived in Greentown.
Then we moved home and it’s gotten quite a bit of happy use again. Days when I’m seeing the kids do what I did as a child; nostalgic use.
And days, like a couple days ago when I fail at parenting correctly, when it’s tied back to my childhood and all the times my parents didn’t know what they were doing, but I survived, I turned out, and here I am, so maybe my kids are going to be okay, too.
And then today.
I told the girls to unload the dishwasher. And my mug was the casualty.
So it’s time to let it go.
And it really shouldn’t hurt this much.
But I am pregnant.
And I’m always nostalgic.
And this mug has been with me for somewhere around 16 years and it holds things I’m scared of remembering, yet afraid of forgetting.
So had I just done the work and all the jobs myself, I’d still get to use it, but that’s not right.
I’m training another generation to work and serve the world, and I’m going to have to train them how to let go and move on; how to love the people, not the things. Because, I guess there’s a reason the cup is gone now.
It’s time to let go.
And If only I forced myself to make time for posts that would actually be beneficial to readers, or at least hold good memories and lessons for me to look back on!
