Wednesday, February 6, 2019

In Honor of Keaton's 12th Birthday: His Birth Story

This is an updated re-release of my boy's birth story! His story was the first I ever wrote, because his birth was the toughest experience of my entire life. In his words, "Mom, you've gotta work hard for a guy like me!" Such a funny, wild man...from day one. Happy birthday, K.P.!

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.

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.

My class voted what they thought the baby would be before my appointment!

Brooks Boy #2
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!

Celebration at Chick-Fil-A!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  

His fast entrance was a little tough on him too!

So very, very traumatized from the delivery. 

Clay held Keaton first, because I was too shaken to hold him right away. 

The newest Brooks boy in Mama's arms.

Brooks Family of Four!

Checking out his baby brother. 

My wild man, Keaton Parker
And six weeks later, we threw a real boy fiesta!

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