I didn't want kids. I taught kids all day, and I was worn out at the end of it. I loved them, and figured that was good enough. My husband and I had a big discussion about kids. I had decided that I didn't want them (for the moment...I always changed my mind.) It was Tuesday, July 24th, and I had gone on about never having, nor wanting kids. I wanted another horse. I wanted to do Dressage. Ponies are expensive. I couldn't have ponies AND a kid. That Thursday I was out riding my horse that I was leasing (and wanted to buy.) It was 82 by 10 am and I was sweating like a pig. I kept stopping her because I was pretty positive I was going to puke. My trainer informed me I was pregnant. I laughed so hard that I almost fell off the horse.
I went home, and took a test, just because I had one and just because I wanted to prove her wrong. I peed, looked at it for 30 seconds and saw one line. I threw it in the garbage and thought nothing more of it. I went about my day, and came home late that night. I was getting ready for bed and remembered the test. "OH yeah! How funny, I took a pregnancy test." I looked at the stick and there were two lines. I thought it was really weird that a pregnancy test got two lines after sitting for 12 hours. I showed my husband and we discussed how that was really weird and how companies who make pregnancy tests should REALLY put a warning on the tests.
I told my trainer/friend the next day about my test, and she laughed at me and told me to buy another one. I did
7 pregnancy tests later, I started to believe her.
My pregnancy was pretty easy as far as pregnancy horror stories go. I instantly became a blimp, was super nauseous for the first 17 weeks, but only in the AM. I was convinced that we were having a girl. We found out on November 29th that our little girl had a penis. The ultrasound tech had the personality of a sponge and said 3 words to us the entire time. He didn't even tell us it was a boy, he typed it on the screen. Regardless, we were thrilled.
At every.single.appointment I asked my midwife (I saw several of them) if "everything looks good for a vaginal birth." I was terrified of an epidural and wanted to do it drug free. It was my question at the end of each appointment when they asked, "Any Questions." I'm pretty sure they flagged my file as "Crazy Lady." I don't have any proof though...
I was due on April 8th, 2013. My parents flew in early, March 31st, so they wouldn't miss the birth of their second grandson. My due date came, and my due date went. My midwife wouldn't let me work into April (my job got physical.) I was bored, and hated that I was spending my maternity leave not being maternal. My parents rented a house 1/2 a mile from ours and came over in the afternoons. They kept their space in the morning, I think because I was turning into a bigger bitch than normal.
My brother had planned on flying in April 16th to meet his nephew and my neighbor offered to pick him up. I picked him up. Sigh.
At my appointment on the 17th, the midwife stripped my membranes and we picked an induction date. I was so sad. I had these grand ideas of my water breaking in the middle of the night and waking my husband to drive me to the hospital. We picked the 19th since my parents were leaving soon there after, and I was 41 weeks 5 days at that point. I'd be almost 42 weeks by the time the date came. I had a NST (Non-stress Test) done, and happily baby looked great.
We had an appointment to go in and get induced at 7 pm on the 19th. On the 18th I realized that the likelihood that my child was going to be born on 4/20 was a real possibility. I had taught middle school enough to NOT want my child born on 4/20. OH the horrible jokes I heard! I Googled the date to see what good I could find to make myself feel better...it was HITLERS birthday. HITLER! I wasn't happy. I tried to change my induction date until Monday. My midwife laughed and said she'd see me on the 19th. Great. (They added "Extra Crazy" to my chart.)
We went in for the induction and planned on staying the night. The bed was SO uncomfortable that I just wanted to go home. They used a Folly bulb to induce me and then gave me the option to go home. Yes! Please. Anything. They told me to come back in the AM when I woke up. That I "might" feel some uncomfortable pressure, but that's it. I definitely felt pressure, but just wanted to go home. We got back home around 9, and left the bag in the car. I woke up at 11pm with horribly strong contractions (uncomfortable pressure my ass.) YES! This was it. I went to the rocking chair and started timing them. They were so strong that I was convinced that the baby would be born before the sun came up. I tried to let my husband sleep as long as possible. At 2am I couldn't take the pain anymore and just wanted to be somewhere that HAD drugs. I hadn't planned on using them, but just wanted them nearby. He timed my contractions and they were 2 minutes apart with a 30 second break. We ran to the car, but since the folly bulb was still in, we figured we were safe.
(Hey, at least I got my middle of the night run to the hospital.)
When we got to the hospital we were ushered to a room. I was so convinced I was going to be having the baby soon. My midwife checked me, the folly popped right out and I was only at 4 centimeters. The contractions slowed down and I felt less like I was being punched in the uterus. The nurse and my midwife explained that I NEEDED to sleep, and although I wanted to do the whole thing drug free, I let them give me some morphine. Let's just say I can TOTALLY see how people get so hooked on the stuff. I was OUT OF IT. The nurse (I loved her, I wanted to bring her home) kept bringing me Rocket pop after Rocket pop. I finally fell asleep around 5am. My midwife said she'd have the next midwife on call check on me at 8am to see where I was and to start the next phase. I told her I did NOT want a 4/20 baby. She smiled and said that most woman don't ask for longer labor, and she was pretty positive that I'd be a mom by noon.
My husband and I fell asleep and woke up at 11 am! My nurse had told the next midwife to let me sleep. If I had a girl I'm pretty sure I would have named her Pamela, after this nurse. I loved her. My midwife came in and checked me and I was 2 cm. 2!! Somehow I went back 2 cm, all the contractions and everything. I was so pissed. She said that this could happen with mechanical inductions. I ordered another Rocket Pop and asked to make it a double.
At noon the midwife inserted Cervidil. I didn't want to do pitocin unless I had to. My contractions started right back up with vengeance and the only thing that made them better was walking. We must have walked the halls for hours. The anesthesiologist was hanging at the nurses station around 8pm. Now that I look back I think he knew that I would cave eventually, and he was just waiting for me to throw in the towel. Sort of like the Orca whale that watches the struggling seal pup, and plays with it before it becomes a snack.
My midwife checked me again at 9pm. Up to this point I was super modest, and let's just say it, embarrassed, about showing off my girly parts. I don't remember what point it was but I'm pretty sure I offered to have every medial intern in the hospital system come "take a look" I no longer cared.
My contractions were horrible and I was exhausted and miserable. I was in and out of the whirlpool tube more times than I could count. At 9:30 pm I was saying the F word every other word. It was around the same time I learned that my midwife's daughter was in the classroom across the hall from mine. I KNEW she looked familiar! I felt bad, but the F word is a comforting word to me, sort of like those sweatpants you still have from college.
At 11pm I asked for an epidural. I gave in, I didn't care anymore, I just wanted drugs. Lots and LOTS of drugs. My poor husband was amazing. I turned into a PSYCHO BITCH (turned, have been one, whatever...) at this point. I screamed at him to touch me, and screamed at him to not touch me. Poor guy. Poor Midwife (my midwife said I was a laboring woman and it was normal....I was a bitch.) She knew that I wanted to try to do the birth without drugs and suggested that she check me, and then check me again in an hour. I swore, but agreed. She said that it might inspire me. I was 7cm at 11pm. When she came back at midnight I was 7cm. I started to scream "Get me the short little man." (The Anesthesiologist WAS short, and I realize it wasn't nice, but at the time anesthesiologist just seemed like such a LONG word.)
I swear the man was sitting outside my room just waiting for me. He was in the room in less than a minute (or I was so out of it, and it was 10 minutes, but I don't think so.) I was so afraid of the needle. I was TERRIFIED and kept crying. He explained to me exactly what he was going to do, what it was going to feel like and everything that would be happening. I asked him to marry me. While he was putting in the Epidural the nurse (who I was less than thrilled about) was trying to put on a blood pressure cuff. I was PISSED. I had visions of her bumping me and causing the the needle to paralyze me. I screamed at her. My midwife distracted me with the fact that it was after midnight and that meant it was now April 21st.
NO HITLER-DRUG-DEALING BABY!
The Epidural was AMAZING. I wish I would have gotten it at the beginning. My sweet husband tucked me in and we took a nap. By 8am I was 10 cm and ready to push. I got ready and pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed. The midwife told me I was doing it right, but the baby wasn't coming down like he was suppose to. They determined that he needed to move into the birth canal, and had me move in a weird positions every 10 minutes for an hour then I went back to pushing. Around this point the midwife brought up the C word. I freaked out. Like hyperventilating freaked out. No way, no how was I getting cut open.
Not after 30 some hours of labor.
I pushed like I never pushed before. My sweet husband commented on how much hair the baby had and I pushed harder. The midwife had me to continue to push while she went to consult with the OB/GYN. I kept pushing, figured I would surprise her with a baby. I didn't. The OB/GYN came in and we talked about options. I talked about how NO WAY IN HELL was I getting a C Section. As long as the baby was fine, I was fine. He told me about the vacuum and said we could either do it then, or wait an hour. If I waited an hour, I needed to be strong enough to push. I was SO convinced that it would work that I agreed to do it right then.
He gave me three tries. If nothing happened I had to go straight to the OR. Sure, I figured, it will work. How could it NOT work right? After the first push I knew from the look on everyone's faces that it wasn't going to work. After the third push I started to freak out. Not little freak out, like full on anxiety attack. Hyperventilating, crying, hysterical panic attack. They whisked me to the OR while my husband was getting prepped. The Anesthesiologist (new one) was really nice. I was A HOT MESS. I couldn't breath, I couldn't talk, all I could do is cry. He was really nice and kept wiping the tears from my eyes and telling me stories about his kids (He tired telling me what they were going to do, and I wasn't having it.) My eye sockets kept filling up with my tears and everything was blurry.
Everyone in the OR came and told me their name, and what their job was going to be. It was so nice, and I was such a mess. I wish I could have enjoyed it. Instead I told them that I didn't care what their job was, just do it right. It was not one of my prouder moments. I wasn't very nice. At this point my husband came in, and I think the Anesthesiologist was more relieved than I was. I told him that I didn't want to know ANYTHING. NOTHING. I didn't care what they were going to do, how they were doing it, just do it. He told me he couldn't give me any drugs for the anxiety until the baby was out. I didn't care about the drugs.
Then he told me to hold my breath. Why you wonder? Because I was crying so hard that my whole body was shaking. They needed me to hold my breath so they could make the incision.
Next thing I knew, I heard them say "he's out" then it was what felt like 5 minutes until we heard him cry (in reality it was seconds) I cried (happy tears this time) my husband cried. As soon as I saw him my first words were "There was no way he was coming out the other way."
My big boy was born at 12:49 pm on April 21st. Bug weighed 9 pounds 2 ounces and was 22 inches long (the exact stats I was when I was born.) He was facing up (the wrong direction) so he was trying to come out with the largest part of his head. Obviously that didn't work.
|Going home day! (4/26)|
While they were cleaning him up the Doctor came around and told me it went great, and there was no reason that my next child couldn't be a vaginal birth. I told him (with several swear words involved) that there would be NO next child. At some point the Anesthesiologist shot me up with drugs, and the next hour or so is a blurry mess. I sort of remember "stuff" but not much until after my parents showed up. I was fine as soon as he was out, and I wish I would have thought to tell the doctor that. I had other things on my mind.
I was in love. My mom, dad, and brother (who was flying out in the AM) were able to come to the hospital and meet him. It was amazing. I couldn't believe he was mine. Recovery sucked. It sucked so much. You get to the point of pushing a kids head out, only to get to have surgery...not fun. On the 2nd day the pain killers stopped working, we ended up on another floor of the hospital, and I was miserable. Breastfeeding wasn't working. I felt like my body failed me, and I am still a little mad at it. Then there was him. The perfect little boy that I fell more in love with each passing minute.
Today that wonderful little guy turns 1! ONE! How did time fly so fast? Where has the year gone? All I know is I am so grateful that I get to be his momma. Happy Birthday Bug! Sorry momma was a bitch the day you were born.