Julian,
You decided to come in the middle of the night. For weeks, your dad and I talked about when and where you would decide to come. We laid out bed pads in strategic places all over the house, on the off chance that my water would break while I was sitting/laying there, so we would be ready. (Sorry, we've always been paranoid types.) We also had an ongoing joke that you would be born at Cafe Rio. Thank goodness you weren't.
Honestly, my anxiety level was pretty high. Giving birth is a scary thought! When you were about early-30 week level, I was having pretty regular Braxton Hicks, and my doctor told me to go to Labor and Delivery. We ended up going twice, until the doctor told us that we could stop worrying about pre-term labor. And your vitals were always healthy as a horse, so really, we weren't too worried. (But did I mention the subchorionic hemorrhage I had in the first few weeks with you? Your dad and I pretty much mourned your loss/death twice, during that time. You didn't make this road exactly easy!)
A couple weeks before your birth, I was having those regular Braxton Hicks again. Some nights, I would have actual contractions, which would leave me bent over the couch holding my breath, or in tears. The Thursday before you were born I was at work, and actually let out an almighty cuss word while in my office, I was so caught off guard! Ouch! Your grandma came over for my lunch break and we went out for Wendy's. We were timing contractions every 6 minutes like clockwork, and they hurt, let me tell you! I told everyone at work, that day, that I thought I was having you, and they wouldn't see me tomorrow. I left early. The contractions stopped. Obviously, Friday I took a half day, and felt very sorry for myself. I was sick as a dog and just wanted you to come.
Your dad had given me a blessing several days before, as I was in a bout of anxiety about giving birth, and if I would know when it was happening. He'd said something along the lines that I would "know" when I was in labor. So early Saturday morning, I was sleeping. (Of course.) I was having a dream that I was at work, working with one of the Muslim women currently at our facility. I was trying to talk her down, as she was upset, (nothing unusual there), when a man approached me from behind. At first, I assumed it was one of her family members, but upon second glance, I realized it wasn't. (I want to say he was Maori, but honestly, I just referred to him as "some ethnic man.") My dream changed direction, as I turned to this man, as I wasn't really at work anymore. He looked at me calmly, and reassured/told me simply, "You're going into labor."
And I woke up. 3:00 AM. And I was in labor. I ran to the bathroom, still having contractions, then went back to bed. I had a couple more before trying to wake up your dad. I gently took his hand, then rubbed his arm until he blinked lazily at me. "I'm having contractions." I told him, gripping his hand through yet another one. "Oh." he said, nodding. "Okay." And promptly he fell asleep again. I had to wake him up again as I had another. "Nathan, I'm having contractions. I think I'm in labor." "Oh!" he replied a little more exuberantly. "Okay!" And he was up!
I actually wanted to take a shower, before going to the hospital, even though my contractions were regularly 2 minutes and about 30 seconds apart. Nathan continued to time them for me while I showered, and told him when they started and stopped. My previous experiences, I'd always been sitting or lying down. Walking usually helped them go away. So the fact that they were regular when I was moving around, putting on makeup, etc, only affirmed to me that this was, in fact, IT. Both showered and ready, your dad made me a peanut butter sandwich while I chugged a Gatorade.
The contractions hadn't been too bad, up to that point. In fact, I remember thinking that I might try natural labor, without an epidural. It wasn't so bad. I could do that! It was probably a product of adrenaline, however. I was on fire, throwing things together, making sure we had everything. I told Nathan that we might just sit at home, for awhile, to see if things progressed/got worse. But we didn't stay home. We got in the car as another violent contraction hit me. As we pulled out of the apartment complex, I told Nathan that maybe we should drive around for a little bit before going in, just to make sure that this was, in fact, real. We didn't drive around for a little bit, either, as we'd been on the road for about thirty seconds before I was hit with a really painful doozy, which left me telling Nathan HECK no, were we gonna drive around. We needed to get to the hospital, and I wanted an epidural!
My adrenaline really was working quite well for me, as we pulled into the hospital parking lot about a quarter after four. There was another woman there, walking slowly into Labor and Delivery with her midwife, and pacing husband. We shot past them, my contractions not slowing me down! (Well, any slower than I already was at 9 months pregnant.) We signed in at the desk, and they showed us to Triage. The nurse assigned me had been my nurse for one of my previous Labor and Delivery scares, so it was nice to see a familiar face - especially now that it was real! I threw on my gown, hugging your father through a couple more contractions, then had a seat as the nurse measured me.
4.5 centimeters dilated! (I'd only been 1.75 dilated 4 days previously.) I was having this baby FOR SURE! Gently, they escorted us to room 5. They struggled to get my IV in - took them three tries - and called for the epidural man - who became my new hero. Getting the epidural was not as bad as it sounds. It actually hurt less than my IV fiasco! Just scary in thought, and the shaking that accompanies an epidural was exciting! Nurse shift change, and then it was just a waiting game!
Jen, our new nurse, said that she thought I'd have you before 3 PM, which was exciting to me, as I had been anticipating something like an 18-hour labor. She gave me some Pitocin after the doctor came to look at me, broke my water, and reported I was only 5 centimeters dilated. They wanted to speed things up a little bit more. Unfortunately, that didn't go so great for you! My uterus was apparently already contracting pretty hard, and with the Pitocin, it was contracting VERY hard! The nurse suspected that you had your umbilical cord either in your hands, or around your neck, because every time I had a contraction, your heart rate became unstable. Their solution to this was to pump me full of drugs! CRAZY drugs! My heart rate went through the roof, but as my heart pumped faster and faster, your heart rate stabilized, and eventually, your umbilical cord situation must have sorted itself out. Needless to say, they laid off the Pitocin from then-on-out.
Feeling pretty stressed out and worried for you, (and, with my heart still pumping steadily at 114 BPM, due to the drug) I wanted to see my mommy! So we called her, and asked her to bring your dad lunch, which she did. (He'd been threatening to run off and get food, and I just wasn't feeling that! I was still scared, and didn't want to be alone!) She stayed and ate with him, until I was feeling much better. Then headed out.
And it was like we blinked, and it was time, after that! Jen came back, measured, and said it was probably time to start pushing, around 1:30 in the afternoon. It was about that time she also informed us that you had "pooped in the womb!" Basically, your meconium was leaking out of me, which put us in a little bit of a crunch to get you out. Jen calmly explained that because of this, ICU would be present at your birth to check you out and make sure you were okay, before they handed you over to me. So... PUSH!
I was not thrilled about it, and honestly, wanted to put it off for another little while, as my epidural wasn't working as strongly as it had been, in the beginning. (It was probably working just fine. I could feel contractions come and go, now, but they weren't incredibly painful at all. I was just scared!) But Jen and your dad were posed, ready, and... PUSH!
Within twenty hours after giving birth, I would have preferred giving birth again, rather than deal with the after effects of giving birth. It was kind of exhilarating! I could feel those contractions, and I could feel progress being made. Finally the doctor came in, after about 30 minutes of pushing, to help with the rest of it. Her name was Doctor Pieper - pronouced "peep-er." Yes, we thought that was inappropriately hilarious as well. But she was amazing. When I was getting tired, shaking my head "no" mid-contraction, she'd encourage me on. She was paying attention to the details, like how I was feeling. At some point they grabbed a mirror for me to watch. (Yes, I'm into that sort of thing.) It was amazing how much stronger I could push, seeing your hairy little head there. Jen eventually stepped in the way of the mirror, so I didn't actually see you born. I was a little too busy to tell her to move it.
The doctor was worried about your meconium, and gently gave me a time limit. She explained it gently. She would give me two more contractions to get you out, before she had to cut me open, with an episiotomy. They had to get you out of there, quickly. So I had two more contractions before she pulled out the knives... WHAT a motivator! You were out the very next contraction, but not without consequences. I tore pretty heavily - UP, not down - which resulted in me keeping a catheter in for an additional 24-hours to make sure I could still PEE. (I will explain no further. Not my favorite thing about giving birth, needless to say.) But you were out!
And off! They ran you over to the side of the room and started suctioning your throat, to make sure you hadn't swallowed anything. I'd told your dad, previously, that he had to follow you, to make sure you were okay. I could fend for myself. So your dad ran off to follow you, as well. Which made him miss quite a few details about his bleeding wife, who, ultimately, got thirty minutes worth of stitching, and a new syringe for the epidural to keep me through it - doctor's orders.
But you were perfect. I could hardly see you, but I could hear you crying, and could see your dad's face all lit up, glancing back at me with an expression that I could only describe as saying "He's real!" He was so excited! They wrapped you up and put you in his arms, and he brought you over so I could look at you. As soon as I was able, I stole you from him.
I could go on and write about how you were - perfect - but then this entry would never end. You really were perfect, though. You were calm. You barely fussed when you were hungry. You were content to just sit and look around, with your beautiful dark blue eyes. Honestly, it took a long time for it to sink in to me that you were a reality for me. But you are!
I'm writing this as I sit on the couch, you sleeping in your bassinet at my side, a week and a half later. You're going to wake up soon, and you're going to be wanting lunch. As usual, you will barely fuss, and I have to pay close attention to you, or I miss that essential cue that you're hungry. Because then you'll throw a fit. Which is fine. I don't mind. That and poopy diapers are the only things that make you cry. And the second it's resolved, you're doing great again. You've been a little fussy today, but I think it's the new formula we're trying. And I think you might be getting diaper rash. It was World War III when I put cream on your butt a couple hours ago. Sorry about that.
Because I worry. Constantly. My life revolves around you, now, and I worry about you. I want to make sure you're happy. I want to make sure you're healthy. I want to make sure I'm giving you every opportunity you need to succeed. I struggle making sure you get outside enough. I struggle getting frustrated when you soak through your fifth onesie for the day. But I'm trying my hardest to make sure you don't see it, because all I want for you is to see your mother as a loving face, cooing at you, telling you stories, singing "Baby Balooga" one more time, and rubbing your back as I hold you against my chest, until you fall asleep. I want you to feel happy and secure, always. Obviously, I'm not perfect, but I'm going to keep trying. Because those inquisitive eyes of yours make it all worth it.
