Keaton
Parker’s Birth Story
By His Mommy
In April of 2001, Clay
and I had our first son, McLain. He was perfect and precious, and we loved him far
more than we could have ever anticipated. We adored being parents, and my mama
heart immediately wanted to expand our family. But we were young, financially insecure,
and neither of us had finished college yet, so having another child anytime
soon was unfortunately an option we couldn’t consider. Logically, I knew that these
were very wise reasons to wait, but it didn’t matter. My irrational biological
clock continuously beat me up while we made our good choices.
While waiting month after
month and eventually year after year, I cried a million tears, absolutely heartbroken
as I witnessed my friends have their first, second, and even third babies while
we watched our only child grow up. Tring to be a good leader for our family, Clay
insisted that we be rid of our tiny, two bedroom duplex, be secure in a real
house, and that I finish my Early Childhood Education degree before we try for
a second baby. I struggled to believe that reaching ALL of these milestones was
necessary. These goals felt huge and some days unattainable.
Denying my heart’s
greatest desire felt like it would last for an eternity, and I began fearing
that McLain would be an only child. Even he began asking when he would have a
brother or a sister. If only I knew then what I know now! Wait for it, little Mama.
God is going to send you five more kiddos.
Five years crept by, and
Clay got a job that met our family’s needs at a sanitation company. I worked
twenty-five hours a week as an after school program director while taking two college
classes at a time, slowly completing my degree. In April of 2005, the principal
of the school where I was student teaching offered me a job as a second grade
teacher. Six weeks later I graduated from KSU, and that August I began my
journey at Mableton ES. By November, Clay and I purchased our first house, and
we were finally in a position to have a serious discussion of when we could enlarge
our family.
Being a teacher, I had to
consider when the ideal time to become pregnant would be during the school
year. No one wants to have an August baby and come back to a class that’s been
with a substitute for the first six weeks of school! Even though I would have
loved to have tried as soon as I got my grownup job and we moved into our new
house, I felt that February would be the earliest reasonable time for me to
take a maternity leave. Looking at the school calendar, Clay and I determined
that May 2006, near the end of my first year of teaching, would be the earliest
time we could start trying. I literally counted down the days.
Because we had waited
five years, I was a little nervous that this time it might be difficult to
conceive. I wasn’t 22 anymore. Having parents and in-laws with serious
infertility issues, Clay and I knew that pregnancy was not a guarantee, but to
our surprise conception occurred very quickly.
Within three weeks, I was
suspicious that I was pregnant, something I so desperately wanted to be true.
Not wanting to see only one pink line, I waited several days before I decided
to take a pregnancy test, delaying the possibility of a negative result. But even
as I waited, I experienced food aversions, intense fatigue, and endless weeping
over unusual circumstances, including watching a Memorial Day parade on TV. I
never cry at parades! Feeling so unlike myself, I caved and decided to pick up
a test.
Taking my five year old with
me, I drove to Walgreen’s where I nervously bought a pregnancy test
for me and gum for him. McLain was oblivious to my ten dollar purchase and the
impact it could potentially have on his life. I brought the test home and left
it in the bag on the bathroom counter where I refused to think about it for two
hours. I was absolutely terrified to take the test and see its result. After
five long years of waiting and deliberately making wise choices for our family,
all this mama wanted was to see two pink lines.
In the middle of an
episode of Oprah, I whispered a quick, pleading prayer and
headed to the bathroom. I retrieved the Walgreen’s bag,
opened the box inside, and took the pregnancy test with hands shaking. Within
thirty seconds, I realized that my biggest dream had come true. The test was positive;
those two pink lines verified it. Brooks number two was on its way! I ran into
the living room and dragged Clay off the computer and into the bathroom where I
showed him the test. Then, I promptly burst into tears, overwhelmed that the
long wait for another baby was actually over.
Almost two weeks after
discovering that we were expecting, Clay and I told our son that “The Baby
Boss” had answered his prayers and had put a baby in Mommy’s tummy. He was very
excited and asked a lot of questions. That evening he gave my tummy a kiss,
explaining that “the baby’s never had a kiss before,” and then settled down to
play with his Legos. After a few minutes of building, he changed his mind and loudly
clarified, “Actually, Mommy, that was probably the baby’s second kiss. I bet
Jesus gave the baby his first kiss before he left heaven.” We knew then that he
would be a very thoughtful big brother, and he has very much proven to be.
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| Big Brother McLain |
My second pregnancy
proved to be very different from my first. In the first trimester, I suffered
from severe “morning sickness” that occurred from the moment I woke up to the
moment I went to bed at night. Even odder, I was ravenously hungry and yet intensely
repulsed at even the idea of food, especially if I saw fast food commercials on
TV. I spent the entire summer in bed, getting up only to shower on my best
days. My doctor recommended Vitamin B6 and Unisom. Friends suggested pregnancy
pops and sea-bands. Nothing stopped my nausea and dry heaving. I was thrilled
when this misery finally faded away at 14 weeks, right before I had to head
back to work and start my second year of teaching.
At twenty weeks, my
mother, husband, son, and I gathered in the ultrasound room in my OB/GYN’s
office. After several minutes of checking the baby’s heartbeat and measuring
its head, chest, and limbs, the technician informed us that another little Brooks
boy was on his way. After a brief silence from everyone in the room, McLain
excitedly declared, “Mommy, it’s a boy fiesta!” Laughing, we all agreed with
him and decided that after the baby was born that we would indeed throw a boy
fiesta and invite everyone to meet our new baby boy.
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| My class voted what they thought the baby would be before my appointment! |
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| Brooks Boy #2 |
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| It's a boy! |
After leaving the
doctor’s office, we headed to Chick-Fil-A to celebrate. McLain called Clay’s
family and revealed that in five months another grandson would arrive. While we
there, he also wrote, “High five! It’s a boy!” on his hands. At church that
night, McLain showed off his hands and high fived his friends, sharing the news
that a little brother was on his way. We were all thrilled!
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| Celebration at Chick-Fil-A! |
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| High five! It's a boy! |
During the second and
third trimesters, I experienced the typical pregnancy ailments: excruciating heartburn,
middle-of-the-night leg cramps, continuous back pain, and an inability to take
deep breaths. I became anemic and craved ice so badly that I would stop by
Racetrack every morning to buy a large cup of ballpark ice to chomp on while I
taught. This pregnancy taught me that craving ice is my first sign when my iron
level starts to dip and that information helped me to communicate with my
midwives when I suspected I was anemic in my other pregnancies.
All of these discomforts
began to take their toll on me. This last stretch of pregnancy wasn’t fun
anymore, and I was ready for its conclusion. At my 36 week appointment, I was
checked and deemed to be zero centimeters dilated. I couldn’t help but be a
little disappointed. Even though I was a month from my due date, I wanted a
glimmer of hope that this pregnancy would not last forever.
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| My Keaton countdown! |
My due date was Sunday,
February 4th. Unfortunately, that day came and went without a single
contraction. At my 40 week appointment on Monday, my doctor checked me and
deemed me to still be at zero centimeters. Perhaps, he recognized the distress
and disappointment on my face and scheduled an induction for Friday, four days
later. Having heard multiple horror stories about inductions, I prayed that one
would not be necessary and that my little boy would appear on his own. I didn’t
want an induction, but I really needed to hear a firm end date to this
pregnancy.
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| Due dates come and due dates go... |
On Tuesday, February 6th,
I went to work as usual, feeling quite annoyed that I was still hugely pregnant
and having to teach past my due date. It felt so wrong! After school, I went to
Target to pick up curtain rods for the nursery as the curtains had just been
delivered, and they were the final item I needed to finish the nursery.
After dropping off the
rods and instructing Clay how I wanted him to hang the curtains, I went back to
school that evening for my grade level’s PTA performance. Despite being over 40
weeks pregnant, I conducted 80 second graders as they sang a Japanese song
about frogs. I would experience an occasional contraction,
but none that made me hopeful that my baby would arrive soon.
Afterwards in front of a
gym full of parents and students, my boss commended me for being so committed
to our school when I could have my baby any minute. I nodded and smiled. It was
8:00, and despite my appreciation for her kind words, all I wanted was to go
home and crawl in my bed.
That night I went to bed
irritated that I would have to teach the next day when I would have much preferred
to stay home and mentally prepare myself for my baby’s arrival. Once I settled
in bed, I fell asleep quickly about 11:00. At 3:00, just four hours later, I
was awakened by my first real contraction. This contraction was somewhat painful, but I
chose to ignore it, because I was convinced that this baby would come out only
by an induction. Ten minutes later I experienced another contraction that was equally as uncomfortable as the first.
As I lay there in the
dark surrounded by silence, I tried to determine if my labor was really
starting and what I should do. I chose not to wake Clay yet, because I assumed
that we had many hours of labor ahead, at least 24. Briefly, I even considered
going into work for half the day. Having had a 39 hour labor with my first son,
I felt no need to rush to the hospital.
At 3:30, I experienced a
third contraction that was followed by an audible pop. Having read hundreds of
birth stories during my pregnancy, I knew this sound was my water breaking. The
pop was immediately followed by a sharp pain and a distinct sound, which was
the baby’s head forcefully engaging into my birth canal. I knew at this point
the baby was finally on his way and an induction was not going to be necessary. There were also no more dillusional thoughts of going to work.
After feeling the baby
start his descent into the birth canal, I got out of bed and waddled down the
hall to the bathroom. I noticed I had a slow leak and decided to crawl back
into bed to labor at home for a while and possibly to rest. However after
getting back into bed, my contractions immediately increased in frequency and
intensity. Curled on my side, I grabbed Clay’s hand under the covers and
squeezed through each one. Around 4:00, he awoke and asked me groggily if this
was it.
The contractions
continued, each one building on the other and getting longer and stronger. By
4:30, I was crying and telling Clay that this labor was so much worse than my
first and that I couldn’t bear it. If I had paid closer attention to what I was
saying and how I was feeling, I would have realized that I was in transition at
this point and should have left immediately for the hospital. Instead after
standing up and having amniotic fluid pour from me on to the floor, I headed
for the shower, insisting that I needed to be fresh and clean for my delivery.
The shower was a
miserable experience. Each flurry of cleaning was halted by an excruciating
contraction. I turned the shower massager on full blast and let the spray hit
my stomach where the pain was most intense, desperately trying to find any
relief. Repeatedly, I mumbled through my tears “What time I am afraid, I put my
trust in Thee.” After an agonizing shower, I was finally shampooed,
conditioned, scrubbed, and able to turn the water off.
Upon exiting the shower,
I instructed my husband to call our parents to tell them I was in serious labor.
Between contractions, I quickly texted my friends and co-workers, letting them
know my water had broken. I was shaken to the core by the pain I was
experiencing, and even in the break between the contractions, I could barely
focus to type. This would be the only day in my teaching career that I couldn’t
process how to use Sub Finder and get a sub for my class, just telling Clay to
let my boss know that I wasn’t going to make it.
After Clay called my boss,
he called his mother, the plan being that she would make her way to our house
to pick up McLain while my mom and dad got ready to meet us at the hospital. In our attempt to get all the details of the day secured,
Clay and I didn’t understand how much time we were wasting at home. Neither of us
knew how soon our baby would arrive.
In the midst of this
chaos, McLain woke up and was very excited to learn that his baby brother was
on his way. However, I was completely unnerved at the thought of him watching
me in so much pain. I told my husband to keep him out of the room as much as
possible. There was no way I could hide what I was experiencing, and I didn’t
want the added stress of having to mask my pain. Before he left to put on his
clothes, our son stopped and said a prayer for me, asking God to “help Mommy be
very brave.”
I struggled through tears
to put on my makeup and fix my hair, feeling more panicked with each
contraction. We needed to go. Clay, feeling scattered, remembered to call his boss to
notify him that he would not be coming into work. While he was trying to
explain the work route that needed to be followed, I yelled at him to hang up
and hold my hand. My contractions were more than I could bear alone. Weeping, I
told my husband there was no time for him to take a shower and begged him to
call his mother to find out where she was. Clay called his mom and then stuck
his head in the sink to wash his hair. He recognized that this labor was
clearly nothing like the last.
A few minutes before six,
my mother-in-law arrived and took our son to her house. After having Clay snap
my last pregnancy picture between contractions, I headed for the car. My
husband grabbed my bags, tossed them in the back seat, and quickly took off.
Giving him instructions to drive as fast as he could, I suffered through
several contractions on the short, two mile ride to the hospital. As he drove,
I begged my husband to pray that I was at least four centimeters and could get
an epidural upon arriving. I was convinced that in the five years since my
first son was born I had become a complete wimp as this labor was so much more
intense than I ever experienced with my first child.
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| Last pregnancy picture with Keaton. You can see the pain on my face! |
We pulled into the
hospital parking lot at 6:10. After struggling through a contraction, I quickly
exited the car and headed for the registration desk. To my dismay, no one was
at the desk when we entered the lobby. After two or three very long minutes
passed, a receptionist meandered up to the desk and inquired about my name and my
social security number. Consumed by contractions, I was unable to speak for myself.
Unnerved by the night’s events, Clay struggled to supply this information but finally managed after three failed attempts. I was extremely agitated that he could not
remember my social security number, but I was neither able to voice my
frustration nor the needed numbers.
The receptionist took my
insurance card and began typing my information in her computer. After I endured
fifteen minutes of agonizing and embarrassing contractions at her desk (who wants to experience labor in the middle of
a hospital with strangers watching?), she declared that I was ready to go to
triage. The receptionist questioned if I wanted a wheelchair, and I asked her
if she could get me one quickly. Her response was so slow that I determined
walking would be faster and barked at Clay to get me to the elevator.
Upon entering triage at
6:30, I was met with the gazes of five nurses. Scanning the area, I quickly noted
that I was their only patient and hoped that this meant I would be checked and
given my epidural quickly. I was shown a room, given a gown, and told to
undress. Clinging to thoughts of my epidural, I ripped off my clothes between
contractions, and Clay helped me put on my hospital gown. In tears, I lay down
on the hospital bed and curled on my side, grateful to be in a horizontal
position to endure my contractions. When the nurse entered my room to hook me
up to the fetal monitor, I immediately asked her to check me, but she explained
that she had to ask me a few questions first. I felt desperate and completely
alone in an unrecognizable world of all-consuming pain.
With agonizing slowness,
the nurse inquired what time my water had broken, when I last had anything to
drink, what my religious affiliation was, and when I had last had a b.m. At
this last question, I. Lost. It. As only a woman in the midst of horrific labor
can do, I screamed. I screamed that I needed to be checked immediately. Overwhelmed
with fury and unrelenting contractions, I yelled, “THE BABY IS RIGHT THERE!!!” I needed her to believe me.
While the nurse jumped
and scrambled out of my room to find someone to check me (why she couldn’t do it I
don’t know), I demanded that Clay pray for me. He grabbed my hand and started
praying, asking God to be with me and with my doctors. Sobbing and desperately
seeking comfort, I yelled at him, broken, because I could not hear his prayer
over my own screams.
A new nurse entered my
room and had me roll on to my back. Upon checking me, she said, “She’s nine
centimeters, 100% effaced, and at a plus one station! Get her to delivery!” I
was shocked to learn of my status, and then in the very next moment my body was
all-consumed by its first urge to push.
Suddenly, my room was
filled with people and chaos as my contractions raged on. My bags were grabbed.
My midwife was paged. My bed was rolling. As several nurses ran me from triage
to the delivery room, I begged, “Am I going to be able to get my epidural?” I
knew the answer even before the nurse replied, “Honey, you’ll have this baby
before the anesthesiologist can even get up here.” Sobbing and in total fear, I
tried to process that I was going to have a natural child birth.
As I was rolled into the
delivery room, I wept and asked my husband to call my mother and tell her to
hurry. Medical personnel scurried around the room as I lay on my side with a death grip on the bed rails and
screamed through what felt like never-ending contractions and an uncontrollable
urge to push with each one. I begged for water or ice chips as my throat was
completely dry from my continuous screams, but the medical staff ignored me.
A moment later, the nurse checked me
again and said, “She has just has a small lip left.” My body paid her no
attention as it pushed of its own accord. The midwife ran into the room,
pulling on her scrubs, and directed me to intentionally push along with my
body. After my first deliberate push while on my side, I realized that this position
was not effective and that I was solely responsible for getting this baby out
of my body and ending my own pain.
Taking pity on me, a
nurse injected with me a narcotic shot between contractions. I didn’t know nor
even care what it was. While it did nothing for the pain, the drug allowed me
to relax enough in a lull between contractions to let go of my bed rails and
turn on my back. I knew pushing in that position was the only way I could get
this baby out.
With the next
contraction, I pulled back on my legs and fiercely pushed, screaming “GET OUT!” as the baby crowned. My
mother ran into the room at this moment, having been directed by the nurses upon
exiting the elevator to “follow the screams.” Overwhelmed by hearing my pain
and now witnessing it, she ran instantly to my side, scooping up my head and supporting
my neck, as Clay and a nurse worked to support my legs.
As I cried and gasped for
breath before my final contraction, the midwife asked if I wanted to touch the
baby’s head, and I snapped, “No!” I knew that doing so would make the delivery even
longer, and I wanted it over. Immediately. With one more giant push and several,
blood curdling screams of “GET HIM OUT,”
Keaton Parker Brooks burst into this world at 7:08 A.M., just four hours after
my first contraction. He weighed 8 pounds 2 ounces and measured 20 and ½ inches
long.
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| Keaton's entrance rocked my world. |
This baby, my sweet Keaty
Peaty, the one who I prayed and waited so long for, arrived amongst streams of
tears and so many of his mama’s screams. Never could I have imagined during my
five years of waiting that his entrance would be so furious and intense. Never
could I have envisioned a labor so excruciating and ridiculously fast. But I also
could never have conceived what an enormous blessing Keaton would be to me, to
Clay, and to our entire family. Despite knowing all the pain his labor required,
I would go through every contraction again for him.
Learning to be patient is
a tough lesson, and I truly believe that God used our second born to teach me
to rely on His timing. He knew years before I did that Keaton was in His plan
for our family and that all I had to do was wait. Keaton Parker Brooks, you are
an absolute joy and unquestionably worth waiting for. God knew that first, and
I’m so grateful that I fully understand that now.
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| His fast entrance was a little tough on him too! |
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| So very, very traumatized from the delivery. |
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| Clay held Keaton first, because I was too shaken to hold him right away. |
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| The newest Brooks boy in Mama's arms. |
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| Brooks Family of Four! |
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| Checking out his baby brother. |
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| My wild man, Keaton Parker |
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| And six weeks later, we threw a real boy fiesta! |
