I have blogging friends who are so busy with new babies that it takes a while to write a birth story. In my experience, though, Grandma and family are here providing the extra help I need to jot this down before I look back at the ordeal with my hormone-induced, rose-colored lenses.
The short story is this: We arrived at the hospital on Sunday, November 9th and had our first son! He is perfect, and it was wonderful. The graphic story can be found below, so feel free to leave if you are squeamish or don't really care to read about placentas and whatnot. (It might just preserve our friendship).
After having Myla one week early, I always thought my babies would come early. Who cares if everyone says every baby is different, right? Grandma arrived two weeks before my due date, and we spent the days patiently waiting... and waiting. I arranged car seats, and it started feeling real.
(P.S. Sorry son, we are changing the pink car seat issue as we speak).
I woke up Sunday morning (my due date) around 3:30am and started timing contractions. This exactly mirrored my experience with Piper's labor, so of course I jumped the gun mentally and thought I would have a baby by dinner time. I even called my parents mid-morning to make sure I would receive their weekly Sunday Chinese food delivery if it all worked out that way (shout out to Café Goo Goo Yen!) In typical fashion, I spent about an hour perusing the internet, folding and putting away maternity clothes, and organizing the closet before Dave woke up. This sounds terrible, but I was so looking forward to not going to church that morning and receiving the sympathetic looks from sweet friends encouraging me to hang in there because I look huge. (Btw, I am also a person who gives these looks and same comments, so I know it comes from a sweet place).
(See? HUGE).
Unfortunately, contractions started to slow way down (one every 25 minutes) by mid-morning, and I was kind of discouraged. Dave suggested we meet my folks for early lunch and pass the girls off to them for the day. He picked Lupe Tortilla, so off we went around 11am to lunch, and I timed the mild contractions throughout the meal. We had a rather low-key day of walks, resting, and watching tv. Finally, during an episode of Parks & Rec, I had a couple of contractions that felt more painful. After Piper's quick hospital experience, I didn't want to take any chances of having a baby in the parking lot. I told Dave I would be ready to leave after this episode ends, and we headed out at about 7:00pm (even though contractions were still 8-10 minutes apart).
We arrived at the hospital, and much like the time before, check-in was a little awkward. As I was finishing paperwork, the nurse came and asked me why we were there. She asked if I came to be checked or to be admitted. "Oh, we'll be admitted," I told her. She walked off, and I explained to Dave that she didn't think I was in labor by the way I looked. I guess I was right, because she took me to triage to be checked. I was only at 4-5cm, but that was good enough. This meant I had the pleasure of following the nurse down the hall to my room wearing a hospital gown and a sheet. Not awkward at all. When we made it to our room, we actually had time to work on my birth/medical history questions this time. When she was asking about my birth history, I had to answer questions about the length of my last labor. I said it lasted 15 hours, and she explained that she meant how long my "active" labor lasted. Then she explained that I wouldn't be considered "active" at this point with my contractions still irregular like this. Thanks, ma'am. That was very helpful. Contractions were picking up a bit, but still manageable. I explained that I would probably forego an epidural, but I will ask for one if I change my mind. The nurse immediately became confused with me when I told her I would like to postpone the IV she wanted to give me as long as everything looked good with the baby. They eventually settled on giving me a hep-lock, and I was fine with that. This experience at the hospital was a little more frustrating than the last time, because things were moving more slowly, and I had the time to process it more. I was immediately given a blood pressure cuff and two belly monitors: one for contractions and one for fetal heartbeat. I asked the nurse how to take them off in case I wanted to get up and move around. "If you need to use the restroom, you can unplug it right here and plug it back in when you're finished," she said. I was frustrated, because I didn't want to be tied down to the bed. I told her I would prefer to be monitored intermittently, but my nurse was a stickler for hospital policy. Various times, the nurse would come in because I had moved and she lost the read on my monitors and would ask me to sit a certain way or adjust them. As Dave lovingly tried to explain to me, I could have solved this problem by calling my wonderful doctor and have him give the nurse the orders to monitor me intermittently, but I chose instead to just complain to my family that I hated being restrained. Sorry, guys. Things were picking up a little on the pain scale, but by 9:00pm it still didn't look like we would have our baby until after midnight. I told Dave to put on the quintessential movie to watch when you're at home sick: the Sound of Music.
Let's skip ahead: the nurse checked me for the second and final time, and she said I was at a 6. I felt my water break, and immediately started sobbing from the rush of pain. As Kristen and Dave would describe it, the switch just flipped and things picked up quickly. I was giving my nurse an earful at the time, because she put me at a 6 and confirmed that my water had broken, but still had not stopped the cervical check. "Why are you still in there? Please stop!" She said she was feeling for the baby's head or something. It was... unpleasant.
At some point, I flipped over onto my hands and knees and buried my head into a pillow, because everything was becoming unbearable. I don't know how it is for other people, but by the time the pain gets bad, I can't even consider asking for an epidural, because the act of sitting up and receiving one seems impossible at that point. I'm sure they called my angel doctor somewhere around this time, and I just tried to keep breathing and survive. By then, Dave had switched me to my Hillsong Pandora station, and my jam came on: Oceans. If you're going to have a baby or do anything in your life at all, you should probably listen to that song. (Or come to Crossbridge and sing it with Roxy-- hey girl!)
I kept thinking and saying, "It's going fast now, it's going so fast." I had to wear the oxygen mask for a while, and let's be real: I handled it about as well as my two-year-old handles her first breathing treatment of the season. The most excruciating part of the ordeal was that during every contraction, I felt something pushing on my belly, and as it turns out, my nurse was pressing the fetal heartrate monitor onto me during every one. I kept asking if the baby was ok, and she said it was, but she continued to do that anyway. My main objective during labor is "Nobody touch me!" but she didn't get the memo. Kristen and Dave know what's up, though. My angel doctor arrived soon and got suited up. I begged to take off all the monitors, and he quickly told the nurse to take them all off. The nurse even let me take off the oxygen, so I'm assuming we weren't in an emergency situation or anything. (See? Angel doctor). When they told me it was time to flip over on my back, I cried like a baby, aaaand I accidentally farted. Somewhere in the midst of floods of pain, I still managed to be embarrassed, so for the next few breaks during contractions, I was saying things like, "Damn you, Lupe Tortilla! Why would you pick that, Dave?! You are never allowed to pick the restaurant ever again!"
Soon it was time to push, and after having Piper, I literally never entertained the idea that having this baby would require more than 3 pushes total. This one took a little longer. They would tell me the head was almost out, and I was thinking, "No it's not! They're lying!" I also don't remember having to work that hard on the shoulders of any other baby, but finally, he was out at 10:54pm! Kristen was cheering and saying she knew it was a boy, and I couldn't believe it. (Disclaimer: This child still only took about 10-15 minutes of pushing total. I don't know how some ladies push for hours without keeling over and dying).
Here he is: Jon David Livingston. It's a pretty special name, because he's named after the first man I ever loved and the man I will love for the rest of my life. We were so excited to surprise my dad with the news, because we had waited to tell him until the big day (and we didn't even know if it was a boy or girl until then). It was a joyful, tearful moment, and I made it awkward by adding something like, "and he has a penis!"
I told Dave that if this ever happens again, my new plan is this: go to the hospital, get an epidural as early as possible. Bring a bunch of movies, nap, and wake up just in time for the baby to fall out. I've paid my dues. :)
(P.S I do not want to make it sound like I am a nurse hater from the tone of this post. Granted, I was frustrated by certain parts of the labor experience with my L&D nurse this time around, but overall, I have had great experiences with this hospital and its nurses).
