It's just weeks before June's first birthday and I've really wanted to record her birth story.  Here it is, as accurately as I can remember 348 days later.

Wednesday, September 5th: a preschooler!

On Wednesday, September 5th I was 40 weeks and 13 days pregnant. It was Scott's first day of preschool (though he'd gone to daycare when I was working) so I ran a few errands with Mark (I remember having a key made) and had coffee with friends, including the fabulous Sarah L.  I was going on about how no one EVER went 40w+13 and Sarah told me she was 40w+17 with her baby.  I think my jaw must've hit the table.  A very pregnant momma of two very busy boys does not want to imagine waiting 3 or 4 more days for aid to arrive in the form of paternity leave, aunts, and grandmothers!

I wanted to trust our bodies and wait for our daughter to come on her own time, but I wasn't doing a great job.  Her movements seemed decreased and I wanted to hold her and be reassured she was alright. I tried everything to start labor.  Best ideas included eating cherry pie and driving to a remote beach where Luke drank beers, hoping to invoke Murphy's Law labor.  Worst idea was running 2 miles and getting blisters that took 3 months to heal.

Suzanne Solsonna took this picture of my three babes

Hiking Rancho San Antonio with Karen, 41 weeks and wearing one of the only 2 dresses that still fit

Last beach trip as a family of 4

At 5:00 pm, I left the boys with our dear neighbors and went to my scheduled appointment with the midwives.  My dates weren't exact, so I knew the midwives would allow, even encourage, waiting if all looked healthy.  My hope was that a plan of action would be clear and I wouldn't have to choose whether to induce labor.  We took a non-stress test -- I remember relishing the fact that I could sit in an upholstered chair in the quiet, softly lit room, drinking juice and listening to the sound of the baby's heartbeat for 20 minutes, with no one to chase or wipe or correct :) -- and had an ultrasound to measure the amount of amniotic fluid.  I had done these things a few times after 41 weeks, and it looked like the fluid was decreasing.  Also, I was at 5 cm.  Just walking around town, 5 cm.  There has got to be a law against that. 

I had been taking it as easy as possible, with Luke doing solo weekend hikes with the boys while I napped, so I knew things weren't going to perk up.  Midwife Lin suggested it was time to get the baby out and I was thrilled.  These Wagner babies have a weird way of staying in the womb until they are ejected.  I headed home to meet Luke and prep the boys and called Karen, who started driving up from Monterey. I can't remember when I called the grandparents, but I remember being so happy to tell them there was a plan.

I excitedly buzzed around the house with Luke, feeding the boys some Kraft mac 'n' cheese, showering, and taking them back to the neighbors'.  The whole complex had been on baby watch for weeks, so we had a big send off!  On the drive we were both cheery and talked about names, especially how much we liked "June".  I like laboring with Luke. I feel like it really highlights what a good team we make. 

On our way to the hospital at 7:30.  Very happy and not a bit in labor.

It is a funny thing to walk into L&D when you are not in L.  You feel like a faker.  It's very hard to believe that you'll be holding a baby soon.  Forms were filled and outfits donned and amniotic sac broken by about 8:00 pm. Lin left to rest and told me she expected strong contractions by 10.

Last belly picture!

Here's how I feel about labor: once you know you're going to do it, you might as well DO IT.  I walked, I jogged the hallway, I demi plie, demi plie, GRAN PLIE'd my way around that hospital bed.  Karen arrived and hung out with us, watching the contraction monitor.  I was pretty chipper ... until I wasn't.

Around 9:30 I was feeling a lot of discomfort.  I futzed around the question of "epidural or no?", my very favorite worry stone in the final weeks of pregnancy.  Luke gave me a square (if somewhat tired of the discussion) look and told me I was so good at natural labor that it seemed a shame not to do it.  So with that decided, I started retreating inward.  Karen went to the waiting room.  Luke and I quit joking and talking and I walked, breathed, and swayed.  He was totally tuned in and supportive.  We went to the jacuzzi down the hall for a while, and somewhere on the walk back I quit caring about nudity.  This is when I know things are getting serious.  One minute I'm all "Oh the gown is gaping!  Where's my robe tie?" and the next I'm pulling everything off.  I stayed covered to get back to the room, but only not to embarrass Luke. 

With each contraction I'd visualize opening and try to reach deeper into the stretch, not fighting it.  The lights were very dim. The nurse was there sometimes and I remember liking her a lot.  I remember thinking a lot about seaweed and trying to meld my body into a strand of kelp, swaying with the tide.  I shimmied my hips in gigantic figure 8s and wagged an imaginary tail. Luke rubbed my back and touched my hair when I asked.  We were very quiet.  Each contraction engulfed me completely, tugging me under and away from reality, then dumped me on the shore feeling perfectly fine for 60-90 seconds before the next wave arrived.

At midnight Lin came to the room.  It was as if an orchestra conductor had entered the stage and tapped the baton.  The room remained dark except for spotlights.  She was quiet and certain.  She said the baby would be here within an hour.

Up to this point, I was very. very. zen.  Hypnobirther, even.  I remember the nurse, offering to apply counterpressure during a contraciton, asking me where the most pain was and answering, all druggy, "Pain isn't the word for it."  It was intense, wrenching and all-consuming, not at all pleasant and something I wanted to end, but not painful. But I told her, coming out of my trance for a moment, that during delivery I lost confidence and needed specific pushing instructions and encouragement. 

And lost it I did.  In the last minutes before June arrived, I started crying out, even yipping like a puppy.  I tore the monitor bands off my belly. The fear turned the crushing intensity into PAIN.  Horrible horrible pain.  I looked up at Luke between pushes and whine/screamed "This is awful!", sure that I'd be stuck in this place eternally.  Surely I was making no progress.  He kind of laughed and said "Yeah but it's about to be aweSOME."  I remember feeling pouty that no one would take me seriously for the seconds before the pain pulled me under again, and being so sure it would last forever and then ...

It was awesome.  I could feel her head.  And then she was born, at 1:01 a.m. Thursday's child.  I can't remember if she cried.  She was so tiny and warm.  Like each time before, I was stunned to be holding a baby, as if some person in charge decided I had worked hard enough and so turned off the pain and handed me a baby from a cupboard.  The feeling of relief to be holding your live baby and the hormonal high after so much work is the biggest rush that life has to offer.  She was redheaded.  She nursed.  We took pictures. Karen came in.  I cried a lot. 

Our baby was peaceful from the get go.  We named her Annika June: June, a blend of the names Jenn and Luke; and Annika, a sweet little version of Ann, the middle name my mother and I share.  She's been with us almost a year and I am thankful to God every day.

Self-portrait in hospital room

Want to see her now?  She has a little heart face and baby blue eyes.  She's still peaceful. She has us all wrapped around her teeny fingers.