Surprised by Peace, Gifted with Pierce (the Birth Story of My Second-Born Son)

The birth story of my firstborn screamed to be put onto the page. It was a traumatic experience that ran the gamut of emotions for me (and was probably traumatic for my little guy, too). Putting it into words was the start of the healing process for me. 

The birth story of my second son did not go as I had initially hoped either, but it was not traumatic and actually felt quite “normal” to me. Because of that, I have not felt the driving need to put his birth story into words, but then I figured, fair is fair: my firstborn has his birth chronicled, and so should my second born. But truly, as I write this, and as I’ve pondered the birth of my second, I’ve realized that his story is very connected to the birth story of my firstborn and makes it come full circle (poor second borns, always living in the shadow of the oldest haha).

There was a greater sense of peace in my second pregnancy than with my first, despite experiencing more morning (or all day) sickness and despite my inability to run after the second trimester and despite the pregnancy seeming like it lasted forever. Despite these annoyances, I didn’t overthink things as much as I normally do. I think a big reason for that is the confidence that having a child already brings. My beautiful three-year-old is healthy, vibrant, learning, growing, and very affectionate. Of course he has meltdowns and challenging moments, but overall our little family is thriving, and that gave me the confidence (because we’ve been through tough times and have grown and gotten stronger for them) to know that we can muddle through whatever it is–and even see rays of sunshine through the darkness (hello, baby and toddler smiles and giggles).

Having my first son has been the greatest blessing of my life, and I feel the beautiful weight of that gift daily. I think the blessing of children hits home for me in a unique way, especially as someone who wasn’t a “kid person” previously and never had a strong desire to be a mother, and even nearing 30 was somewhat on the fence about having children. It’s not lost on me that I was given this gift without hoping or asking for it as I know many women have.

Of course, the incredible gift of my firstborn son came with the biggest challenge and hardest thing I have ever faced in life. If you’re at all interested in reading about my birth story, I’ll link it here. It took me several months before I could even speak about his birth without feeling the searing pain of grief and disappointment over how it went, despite having a beautifully healthy baby at the end. It took several more months of processing and some counseling to work through all the trauma bound up in that experience and my tendency toward anxiety and control. 

Still, at over three years postpartum, I was feeling stronger than I think I’ve ever felt, pregnancy limitations notwithstanding. But it was a very different strength than I felt with my first pregnancy. It was (and is) a strength born out of knowing how resilient I am (mentally, emotionally, physically), and not a strength of pushing through or hammering it out. 

Pushing through is my MO. I am a pretty classic high achiever, ambitious, self-competitive, and have super high standards for myself. If there’s something I want, I will push myself till I get there. The complicated thing is, throughout my life, this has mostly worked well for me. The birth of my firstborn was one of the first times (and definitely the most monumental time) that this way of living life failed me. I did ALL THE THINGS to prepare for his birth. I took a birth class, I read the birthing books, I hired a doula, my husband and I practiced the counter pressure techniques, I found a midwifery practice with individualized care, I took all my vitamins, I exercised regularly, I wrote a birth plan, and on and on and on. 

And despite the grace that I do see present throughout my labor and delivery and early postpartum, I was left deeply disappointed and feeling like I didn’t do enough or didn’t do the right things or do them the right way. I literally used to tell people that I thought I was prepared for labor because I am a runner and had run a marathon. The comparison does seem plausible, but I now realize that running a marathon and going through labor are perfect representatives of the two different types of strength I mentioned earlier. Was my marathon challenging and were there times I wanted to quit? Hell yes. But the thing is, I was still in control the entire time. I could have just quit. And unlike labor, the encouragement from fellow runners and coaches actually helped. Even at mile 20, I could access the part of me that registered how awesome this thing was that I was doing, that I was a part of. I was able to get to that transcendent place. But labor requires a much higher capacity for surrender and trust. Which I don’t do. Especially surrender. That’s weakness. I achieve. I reach goals. I am the (fill in the superlative). 

So, with this second pregnancy did I get better at this, at surrendering and trusting? I think so, if only a small bit. Based on the way my mind still naturally went to formulate that question (as a task, a to-do, an item on a checklist), I know I still have work to do. BUT, one huge takeaway, and a huge reason for the peace I felt the second time around, is that I’m aware of this. Self-awareness is always a gift, and I’m so grateful that going through labor, birth, and raising a child has increased my self-awareness and made me a better person. It’s honestly one of the least talked about benefits of having kids, but, in my mind, it’s a massive one. 

With that self-awareness has come some practical steps. For my second pregnancy I chose a more “typical” prenatal care experience in a hospital with all the advantages modern equipment and technology has to offer. I still have my qualms about the medical establishment and western medicine, but for someone who is prone to high anxiety, more information is always better and more comforting to me. When, during my first ultrasound, the tech told me which of my ovaries ovulated to produce the egg that became this baby, I knew I was in the right place. But in all seriousness, having access to more information was a huge relief and bolster to me. 

There’s a moment from the labor of my firstborn that has stuck out in my mind ever since that made it clear to me I am someone who is more suited to a hospital-type birth, and that’s just not something that was clear to me previously. I can be quite “crunchy” (or used to be much more so) in my views about health and wellness, and I highly value individualized medical care, so a midwifery practice seemed logical. And I think it was. Sometimes you really don’t know until you do know. I only say this because I now consider my actual personality and stress response when making a decision such as medical care, and not what I may wish my personality or stress response is. Because, at the end of the day, I can (and do) implement practices to help with my tendency to be anxious, but I’m not going to solve my struggle with anxiety completely. I can, however, make decisions that will minimize that anxiety for me and give me the best chance of not being in situations in which I feel powerless and fearful. One thing I really did not like, looking back, was when the midwives would check my labor progress and not want to tell me how dilated I was. They would say something like, “You still have some work to do.” This struck a fear chord within me, and also infuriated me. It took me some time to realize this, but once I did it was a very helpful and pivotal moment. Though their intentions were good and I know they didn’t want me to get hung up on a number, to me it felt like I was being left out of my own labor process. I’d always rather have the hard truth. 

I’m still not sure how I went through 24 hours of unmedicated labor, most of it brutally intense. Those hours felt dark and fearful and completely void of any humor or joy. I was so in love with my firstborn the moment I saw him, but I know now that I wasn’t able to fully enjoy the amazing gift that is a newborn baby for several months following his birth. I was in a haze of disappointment, heartache, and muddled emotions. This time, no matter how my son came into the world, I knew I wanted moments of joy and lightness, and if that meant getting pain relief sooner, that was so worth it.

Ironically, the birth of my second son followed a similar pattern to that of my first–just condense everything to a fifth of the time. I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions since my second trimester, but on Thursday evening, May 9th, as Vin and I were lying in bed watching TV, I felt a few more intense contractions. Still, I didn’t take this as a sure sign of labor since my Braxton Hicks had been pretty intense for weeks at that point. Then, at 11:55pm I woke with a start and the feeling of water dripping. I knew immediately that my water broke. I didn’t even bother doing polar bear position since this was exactly how it had felt when my water broke with Grayson. I went to find Vin who was up late. I nearly ran into him in the hallway and I think he could tell immediately from the look on my face that my water had broken. Vin went into action readying everything for the hospital and for Gray and told me to try to rest. 

The contractions came on fairly swiftly, but I was able to lie in bed and listen to my birthing playlist (something I had wanted to do laboring with Grayson, but was too stressed and in pain). Already this time there were moments of calm in the midst of the pain. Vin called our amazing doula, Hunter, who happened to be attending another birth. Hunter was actually our backup for Grayson’s birth after our initial doula was unable to be there, so at first we thought, “Oh no! This is happening all over again!” But soon after she contacted him to say the other baby had been born and she would be able to be with us after making sure the other mom and baby were settling in.  

By this time Vin had put everything in order and asked if I wanted to watch a show to help take my mind off the pain. He turned on the season of Love Island we had been in the middle of, and I half watched it while bouncing on my birth ball and squeezing a comb through the intensifying contractions. 

As a side note, we started watching Love Island during the pandemic when I was pregnant with Gray, so somehow, even though it’s a ridiculous reality show, I have such a fondness for it, especially now that it helped me labor through Pierce’s birth. 

After I was laboring awhile on the birth ball, which I hadn’t had for my labor with Gray, and which was helping immensely, Vin suggested it was time to go to the hospital. I pushed back, remembering how we were sent back home the first time we went to the birth center because I had progressed so little. But after a bit longer with still intensifying contractions, I was beginning to think about pain relief, and so, sometime around 2:30am, I agreed it was time to go. Our sweet neighbor who has stepped in to watch Gray in a pinch many-a-time and had essentially been on-call for Pierce’s birth, came over to stay with Gray and we began to make our way to the car out back. 

Before leaving I slipped silently into Grayson’s room in between contractions, praying one didn’t come too quickly so I could give him one last kiss before he became a big brother. That moment held much more significance and emotion that I had anticipated. I had thought in detail about him becoming a big brother, but not about the very last moment I would see him before that happened. He slept soundly while I brushed back his hair and kissed his forehead and cheek like I had done countless times before.

I made my way down the stairs and into the back yard while Vin talked to our neighbor and checked that we had all our things. In the silence of the ungodly hours of the night I paced in the grass of our small yard, quietly moaning through contractions and gripping my comb which hadn’t left my hand. Though this was mostly elongated seconds (or minutes?) of pain, those moments out in the stillness of the yard, waiting, are ones I remember with fondness post-birth. Then Vin was outside and we got into the car. I remember him making a comment about how I seemed to be coping better than last time, and I knew we were both thinking about that terrifying midnight ride to the hospital during my labor with Gray when we already knew his heart rate had been dropping and when I was already so lost in pain that consumed every part of me.

Fairly quickly we arrived at the hospital (Vin may have run a red light or two), and were checked into a room. Nurses and other hospital staff arrived and began to check my blood pressure, etc. A midwife came and checked my cervix and found I was already about seven centimeters dilated. I truly couldn’t believe it since it took me 24 excruciating hours to progress that far the first time, versus about three hours. Soon after, Hunter arrived and asked how I was doing. 

“Better than last time,” I replied, telling her I was already that far along and had been coping alright. 

Throughout my whole pregnancy, I hoped vehemently for a successful VBAC. It felt like a desperate hope. A last ditch hope since this would be our last child. And for some reasons even too deep to explain, I wanted to experience a vaginal birth so badly. At this point, I think I dared to actually believe I would get my VBAC.

Over the next hour or so I labored on the birth ball some more. Another thing I wanted to be different about this labor was to feel like Vin and I were connected. The first time he was with me every moment and held my hand nearly every contraction, but I didn’t feel like we were a team or working together. He has such a good sense of humor, and perhaps seeing my fear reflected back to me in his eyes and feeling the lack of his joking and humor scared me even more. But this time I remember urgently yelling as a contraction began, “Vin! Vin! I need Vin!” even though my doula’s competent hands had been squeezing my hips for the counter pressure. Even in the midst of the pain I remember thinking how happy I was that it was my husband’s touch that helped and soothed me. 

Around this time I told my birth team I was sure I wanted the epidural. My doula suggested a few more contractions on the birth ball and a few on the toilet and then see how I felt. I got through those alright, but began to feel that fear creep in–the kind of fear that pain brings when you don’t know how long you’ll have to endure it, and you’re not sure you can endure it. I wasn’t going to be a martyr this time, and felt little qualms about asking for pain relief. 

It seemed to take forever for the anesthesiologist to arrive and then for the pain to subside. My mind kept circling back to, “How in hell did I do this for 24 hours last time?!” I still have no answer to that question.

Though the contractions were very intense at this point, I never got to that place of despair. It seemed more like, “Yes, this is labor, and labor is really hard and painful for most women,” rather than some unspeakable and dreadful ordeal. 

This is the part that is still a bit hard to write and will, I think, always sting a little bit, even though there is no trauma attached to it this time around. Although everything seemed to be going well and I had progressed so far so quickly, baby Pierce’s heart rate began to drop just as Grayson’s had. The hospital staff began to closely monitor the decels, helping me turn onto my hands and knees and other positions when the monitor showed that baby wasn’t tolerating labor very well. At one point the midwife told me that she could feel the baby’s head and I was close to fully dilated. The whole birth team told me–with great urgency as baby’s heart rate again dipped–to try pushing, but although I felt a lot of pressure, I didn’t have the urge to push and baby did not descend at all. I was also shaking uncontrollably at this point, either from the rush of labor hormones, the epidural, or perhaps both.

Soon after the doctor sat down near my bed and told me they thought the best decision was to prep the OR. In that moment I felt disappointment, yes, but I think I also felt resigned in a peaceful way. I looked at my husband and doula, and I knew they were both a little heartbroken for me, so I told them, “It’s okay, I’m actually okay.” 

And somehow, I mostly, truly was. Perhaps because this labor had been so similar to my first, only much shorter, in my heart of hearts, I think I almost expected it and was prepared for it.

As they prepared to wheel me into the OR, my birth team asked if I had any requests for the C-section, and like with my C-section for Gray, I requested delayed cord clamping, vaginal seeding, and as immediate as possible skin-to-skin–a “Gentle Cesarean.” I also requested a clear drape, but the anesthesiologist told me, “Honey, you’re like all belly, you won’t be able to see anyway,” so I conceded on that, although Vin did take a video!

Unfortunately, our doula was not allowed in the OR this time (even though she was allowed last time during the pandemic which I still don’t understand), but once they had prepped me in the OR Vin was allowed to be by my side. I asked the doctor if this was an emergency because I felt the situation was less dire than with Grayson, but I wasn't sure if that was just my perception.

"No, it's not," she told me. Later I would see that the medical report read, "Urgent," which I took to mean a step below an emergency.

The doctor and nurses asked me if I had any music requests and my mind went blank on what to say since my birthing playlist is too eclectic to explain.

 “What radio station do you have playing in your car?” the nurse prompted. 

“98.1?” I said, settling for what seemed the most standard option.

Whatever playlist they chose based on this suggestion played Leona Lewis’ “Bleeding Love” as the first song–an ironic occurrence that was completely lost on me till days after. Read the lyrics here. There’s even a mention of “piercing”! 

At this point I began to feel kind of woozy and very drowsy, but was cognizant enough to respond to the nurse’s continued question of, “What band do you like?” 

“Green River Ordinance,” I said, my mind finally able to latch onto music that I felt would hold up to the occasion.

I told Vin about Green River Ordinance on one of our first dates, and we watched one of their music videos while we sat very close on the old couch in his basement living quarters back in college, over a decade earlier. As the peaceful chords of “Dancing Shoes” filled the room and I surrendered to the doctor cutting through seven layers of skin and muscle to bring my baby into the world, I heard Vin’s “Awww” at the music, and looking at him, I knew the music was perfect for the birth of our son.

Pierce James Neffinger was born at 5:58am that morning, May 10th. After a few minutes of breathing help, I heard his cry and he was placed on my chest. My beautiful, cherished second son. We were released from the hospital two days later on May 12th–Mother’s Day.

The doctor later told us that Pierce had been chin-forward rather than head tucked as babies generally are, which also explained the bruise he had on his cheek after birth.

There has been grief with his birth. I have had to grieve what I will never experience. I have felt the sting of the medical report that reads “failed VBAC.” But there’s been more joy and enjoyment than I could have imagined. There has also been grief over realizing now with even greater poignancy how f*%$ing awful and hard my labor with Gray truly was and how it stole a lot of the joy of having a new baby from me. When I think of Gray’s first forceful and immediate cry when the doctor pulled him from me, I realize what a fighter he was–and is. Vin and I have said in wonder (and horror), “Who knows how long his heart rate may have been dropping before we arrived at the hospital.” My firstborn is so strong-willed, and always has been. He is a fighter. Time will tell, but my second son seems more mellow and mild-mannered. God knew my first needed a special strength of will.

The privilege of being a mother of boys and the way my heart has expanded to love them both so much it hurts is hard to truly describe. I’m just so glad both my sons are earthside and now I get to raise them.

Not having a long road of grieving and healing from trauma has made this postpartum journey so sweet. It’s hard, yes. I’m always in need of more sleep and there have been a lot of toddler battles, but it’s still been so very sweet. The warm spring and summer days reflect the light and life that I’ve felt this time around with my little family around me. We have come out of winter’s darkness, and Pierce’s birth has allowed me to close the circle on what I went through with Gray. Both these boys are so dear to me.

I recently finished reading Kate Bowler’s “Everything Happens for a Reason (and Other Lies I’ve Loved),” and with her, I can say that there is no pat reason for why my sons’ births happened the way they did, but it’s all part of this beautiful, heartbreaking, devastating, surprising, harrowing, and wonderful experience of being human.

As a little postscript, it’s an interesting note that I had intended to keep Pierce’s placenta as I had kept Gray’s. I planted a blackberry bush over Gray’s placenta, and the action of planting it and the fact that the blackberry bush is flourishing has been so healing for me, but since my doula wasn’t allowed in the OR this time, no one thought to tell the hospital staff I wanted to keep Pierce’s placenta, so they disposed of it. Again, I surprised myself by feeling okay with this, rather than upset or regretful or angry. I think I knew deep down I didn’t need it because, though their births were similar (minus the length of labor), this time I came out of the hospital and back home free of trauma, which has made me ponder how you can have two similar experiences and one can be traumatic and another may not be–but that’s a question for another post.

*Thank you to my husband for all your support and empathy and logistical preparations before, during, and after Pierce’s birth and thank you to our doula, Hunter, for your words of encouragement and your uplifting spirit even in the middle of the night. 

“And a sword will pierce through your own soul also—that the secret thoughts and purposes of many hearts may be brought out and disclosed” (emphasis added). 

 - Luke 2:35