Nothing like I’d planned or expected, but perfectly imperfect, messy, humbling, beautiful and just how it meant to happen. Your grand entrance was a splendid introduction to our new life with you.
On Monday morning, three days after your due date, I sat at my desk and wondered about you, wondered so hard I knew I needed to check on you, so your dad and I set up an ultrasound for that afternoon with your papa. About an hour later I started feeling Braxton Hicks, so I thought. Aren’t you not supposed to be hungry during labor? They were 3 minutes apart and pretty mild. I told your dad and he insisted your oma drive me to our appointment just in case.
You looked great on the Doppler. Your papa felt one of my contractions and confirmed it was the real deal. We didn’t know when, but you were coming soon!
My contractions got a bit more intense later on that night, but they were still 3 minutes apart and just 30 seconds long. So much for the 5-1-1 rule. You were throwing us for a loop already! I showered, we packed our bag, called your baba to come stay with Omaha, and headed to the hospital. We arrived at the hospital around 10 p.m. and left the bag in the car…so I could feel that much less embarrassed when we got sent home.
Well, I was only 3 centimeters dilated. Oops! The triage nurse told your dad and me to walk around the birthing unit for an hour to see if labor progressed. A short hour later I was up to 5 centimeters and we got admitted. Actually admitted, though I still wasn’t convinced we were staying. Your impending arrival was too incredible and overwhelming a concept to grasp.
Your dad and oma took turns walking the big square lap around the birthing unit with me for most of the night, pausing as I held onto the railing and breathed through each contraction.
Around 7 a.m., my plans of a natural birth quickly began looking lofty. I’d pictured bringing you into the world naturally and mentally prepared to go that route throughout my pregnancy. According to all I’d read and all I believed, a natural birth was safest for the baby and allowed the mom to be best connected to the experience. As it turns out, labor and delivery, much like parenting, aren’t quite as black and white as I thought. As it turns out, the safest way to bring you into the world was the safest way to bring you into the world, and any way of doing that allowed me, your mom, to be fully connected to the experience. A natural birth wasn’t in the cards, and that’s okay.
The sun rose and I was still only 6cm dilated. You were sunny side up, a pocket of amniotic fluid under your head was making it difficult for you to fully engage, and my back labor contractions, though painful (more painful than I’d anticipated), weren’t strong enough to keep labor progressing. I’d been in labor for 20 hours at that point and I was exhausted. Your dad and oma were tired, too. Our wonderful L&D nurse, Ashley, talked over options with us. She reminded me that whatever I chose, I’d still need the energy to push you out. I decided to accept medication. All the medication. Even that decision was a relief. I got a complete epidural, Ashley started Pitocin to get things moving, Dr. Austin broke my water, inserted a tube to flush out your meconium (there was a lot), and I began laboring with a giant peanut ball between my legs to try to get you to turn over. I got a few wonderful hours of sleep in my cocoon of pillows Ashley had set up for me.
Despite amping the Pitocin every hour, I was still just 6cm dilated at 12:30. I wasn’t worried though. I was comfortable, rested and your heartbeat was steady and strong. Around 2:30 or 3, I started to feel a pocket of pain in my left hip with each contraction. It wasn’t terrible, but it was there. Ashley called the anesthesiologist to do another starting dose of medication through the epidural. Shortly after, I spiked a small fever and got a bit nauseous. Ashley checked me and I was complete. 10cm and station +2. We were going to have a baby! I cried hard, happy tears. It finally sunk in. We were about to meet you. You were coming. You were going to be okay.
I pushed for just 25 minutes. I watched Dr. Austin pull you out and into the world through a mirror. It wasn’t nearly as gross as I thought it was going to be. I may be a little biased though, especially considering you were covered in poop. Your poop, not mine. Just to be clear, I didn’t poop. They had told me they’d need to wipe you off and suck the fluid out of your lungs before they gave you to me, but I forgot. I reached for you immediately, my perfect, ‘chocolate milk’ coated baby boy. 6lbs 13oz, 19.5”, born at 4:11 pm on January 30, 2018, the best day of my life.
You slept next to me on the couch as a wrote this story up and as if on cue, your eyes have opened, looking up to the ceiling fan. So you’ll have to excuse me for now, little love, it’s time to go be your mom.
