Since I’m new here at Latched Mama, I thought maybe it would be fun to go back and relive my labor and delivery posts with all four of my kids.  You know, as a kind of “getting to know me better” type of exercise.  So, without further ado, I give you my first-born’s story dating all the way back to January 2010.

 

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So it was, what Thursday? New Year’s Eve. Yes, I do believe that was last Thursday. Or two Thursdays ago by now. Good God, where does the time go?

I was off from work on my furlough day and my husband was in charge at his work so he sent everyone home at noon because he is an awesome boss like that. At some point in the afternoon we decided to go to Cabela’s because, well, that’s what we do to entertain ourselves. We have been known to spend a Friday night cruising the aisles at Cabela’s. Really my husband enjoys this far more than I do but I go along because I am a good wife like that.

So we went to Cabela’s and were checking out all the sweet camping equipment. And there were these occasional cramp like things going on in my lower abdomen. They were uncomfortable but I wouldn’t say they hurt so I figured they were Braxton Hicks contractions. They felt better if I kept walking rather than standing still so I just wandered around the store, looking at portable toilets, sleeping bags and dog beds.

Everything I read said that Braxton Hicks contractions get stronger and stronger as actual labor approaches and that actual contractions start at the top of your belly and work their way down. What I was feeling was way down low in my abdomen and was just like a little cramp, it definitely didn’t hurt. Plus, the baby wasn’t due for 10 more days and everyone kept telling me that the first baby comes late.  So there was no way these were real contractions.

So I ignored it.

I don’t know what we did the rest of the day but I do remember mentioning to my husband that I’d felt a few Braxton Hicks contractions and describing them to him, how I felt them way down low so that meant they were fake.

The Tomato Whisperer (that’s our nickname for my dad.  We’re pretty big into nicknames in this family) came over for dinner. We had crab.  My husband and the Tomato Whisperer enjoy crab way more than I do. I like the actual meat but the process of wrestling it from the shell leaves something to be desired, I think. I prefer food that I can take off the plate and shove directly into my pie hole.

Then we started watching some insane show on TV…World’s Stupidest People or something like that. One guy did a belly flop from like twelve stories up and some other guy tried to jump his car over something but misjudged and slammed into the pile of dirt that he was supposed to land on top of. Who knows.

And the little low belly cramps kept coming. They still didn’t hurt. At all. So at some point I decided I’d time them to see if they were coming in any sort of reliable interval.

My watch told me that they were coming about every twenty minutes. And at this point I didn’t want to alarm anyone because, well, these “contractions” still didn’t hurt and they were twenty minutes apart. People have contractions twenty minutes apart and don’t have their baby for like three more weeks. So I figured I’d just hang out and tell my husband about it once the Tomato Whisperer left. That way there wouldn’t be a crazy to-do over the fact that I was having non-painful, fake contractions twenty minutes apart.

Looking back, my husband reports that he thinks this reasoning is total bull crap. He points out now that they were real contractions and it would have been nice if I had thought to inform him of the fact that I was in labor. And I agree. BUT I DIDN’T KNOW. Everyone says contractions hurt. THESE DIDN’T HURT.

It was shortly after the Tomato Whisperer declared that he couldn’t stand to watch another second of the World’s Biggest Morons or whatever the show was called. I convinced my husband that it was close enough to midnight that we could watch Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve for the last hour before we rang in the New Year.

And then I got up to go to the bathroom.  My husband was in the bathroom already. I asked what he was doing and he reported that he was going to cut his toenails. You know, as one does on the eve of a new year.

And suddenly there was just this gush of liquid in my pants. And I think my husband kept talking but I wasn’t listening. I was standing there contemplating why my pants were suddenly soaking wet. And then there was another gush.

“Um, so I think we’re going to have to go to the hospital”, I said to my husband.

 

He just looked at me.

 

“My water just broke.”

There was some discussing whether or not I was sure and then my husband went running back into the living room shouting to the Tomato Whisperer “JOHN BOY! We have to go to the hospital.”

We did the last minute packing, my husband installed the car seat base in the car and off we went. I was still having the non-painful contractions on what I suppose was a more regular basis. I called Hubcap (that’s my mom’s nickname.  Really, we’re big on nicknames) while we were on the way to the hospital to let her know. She asked if I was sure I hadn’t just peed in my pants. Within minutes she had found a flight and was frantically packing her bags and heading to the airport. She made it across the country in less than twelve hours.

It was just before midnight when we got into our room.  My husband put the TV on and I remember seeing the ball drop in Times Square.  He gave me a kiss but the contractions were starting to be more serious at this point so I was a little distracted. The nurse did a test to make sure that it really was my water that had broken. And it was. So they admitted me and the process began.

The nurse checked and I was only 1 centimeter dilated. The same I had been at my doctor’s appointment on Monday.

The contractions got stronger in a hurry. They made me nauseous. The hospital had these very convenient barf bags. I wish I had stolen some to take home with me. After I hurled the first time I decided to brush my teeth to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. Have you ever tried to brush your teeth while having contractions? It’s tough to do.

After my IV was started the nurse said I could walk around if I wanted. At first I didn’t want to but then I thought I’d give it a try. So my husband and I strolled the halls of the maternity ward. We walked really slow around the loop. Whenever a contraction would come I held my husband’s hand and just kept walking and breathing. We walked the loop three times in 30 minutes (that’s how slow we were walking – a normal person could walk the loop in probably 3 minutes).

It was 2:30 AM when I got back into bed (and I think puked a little more). I told the nurse I’d like to try the pain killers (not the epidural) through the IV. So she hooked me up. And they worked pretty well. They took the edge off. The nurse explained I could have a dose of pain killers every hour. I had two doses and quickly learned that while I could refresh my dose every hour, it was only effective at relieving the pain for half an hour.

So at 4:00 AM I decided I would ask for the epidural. I hadn’t decided beforehand if I wanted an epidural or not. Seeing as I had never been in labor before I had no idea what to expect and no idea what the pain would be like. So I went into it figuring I would just see what happened. And at 4 AM the pain was such that I was having trouble relaxing and breathing during the contractions. And I figured it was only going to get worse and since there was something that would make the pain stop I thought it was stupid to voluntarily stay in pain.

So the nurse said she’d start the process for the epidural. First she had to check my progress. At somewhere right around 4 AM I was 2 centimeters dilated.

I had to sign some papers and listen to explanations of what would happen, how it would be done. The anesthesiologist arrived sometime after 5 AM and gave more explanation as to what he was going to do, how he was going to do it, what I could expect, what he needed me to do. And by this point the contractions hurt. A lot. And as he was going on and on. I wanted to scream, “I DON’T CARE, JUST DO IT.” But I didn’t.

I did however, not respond to much of what he said. He was trying to make pleasant conversation and only on a few occasions did I give any kind of response. And even at the time I knew that was rude. But I couldn’t help it. Apparently when I’m in that much pain, I am physically incapable of speaking.

To get the epidural I had to sit on the edge of the bed and curl forward with my head in my husband’s chest. If the contractions were bad when I was able to lay down and stretch out, they were probably sixty times worse when I had to be all scrunched up and bent over. That part wasn’t fun.

But the anesthesiologist got the epidural started and the pain was less although I did have a hot spot whereby all the pain was concentrated in a single spot on the right side of my body. So he came back and adjusted the epidural and that took care of it.

It was 5:45 AM.

The nurse then checked my progress for the third time and this is when she announced “You’re 10 centimeters dilated and completely effaced.” She said I could take 20 minutes to rest and then I was going to start pushing.

And that’s what we did.

The doctor arrived and the pushing commenced. They gave me an oxygen mask to wear in between contractions. I pushed for about 30 minutes and out came the baby!

 

It was 6:46 AM.

My husband announced, “It’s a little girl!” I love that he was the one to tell me.  She was 7 pounds 2 ounces and 20.5 inches.  Happy and healthy!

Now, I’ve never given birth before so I have nothing to compare this experience to but from the stories I’ve heard it seems like it could have been way worse. Everything went so smoothly. I don’t think I could have asked for a better experience.

And I’m not usually one to get all sentimental and crap and in the past when I’ve heard people say that giving birth was the most amazing thing they’ve ever done I wanted to throw up a little because it always sounded so lame and mushy. But then I did it myself. And it was, hands down, the coolest thing I have ever done.