Baby you were born this way

So we successfully made it through Taylor’s birthday weekend pregnant, and once that following Monday came it was time to get the show on the road. As any sane woman in her 39th week of pregnancy would agree, I was ready to be done being a ginormous whale and overly anxious to meet the bambino I had been gestating for the past nine months. And with a few hours of sporadic contractions on Tuesday night, we knew we were getting close. And so Wednesday morning I woke up, still pregnant, Googled Natural Labor Inducers and then informed Chris he might want to take the afternoon off from work, because we were going to be busy trying to go into labor.

And after eating spicy tacos dredged in jalapenos for lunch, I then went on an hour-long walk through the neighborhood and followed it by me and my giant belly lunging and squatting across the front yard – All spurring random contractions, but nothing progressive. So I jumped into the shower feeling pretty bummed and like I was going to be pregnant forever. And in between shampooing and conditioning, I came to terms with the fact that this Baby was going to come when it was ready to, and that there was nothing I could really do to speed up the process. So I got out of the shower and told Chris about my change of heart, and that we needed to stop trying to mess with the process and that we needed to relax and enjoy every moment we had left of our intimate, easy family of three. And then my water my broke.

But I didn’t really know it had broken, as it wasn’t this huge gush of fluid splashing out of my body. So I brushed it off to the normal inconveniences that come with being so pregnant, and continued on my afternoon with my newfound appreciation of just being in the moment. But after a few hours of feeling like I needed to put on one of Taylor’s pull-ups, I told Chris I thought something was off and made a quick call to my doctor, who happened to be on duty that night, and I told her that either I had been randomly peeing my pants for the past three hours or maybe, but probably not, my bag of waters might have broken. And because I was so indifferent and unstressed about the event, she casually said to come on into the hospital to get checked, and to also bring all of our labor stuff in the case that this is the real deal.

So we called Paige and put into effect our Taylor-during-labor-plan, having her and Elliot come over to take our precious girl to her first-ever sleep over. And because I had already packed all the bags for both us and her, we just calmly sat around the house and waited for the Scullys to come pick up the Princess. And when we tried to explain to her what was going on, and that we might be meeting her new sibling soon, she just buzzed past us in excitement to see her buddy, saying things like, Mom, Did you pack my Tinkerbell Fairies? Can I bring my Pillow Pet? I’m gonna bring two Princess costumes, one for me and one for Elly.

And after tearfully saying goodbye to my little girl, Chris and I got into our car and headed to the hospital, calling each of our parents on the way to explain to them that we MIGHT be in labor, but didn’t know yet, and that we’d call in an hour or so to let them know the deal. And because we were meeting my doctor in the outpatient labor and delivery lab, Chris just parked in the visitor lot and we walked into the hospital and up to the fourth floor to get checked. And I just note our calm, collectedness because it was so different from when we got to the hospital when I was about to deliver Taylor. When we did that dance three years ago, I was contracting hard and regularly, so Chris dropped me off frantically at the Emergency entrance, and then he zoomed off in a frenzy to park the car, got into a fight with a parking attendant and almost got arrested. We were a hot mess. And this time we were just a couple of Fonzys. And what’s Fonzy like? Cool.

So our overly-cool selves get up to the labor and delivery outpatient office and get checked out by my doctor, who excitedly tells me that, YES, your water is breaking and that my cervix is about four and a half centimeters dilated, 80-percent effaced, and that we were going to be admitted to a room. And Chris and I just looked at each other in excitement and squealed, We’re gonna meet our BABY soon!

But I guess SOON wouldn’t really be the accurate description. And by the time we got back to our room, answered all the nurse’s questions, called our parents and then checked in with Paige, it was about 10:00 at night. And after changing into the super-sexy, backless labor gown and eating a light snack, I started noticing that my contractions were coming about every three minutes and were really starting to hurt. Let me rephrase that, WOO-BOY! Lots. Of. PAIN.

And I had really, really planned on having a natural birth. So when the nurse kept asking me if I wanted an epidural, I would steadily answer back while labor-breathing, I. Think. I’m. Good. But. Thanks. And after an hour of bearing down and breathing and rocking, I asked to be checked and I was only at five centimeters. And after another hour of intense pain and threatening to throw Chris’s Blackberry out the window, I told them to check me again and was told I was at six centimeters. And because it was midnight and I was already exhausted, I told them I wanted the epidural. And knowing what I know now, I don’t regret it at all. Because there’s no way I would have been able to push a baby that big out of me without that break I had while dilating those final four centimeters.

And while I am happy now about the rest I got between midnight and 5:00am, right after getting my epidural I felt totally defeated. Because part of me knew that getting it would slow me down even more, resulting in me having to get hooked up to Pitocin to speed up my dilation and then, if the situation was similar to being in labor with Taylor, I would have to get an epidural boost when I hit ten centimeters and then would be pushing forever to deliver the baby. Oh, and while the epidural took away the pain of each contraction, it also gave me the shakes so bad I was practically vibrating in the bed. So when they checked me two hours after snaking the epidural into my spine and I was still only six centimeters, I reluctantly agreed to the Pitocin, but vowed to Chris that I was going to refuse anything else in order to have the strength and ability to push the baby out quicker. I was only six hours in, but knew the end was near. And we would be meeting our baby a lot sooner than later if I just sucked it up and pushed through the pain.

So at about 5:00 the nurse announced that I was fully dilated and ready to push, and even though the epidural was wearing off, I looked at Chris and the nurse and said, Alright, it’s GO time. Let’s do this! I need a cup of ice and a cold washcloth. We’re about to meet this baby.

And that enthusiasm last about 20 minutes. Because I was pushing really, really hard, and I felt like I wasn’t making any progress. And even though Chris and the nurses kept telling me, Good job! and That was awesome! after each round of pushing, I knew I wasn’t anywhere close, because I’m pretty sure my doctor was off somewhere taking a catnap. And I started to freak out and get tired. And out came the oxygen mask, which I would hold up to my face between each contraction in order to catch my breath and prevent me from hyperventilating. And after another 40 minutes of me rolling to my side and pushing my guts out, the nurse called my doctor. But not to announce that I was about to deliver, but that she was concerned about the baby’s dropping heartrate.

So after a few more unsuccessful contractions of me pushing as hard as I could, my doctor comes in and observed for a bit, calling out to me in encouragement and letting me know that I was so close. And by that point, I really was super close. But something was holding us up, and while I was still maintaining a good amount of strength in each push, the baby was starting to get tired and after each contraction its heartrate would dip to a point that was concerning enough to my doctor that she finally looked at Chris and I and said, Alright, Guys. We need to get this baby OUT. And you’re so close that I don’t want to give you a c-section. So what I want to do is try to use a vacuum to help get the baby out. And then she showed me the suction-cup device and quickly explained that it would be a joint effort from her and me, her slightly pulling while I was pushing with the next contraction. And as terrifying as it sounded, I told her that I totally trusted her. And we would do whatever she felt we had to to get our baby here as quickly and safely as possible.

And right after we agreed to the vacuum, six random people in scrubs came rushing into the room. Some from NICU, some extra nurses to help. And it was about the scariest situation I had ever experienced. And I looked right at Chris, barely able to talk, and frantically told him how scared I was. And he grabbed me and said that everything was going to be fine, and I just locked eyes with him and felt the next and final contraction starting to come. And I pushed harder then I had ever pushed before, and out came our baby’s head. And then I pushed again, and out came its shoulders. And then I finished my third push and the sense of relief that engulfed my body was accompanied by Chris shouting out, It’s a BOY! It’s a BOY! And then I met my son.

And when Luke was placed on my chest, he was purple, wrinkled, screaming and wiggling. And it was love at first sight. And all the extra emergency-people that came in congratulated us and left the room. He was perfect. And Chris and I just wrapped ourselves around him, watching our son blinking at us and reaching out his hands towards our faces.

And while everyone kept cheering about his healthy delivery and remarking on how big he was, he still just looked like a teeny-tiny baby to us. So when the nurse was about to put him on the scale and asked each of us for our estimate on his weight, Chris and I just used Taylor’s eight-pound birthweight as our guide, and I guessed eight-five and he chimed in eight-ten. So imagine the shock on our faces when the nurse plopped him down on the scale and the number that registered was nine-nine. Are you kidding me? ALMOST TEN POUNDS. If I had gone to term with him, we might have made the local news.

And after weighing him, checking his healthy vitals, marking his giant footprints and then getting him back on my chest, my doctor hugged me and told me how proud she was of me. Not every woman can deliver a nine and a half pound baby with relatively zero damage and drama. And I was all, Thanks! I should get a t-shirt made with those exact words on it. Because I was pretty proud of myself too.

And then the nurses each expressed their congratulations and left the room, leaving just me, Chris and Luke. And after calling our parents with the good news, we once again gathered ourselves around our tiny, precious being and just marveled over how something so new to our lives could already command so much of our love. And then I looked at my husband and said, Chris, you have a SON. And watching the emotions pass through him as he finally came to terms with the idea of fathering a son was enough to bring me to tears and melt my heart for the second time that morning.

Welcome to our family, Luke. We already love you to the moon and back.