Sunday, November 2, 2014

Welcoming Our Girl

It was the moment I had been waiting 9 months to happen. The contractions woke me early Sunday morning. Because I they hadn’t started on their own the first time around, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but their arrival was unmistakable.

Now the waiting game had hit a fevered pitch. Yet all I could do was, you know, wait some more. I downloaded a contraction timing app for my phone. I probably packed something resembling a hospital bag (I’m not real high maintenance about these things). I went about my regularly scheduled business.

Like the contractions, Sunday came and went like clockwork. I’m not sure home much sleep I actually got that night, but things were moving right along.

Then the sun came up, apparently signaling to the contractions that it was time to back off a little bit. So, off to school went the Mayor. And about my business went I.

Monday afternoon, I had a NST scheduled since we were already well past girl-girl’s due date. I laid back in a chair, they hooked me up to some thingamabob and waited to check for Miss Thang to kick a bunch of times within a certain timeframe. Miss Thang must have been power-hibernating in anticipation of her imminent journey, so they sent me back for an ultrasound. (She was fine).

Contractions continued through the afternoon, getting stronger and closer together. I continued to wait.

After the Mayor went to bed, Fella and I settled in for Monday night TV: The Following. I’m not sure what had my attention more, the tele or the timer app. But as the 10 O’clock news started, I said to Fella: “I think we had better make some calls.”

I called my doctor (who promptly ordered me to the hospital) and Fella called his mom to come stay over with the Mayor. The waiting was over?


The drive to the hospital? BRUTAL. Riding in a car through contractions is no joke. I had read that somewhere on this vast www, so it was expected. And I thought I had asked Fella to drive gently, but apparently I didn’t emphasize it enough. I suppose I should have asked him to intuit when the contractions would hit and stop in the middle of the road until they passed. Because, duh.

Somehow we made it to the hospital, got checked into L&D, received my ball gown for the affair (the chic open-backed kind!) and plugged in. Since my first delivery was by caesarian, there were concerns of related complications, I was immediately hooked up to monitors while I waited some more.

Night turns into morning and as soon as the sun is up and those pesky contracts slow down. AGAIN!?! There’s no way I’m leaving the hospital, so it’s time for the god awful good stuff: pitocin. It’s white knuckle time.

At some point they bring me a glider because I just cannot be in the craftmatic adjustable hospital bed and endure the pain post-pitocin. And my birth partner? He’s zonked out on the pullout chair these facilities are outfitted with.

I’m not entirely sure how long this lasts, but all too soon the nurse is back to give me more.

“HA HA HA. No.” My exact words to her. It’s epidural time, y’all.  

The anesthesiologist arrived faster than I expected. And as soon as I was comfortable, Fella high-tailed it out of the hospital to get some grub. I tried to convince him to grab some oatmeal from just down the road at Peets, but instead he went all the way home. When he left the hospital, I was only dilated 4cm.

My doctor seemed convinced that I was going to wind up having another c-section because my babies are on the big size. Not a fan of this attitude, I ask my daytime L&D nurse what gives after generations of women on both sides of my family have birthed big babies without incident. She explains all the things that my doctor didn’t do after the Mayor was born to determine if I was not physically able push my puppies out.

It was nearing Noon, the nurse checks out all the things, tells me I’ve got good birthing hips (so-to-speak) and updates my status: dilated to 7cm. Fella’s going to be surprised at the progress!

But where is Fella? Oh right, home.

He shows back up sometime after Noon. And so does my doctor, who checks me again and estimates that the wait is almost over. But first—we wait.

Within an hour, the room is prepped for delivery. And I am pushing. And watching in a mirror, at first to make sure my push technique is right, but ultimately, I end up watching Miss Thang being born. I swore that was of ZERO interest to me. It was, admittedly, pretty interesting after all.

And so Miss Thang came into this world without much fuss and clocked in at 8lb 11oz. She shares her day with her Great Gramma B, 96 years apart.

Edit: Miss Thang is actually over a year and a half now, so this recap was long overdue. To whom? I don't know, other than myself, I guess!

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