70 mph at Birth: The Car Baby’s Dramatic Entrance

This year, we celebrate seven years since my boy made his, ahem, dramatic entrance into this world. He was my second and was known only to us as Gummy Bear, or That Gigantic Stomach That Always Gets In The Way. It was a great seat for my 20-month-old daughter.

I figured I knew what I was doing. I had succeeded in having a natural, drug-free birth with my first, so I was maybe suffering from a wee bit of hubris.

It Starts

My long-suffering twenty-something sister was in town, thank goodness. Baby’s due date had come and was almost over. My darling husband was working the midnight shift and left for work.

Right before my sis and I went to bed, I felt a little twinge and gave her a secret smile.

“Maybe tomorrow will be the day!”

My giant belly and I went to bed. After one of our many nightly trips to the bathroom, I felt a squeeze that felt more like a contraction than a Braxton-Hicks, so I texted my husband that it was almost time, but not to get too excited. I smiled to myself and laid down… and then my water broke.

It was 3:00-ish in the morning.

I laughed out loud and texted him again, saying he’d better head home.

What followed was a situation that escalated faster than I ever would have thought. Hubby was on his way home. I didn’t want my sister to wake up and have a toddler all by herself with no warning. I woke her up and she was so excited she waited up with me for my ride. At first, we were laughing and having fun, but the contractions got stronger, fast. I know I was starting to worry her when I had to stop talking during them and lean face-down on the kitchen counter.

Hubby screamed up to the house in his truck and had to go upstairs to grab his phone charger real fast. He couldn’t have known how frantic I was becoming, but I yelled at him like a fishwife anyway to HURRY UP!

I got in the front passenger seat and buckled up because that’s what you do. It didn’t occur to me that Baby would be arriving before we reached our destination.

I wasn’t the best companion on the drive. My poor husband tried to start a conversation, probably because he was as nervous as I was, and I was not receptive. I think I snapped at him and was pretty waspish. I couldn’t focus on anything except the contractions and they were getting worse and worse. A seat belt has never been so hated as this one was on that trip. I writhed against it and probably used some grown-up language, but again, it never occurred to me to take it off. We were traveling on I-75… it wouldn’t have been safe.

The hospital is five minutes off the freeway. Once we reached the exit, we figured we were home free. However, I had been screaming for more than a few minutes. As our tires hit the exit ramp, I felt the urge to push which I believe I communicated loudly to my husband, who immediately dialed 911.

The dispatcher grasped the situation and got right down to business.

“How far apart are the contractions?”

If you have labored, you know that the urge to push isn’t something that can be resisted. It doesn’t matter who tells you, no matter how authoritatively, not to push. It’s happening. There isn’t a choice involved.

I’m pretty sure I was operating solely on adrenaline.

The maternity pants I was wearing suddenly felt even tighter than normal. I felt a little like MC Hammer or Aladdin with the dropped crotch. In a fog, I reached down and pulled everything down and realized there was a head there.

My father-in-law likes to joke that Tanner had a backwards Ford logo on his forehead from the floor mat. My baby never touched the floor of the car. I scooped him up and held him, surreal-ly, like I was an observer looking in on this bizarre experience.

In response to the dispatcher’s question, my husband looked over at me and in typical comical Dan fashion announced…

“There’s a baby in the car!”

I’m not sure what followed between Dan and the poor 911 dispatcher, but he followed directions to pull over and wait for an ambulance. He had clean work uniforms in the back seat that he gave me to wrap our surprise passenger in. {It was March! It wasn’t exactly balmy.} He pulled a shoelace out of a shoe to tie off the umbilical cord. I just stared at this shocking little person.

At some point, I had glanced at the dashboard clock and it was just before 5:00 am. Before we pulled over, I emerged from the fog of shock enough to look between the baby’s legs and announce, “It’s a boy!”

I do have a clear memory of my husband standing in the open passenger door. We locked eyes as we heard sirens in the distance. He grinned ear-to-ear and said, “Hear those? Those are for us.”

When the ambulance arrived we were realizing what had just happened and laughing in disbelief. I’m sure the paramedics thought we were insane. I’m not even clear on what they did; I’m sure they made sure the baby was breathing and I wasn’t hemorrhaging, but I don’t remember. I do recall all of them looking like deer in headlights. I assume roadside newborn checkups aren’t something they’re called to handle very often?

At this point, for one shining moment, reality set in and I realized we needed a picture. I tossed my husband the camera and he took two pictures. Only two! In our defense, there were a few things going on.

mother after roadside delivery, paramedics presentWe couldn’t go the rest of the way in the truck because, well, obviously. I’m not sure what the laws are for newborn babies restrained only by the umbilical cord. As the paramedics got me a blanket and I climbed out of the truck to get on their gurney, I started cramping up, heralding the arrival of the placenta. That was uncomfortable. I was beginning to come down from the adrenaline high and had forgotten that I wasn’t quite done yet, so the abdominal pain wasn’t a welcome development.

As I was loaded into the ambulance with my new precious cargo, I grabbed my phone and called my mom. I didn’t figure she would care if I woke her up.

She cried when I told her we gave him her maiden name. I’m sure she thought I was a loon because I kept laughing.

My husband agreed to drive the truck the rest of the way and meet us at the hospital. Unbeknownst to me, the paramedics and I were whisked straight through, past emergency and delivery to recovery. Dan checked in at multiple spots in the hospital and kept getting waved ahead. “The baby born in the car? Oh, they already went up to {fill in the blank}.” Poor guy. Go through all that and then go on a scavenger hunt for your wife and newborn baby. Don’t worry, he eventually found us.

My OB arrived and laughed at me. “Seriously?” My first baby arrived only moments after he set foot in the delivery room and this time was even crazier. 

They had to ask me for my sweet baby boy’s time of birth. He didn’t get an Apgar score. He did get a lot of bruising from his whirlwind trip down the birth canal, but that cleared up in less than 24 hours. I did need stitches. 

mother after a roadside delivery, paramedics presentWe really, really wanted to use the truck’s VIN number as the location of arrival on his birth certificate or at least the GPS coordinates for the intersection where we pulled over. But, we had to settle for “en route to hospital.”

He was the sweetest, happiest baby. My father-in-law nicknamed him Mr. Mellow. He loved to laugh from the beginning. I like to think that he learned right away to go with the flow, and maybe that all that laughter at the start of his life made an impression.

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Mary grew up in Texas but fled north in pursuit of seasons and snow. She fell for a Michigan boy, and they are raising three mini Michigangsters. Mary lives for 90's music, books by Jasper Fforde, strong mosquito repellent, and using a big word when a little one will do. She adores her husband and children, tolerates housework, and dotes on her flock of backyard chickens.