Buddy Boy’s Birthday (and Birth Story)

29 Oct

This past weekend, my smallest guy turned 1.

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How did that happen? It seems like just yesterday I was laying in a hospital bed holding him for the first time.

To commemorate Buddy Boy turning one, I thought it might be appropriate to share his birth story.

A little bit of back story, first.

We were not trying for baby number 3. As a matter of fact, we were actively trying NOT to have a baby, for the first time in our marriage.

When we found out I was pregnant, we were both shocked. Three kids in 26 months was a lot. But, there was nothing we could do to change it.

Morning sickness was awful. I was tired. I was crabby, and I was dealing with 2 toddlers.

Then the second trimester came, and I started fainting and shaking. Hello, blood sugar issues. I was diagnosed, “Reactive Hypoglycemic”.

Somewhere in there, we also found out the gender. We were so excited. We picked out names. We had little matching shirts with names on them for the kids. I was so ready.

At about 33 weeks, I started having contractions. No big deal. Then I started thinning and dilating. Big deal. BAM! Bed rest. (Have I mentioned that I also had 2 toddlers? Bed rest?! Yeah. Right.) I spent the next month keeping that baby nice and comfy. Apparently I was REALLY good at it. 37 weeks came and went. 38 weeks…39 weeks… 40 weeks… You have got to be kidding me! 41 weeks…

I went into the clinic on Friday, October 26th for my regular appointment. We decided that I would be induced starting on Sunday night, and hopefully have the baby by Monday afternoon. The doctor checked and I was still at 2 centimeters dilated and about 75% effaced. She stripped my membranes for the 4th time, and sent me home to wait out the weekend. Discouraged, I went home and informed everyone that I would be going in on Sunday to be induced.

That night I went to bed with a sense of peace. We had a wedding to go to on Sunday afternoon, and from there, we would be going to have a baby. It was a good weekend.

I woke up the next morning and thought, “If I don’t get to the bathroom right now, I am going to pee my pants.” So, I looked at my phone and saw that it was only 6:58 am. I would have to pee on my one morning to sleep in.

I hoisted myself out of bed and hobbled the 7 steps to the bathroom.  I sat down and peed my allotted 12 drops, since there was a baby on my bladder, and that’s all I could ever get out at a time. I felt relieved. And then I had to pee again. And then I felt relieved. And then… oh crap! These are contractions! I decided I should get in the bathtub so as to stop the contractions before I was too annoyed and frustrated. I told Mr. to run up ahead of me and start the water. He did. I just kept thinking with every contraction, “Well, that was annoying.” By the time I hobbled up the stairs to the bathroom (with a tub in it) the tub was filled. I sank by giant self into the tub. After about a half hour, I told Mr., “These are really annoying, but I should probably go downstairs and get in bed so I can rest. I think this might be actual labor.” I wanted to labor at home as long as possible.

I climbed out of the tub, and put on a giant, over-sized tshirt and pajama pants. I was just going down the stairs, I figured I could put some more appropriate clothing (and underwear) on when I got to my room.

By the time I got down the stairs, Mr. was back in bed. I asked him if he could please get back up and go tell his parents (we were living with them, at the time) that we were leaving. He got out of bed and went up to tell them. I heard him open his parents’ door, and his mom said, “Are you going to the hospital?” Mr. replied, “Yep. I’ll keep you posted.” She said, “Ok. Maybe we will come visit later with the kids after they get up and have breakfast.”

Mr. got back down to our room and I, not so pleasantly said, “We have to go. Now.”

He replied that he had to take the car seats out of our car for his parents to use later. I was less than thrilled, expressed that to him, and he said, “I’m going to go out and do it. I will stop as soon as you get out there.”  I glared and growled, and put on my shoes. I made my way out to the garage, where Mr. was standing (car seats removed) and waiting for me. I flopped into the car and tried to convey the urgency I was feeling.

At some point during the 15 minute drive to the hospital, Mr. called and informed the Maternity Ward that we would be arriving shortly.

We pulled into the parking lot at 9:30 am. He dropped me off at the front door, and went to park the car. In the 5 minutes it took him to park the car and catch up to me, I had made it about 30 feet. Mr. helped me the rest of the way down the hall and  pushed the buzzer signaling the nurses to let us in. The doors opened, and I made my way around a corner, where I was greeted by a nurse. She was standing at the entrance of the “triage room”, where they put you for monitoring.

I knew those rooms well. I was put into those rooms with each of my pregnancies (including this one) for a few hours, and when nothing progressed, I was sent home.

The nurse asked if I needed a wheelchair. I said, “That depends on where I have to make it to.” She quickly stepped away from the Triage Room door and pointed to a “real room”. “Just right here,” she said, as she motioned to the delivery room. I responded, “No. I think I can make it.” As the next contraction passed, I quickly made my way to the room. Just as I entered the room, another contraction hit and I grabbed onto the bed for support. The nurse handed me an elastic band (to hold monitors) and a gown and asked me to put them on and get into the bed. She would be right back. I put the band on my abdomen, and exasperatedly said to Mr., “I cannot put that on”, pointing to the gown, “I’m SO hot.” I then flopped on the bed, with just a band on. I’m sure that’s not what the nurse was expecting when she reentered the room a minute later.

“I’m hot.” I told her.

“That’s fine. As long as you are comfortable.” She answered.

I BEGGED to be checked. I needed to know where I was, so that I could talk myself through the pain. The nurse laid her pile of paperwork down and checked. She announced, “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going!?!” I demanded.

“To call the doctor. You were at a 6 (cm) and dilated to an 7 with the contraction you had while I was checking.” And she left the room.

I glanced at Mr. who was standing at the side of the bed.

A few minutes later, the nurse reentered the room, “The doctor is only 15 minutes away, she will be here soon.”

She asked a few questions, and before I knew it, the Dr. was there.

I said I had pressure. She put her gown and gloves on and sat at the foot of the bed.

“Oh,” she said, “you are crowning.”

“Yeah… I figured!!!” I gasped, in pain.

“Well, with the next contraction, give a good push. Let’s see what happens.”

Contraction. Push.

The doctor exclaims, “There’s the head!”

I pushed again, on the same contraction.

“Here she is!!!” Dr. announced, as she laid the baby on my belly.

I glanced down and looked at my baby. So chubby and pink.

Pure bliss. Pure joy. Pure… “Ummmm… that’s a boy,” the nurse said.

The doctor looks, “Oh. That is a boy. Dad, did you want to verify?”

Mr. looks. “Yep. A boy.”

I laughed. I cried. I held my baby boy.

Josephine Victoria was born at 10:48 am. Except, that’s kind of a girly name. So, we just called him, ”The Baby” for a little over a day.

Now, my baby is a year old.

Happy Birthday, Theodore.

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