I'm at 10 cm dilated, which means I went from 4cm to 10cm...without an epidural. At this point, I'm so thankful to be alive and not in pain. Of course, I can't move anything past my belly button, and frankly, I don't care if I'll ever be able to again after what I just went through. I keep looking at the clock on the wall and it currently reads 11:00pm. The good doc says (Wait a damn minute. She is NOT a good doc. A good doc would've given me the meds as soon as I walked on the elevator 6 hours ago.) The mediocre doc says that once I start pushing, it won't take long and I could potentially pick which day I want my kid to be born on. I'm not a math person, but I am a numbers/sign person, which means I like trends with numbers. They are meaningful to me. Specifically with this kid. All of my important IVF appointments were on odd days. All of my OB appointments were on odd days. My birthday and Mike's birthday both have odd-numbered months, days, and years (3/19/75 and 9/25/85). So I do a quick walk-through now that I can actually process thoughts and decide that this kid will be born on 9/19/15, odd month, odd day, and odd year. Once I realize this, it's pretty clear I have much work to do in order to make this happen. In less than an hour.
There are so many things other women told me about regarding birth, babies, etc. But I promise you, there is absolutely no woman on this planet that can prepare you for what you must endure to birth a baby. There just isn't. You can read my story all day. You can watch videos of vaginal births and c-sections all day. You still will NOT be prepared for what happens. You will NOT. Nope.
When the nurses tell you to check your modesty at the door, listen to them. Hear them. FEEL them. I'm a modest person. I'm was the girl in the locker room doing every maneuver to not let a boob slip in front of all the other boobs that happened to make appearances. I pee with the door shut and will scream if Rudy somehow pushes it open during mid-stream. If it's been awhile since I've had my eyebrows waxed, I've #1: considered calling in sick to worknand #2: contemplated wearing a paper bag over my head. Nobody likes bad eyebrows. Serious business. When I happen to pass gas and it's noticed (which has happened like 3 times since I've been married) I'm mortified and will basically keep my face buried for days afterwards. When I have to #2 at school in the adult bathroom, I do my best to cover it up with the citrus air freshener that may or may not have a working nozzle on it. I'm the one walking out in a cloud of shitrus. (This is a shout-out to all my back hall peeps!) But at least I tried my best to hide it. When it's time to take the cover-up off on the beach, I'm the one doing it in a yoga pose, one arm at a time, sitting down in my chair so I won't attract unwanted attention. I'm aware that this is unusual behavior, but when it has to do with me, 'unusual' is the standard. When people tell you do "check your modesty at the door of the labor & delivery unit", THEY ARE NOT LYING.
There's Mike, my nurse, another nurse, my doctor, 3...count em, THREEEE nursery nurses (the baby's), and another girl who I'm not even sure worked there, but I figured, everybody in the Commonwealth is seeing my goodies tonight, what's one more random person? I mean, is the custodian going to make an appearance? Then there's me. Who is the most chill person at this point. I'm cracking jokes at the people coming in the door because what else can I do when the whole world is zoomed in on my vagina? The doc leans over and flicks the lights on. Oh, you thought it couldn't get worse? Then they turn on 2 spot lights right on the cookah. Right, like you couldn't see it clearly with all the florescent in the room, let's throw a disco ball down there and really get the party started.
The pushing part was cake. I had to sit straight up and squeeze as hard as I could for a countdown to 10. When you can't feel anything, having to concentrate and respond to cues is worthless. It's about 11:40 now. My head is drenched with sweat, my body is numb from pure exhaustion, and I've done about 8 rounds of pushing. The nurses are all aflutter in the room. Mike is holding my left hand and weirdly, my head. (I don't think I could hold it up on my own). My doctor is soothing me with her encouraging words, and all I'm focused on is the clock. I WILL get this kid out by midnight. I'm on a rest after barely making it to "10" on the countdown, when she tells me I'm getting ready to have another contraction and I need to push. All I hear is 2 1000, 3 1000, 4-...and then the biggest "SQUISH" you've ever heard. And just to be disgusting, blood splattered alllll over the place. I didn't get what had happened. I laugh, say "ewwww!!!", and turn my head to look near the windows where I saw drops of red land. I start apologizing for making such a mess, and when I turn back around to the front, there is a teeny-tiny, grossly-covered baby laying in my lap.
I wish I could tell you I had this life-changing, awe-inspiring moment when I first looked down at my son. I honestly had NO idea that the "SHABOOSH" I heard was me pushing him out. It was SO weird. There was not an ounce of pain; not an inkling of anything. I knew it was close to happening, I just didn't grasp that it would be the way it was. He looked up at me with this WTF face and I laughed because his lips were poking out JUST like my selfie face. First thought: He has my Resting Bitch Face. He latched on to my eyes and we didn't break contact, not even when the nurses took him away and my doctor started talking me down from the excitement. I had major concerns about me ruining the floor with my Walking Dead audition scene. I kept apologizing and trying to assess the damage. She started telling me about how I had a *little tear* (we'll discuss this later) and that she was going to sew me up, but all I could hone in on was my baby across the room who just started crying for the first time. Mike ditched me to stalk behind the nurses and I quickly went from, "OMG, I'm so sorry I just bled out in your crispy white room" to "WHY IS MY KID STILL OVER THERE AND WHY ARE SO MANY PEOPLE HOVERING OVER HIM??"
I was told he was having a little trouble breathing, so they were going to take him to the nursery. HELLO! Do you know how hard we worked for this kid? And now you won't even let me have him? Why are you teasing me? They roll him out and I'm kinda left feeling like I got hit by a truck. My nurse takes my legs down for me and helps me to the bathroom. Oh yes. You have to pee and walk immediately after shoving a human out of you, girls. I say immediately, but I really don't know the time span. It could've been hours, but all I was concerned with was why my baby got taken from me. I go into the bathroom and my newest lifestyle gets introduced to me.
2 of my friends emphatically told me to buy gowns after giving birth to wear for about 2 weeks. I did, but I didn't truly understand why until that moment. Here is the routine that I was required to do every single time I went to the bathroom:
Step One: Put 2 layers of the thickest maxi pads known to man in your underwear.
Step Two: After peeing but before you wipe, fill a water bottle with warm water and squirt yourself with it. Gently pat. I'm told this is like a douche? I'm not sure. Never used one before. Just dated some.
Step Three: Layer Tuck's Pads on top of the maxis. Because you think your hemorrhoids just magically disappear like Cinderella's makeover at midnight following birth? Ha. Guess again. They linger like I do every time I'm in Hobby Lobby. Hours. Days.
Step Four: Take a sheet of old people/puppy pad and fold it into your underwear so that the back portion goes up your back and the front portion comes up to your boobs.
Step Five: Tuck all of these into the fish net that serves as hospital underwear and pray to the sweet Lord you don't have to pee for a good week and a half to avoid going through THAT again anytime soon.
After a good hour of trying to sort myself, checking my stomach to see how long it would take to flatten out, and doing a finger-comb through salty sweat hair, this pang inside me started to get louder and louder. I never had it before, but I quickly came to know it as the MOM GENE. All I wanted was my kid. I started asking every person available to bring him to me. After annoying every person in my unit, (they knew when that hotline bling...it was Kristin Peebles in Room 325 <--even had an odd numbered room), they finally brought him back to me and it was his time to feed.
He latched on to my boob and the only word I can truly describe the experience was, "EW". This is just, EWWW. I never put much thought into breastfeeding, I just thought, "I'll save a boat load of cash on formula if he just eats from me". No. I have an entire post coming up on the topic. Breastfeeding was probably the most frustrating experience I've ever had to deal with. I was able to carry out the process while at the hospital and for a few weeks at home, then, just no. Not worth the headache. My nurses and lactation specialist were phenomenal. I only hope that all women get to experience the greatness of a caring staff like I did. My wife even sent me cards after a week of being home. BFF status. So the staff took care of everything. If I had a question, and oh believe me, I did. I just picked up the phone and chatted with an expert. I felt guilty for letting them take Luke away from us so we could sleep, but knowing what I know now, it's probably the BEST advice I can give new parents for that hospital stay. It certainly won't be "take a Boppy" *huffs loudly*.
Trying to get clothes on a newborn must feel like thumb tacks stabbing into their skin all over because that's the kind of fit he threw when we dressed him for the first time. That's the first indication that he has my personality...the drama king. Then came time to put him in the car seat. I specifically read all the instruction books on the equipment when Mike put it all together. I practiced over and over again putting the empty seat into my car. I wanted to be well-rehearsed when it came time to bring him home. It pretty much all escaped my brain when you take a live squirmy teeny baby and try to configure the straps and the blankets and the excess fabric when your kid's newborn outfit is like 3 sizes too big for him. Also, somebody lied to me about taking my regular, non-maternity clothes to wear home. I had purchased the cutest PJ set in my regular size but I must have been living in the twilight zone because nobody in this realm should be able to fit in their regular size a day after giving birth. Even in stretchy pants. So I had to improvise and dig through my bag for something that would fit across my belly. And match. No matter what condition you are in, you should always coordinate. (Girl 101). I'm positive the hospital charged us a late check-out fee because just getting all the STUFF out took 2 hours. FYI: 4 months later, still takes me 2 hours to load the car.
When everything was ready to go, I was not. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got home. No idea how to bathe him. No idea how to feed him. No idea how to swaddle him, even after the third time a nurse showed me how and I said, "Oh yeah! I get it". I just sat down in the chair (awkwardly, because sitting over the next week proved to be a...challenge) and pretty much refused to leave. The discharge nurse came in and I told her I wasn't leaving and she laughed. But I wasn't joking. We'd just gone through the most chaotic 48 hours of my entire life and I wasn't ready to be shoved out of the plane yet. Most couples who say they want a baby so bad have no idea what they are asking for. None. Especially us. I finally got what I wanted, now, what do I do with it??
**Many people have asked if I would continue my blog after having Luke. My original focus topic for the blog was miscarriage/fertility/IVF. However, I'm finding that I make a list of topics DAILY regarding the many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many issues of a new mom. I'm not the first mom ever, so I don't want to write about things that most people will roll their eyes at because they've "been there, done that". But I've also found how extremely comforting it is to realize that I'm not alone in my struggles because there's always, always someone out there experiencing the same things that I am. It is my hope that I'll be able to continue writing (probably late at night after bathies-baba-books-bedtime) because raising a child is a team effort. And your comments, emails, inboxes, and stories make you just the pros I need on this team ;) **
Trying to get clothes on a newborn must feel like thumb tacks stabbing into their skin all over because that's the kind of fit he threw when we dressed him for the first time. That's the first indication that he has my personality...the drama king. Then came time to put him in the car seat. I specifically read all the instruction books on the equipment when Mike put it all together. I practiced over and over again putting the empty seat into my car. I wanted to be well-rehearsed when it came time to bring him home. It pretty much all escaped my brain when you take a live squirmy teeny baby and try to configure the straps and the blankets and the excess fabric when your kid's newborn outfit is like 3 sizes too big for him. Also, somebody lied to me about taking my regular, non-maternity clothes to wear home. I had purchased the cutest PJ set in my regular size but I must have been living in the twilight zone because nobody in this realm should be able to fit in their regular size a day after giving birth. Even in stretchy pants. So I had to improvise and dig through my bag for something that would fit across my belly. And match. No matter what condition you are in, you should always coordinate. (Girl 101). I'm positive the hospital charged us a late check-out fee because just getting all the STUFF out took 2 hours. FYI: 4 months later, still takes me 2 hours to load the car.
When everything was ready to go, I was not. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got home. No idea how to bathe him. No idea how to feed him. No idea how to swaddle him, even after the third time a nurse showed me how and I said, "Oh yeah! I get it". I just sat down in the chair (awkwardly, because sitting over the next week proved to be a...challenge) and pretty much refused to leave. The discharge nurse came in and I told her I wasn't leaving and she laughed. But I wasn't joking. We'd just gone through the most chaotic 48 hours of my entire life and I wasn't ready to be shoved out of the plane yet. Most couples who say they want a baby so bad have no idea what they are asking for. None. Especially us. I finally got what I wanted, now, what do I do with it??
**Many people have asked if I would continue my blog after having Luke. My original focus topic for the blog was miscarriage/fertility/IVF. However, I'm finding that I make a list of topics DAILY regarding the many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many issues of a new mom. I'm not the first mom ever, so I don't want to write about things that most people will roll their eyes at because they've "been there, done that". But I've also found how extremely comforting it is to realize that I'm not alone in my struggles because there's always, always someone out there experiencing the same things that I am. It is my hope that I'll be able to continue writing (probably late at night after bathies-baba-books-bedtime) because raising a child is a team effort. And your comments, emails, inboxes, and stories make you just the pros I need on this team ;) **
