And then this happened:
This picture was taken probably around 5:00 a.m. on Saturday 2/27. We'd gotten to the hospital about an hour earlier after I'd labored at home for about three hours. Paul thought I was going to tell him to come to bed when I walked into his nook at 1:00 a.m. He definitely wasn't expecting me to tell him that I was most definitely having contractions. Oh, one of the plans for the weekend? Pack the bag for the hospital. So, there I am trying to breathe through contractions and tell Paul when they start and stop all the while trying to throw things into the suitcase. Because we were newbies to all of this, Paul and I decided to call the doula as well as the OB on call just to get their opinions on when we should come in. They didn't really have any although I'm sure they got a kick out of Paul explaining that I was lying over the suitcase, trying to breathe through a contraction. I also managed to run a bath because laboring in a warm tub sounded like a great idea. We managed to fill the tub and I got my clothes off but couldn't physically make myself get into the water. I did, however, manage to call my mom to let her know that she might want to start heading this way from Amarillo since apparently, I was having a baby. Paul then had the extra task of convincing me to get dressed again and walk down the stairs all the while I'm additionally trying to straighten up the bathroom because, oh yeah, Merry Maids is coming on Monday and if this kid is really coming today, I'm not going to be able to finish straightening up the house.
He eventually talked me downstairs (it's about 3:00 at this point) and I needed to get some items out of the dryer for the hospital. I'd bought a new robe to take with me as well as another outfit for the baby to possibly wear home. There I am, sitting in the floor of the living room, shaking uncontrollably (now realize that it was probably a transition point in labor), when Paul says that was it, we're heading to the hospital.
We manage to make it to the hospital with little ado, arriving around 4:00 to the maternity triage where we find out that, yep, I'm definitely in labor. In fact, I'm 6 centimeters dilated at this point. Woohoo! Our doula arrives, we head to the L&D room, and things are going great. Paul was a rockstar when it came to talking me through contractions and even in between, we were able to joke and talk. Paul and I were relaxed as we could be and really taking things in stride. Everyone kept commenting on how great we were doing, they couldn't believe we were so focused yet relaxed, etc., etc. At one point, I asked Paul for a piece of gum because my mouth was dry and he got a piece for himself as well. He managed to bite his cheek and commented that it really hurt. You know, not like what I was going through but it really hurt. After that, the nurse would ask him how his cheek was periodically as well. They also loved that he had our birthing prep book and was reading about what to expect during each phase of labor.
Around 7:30, Paul's parents and my mom arrived at the hospital, just as my water was breaking and I was entering the transition stage (Paul informed everyone that I might get irritable at this point). They set up the birthing equipment, the doctor came by to check on things, still doing great, I'm telling everyone that I'm really doing this just because I really want that #1 burrito from Golden Pride, we're taking bets on what time the baby would be born. And then at 8:30, I'm 9 cm dilated and labor stalls. We try different positions--standing, moving, sitting on the toilet, nipple stimulation--and nothing happens to make it progress. Around 11, the L&D nurse mentions Pitocin which nearly makes me cry. At 11:30, the doctor does an ultrasound and determines that the baby is OP--his body is in position but he has his head turned and won't/can't engage into the birth canal. She tries to move him and I stopped that quickly. We discuss options and agree that an epidural and trying to turn him is the way to go at this point.
After the epidural kicks in (and might I add, it wasn't just taking the edge off her trying to turn the baby), the doctor gets to business. Except that this little guy is as stubborn as both his parents. The OB could turn his head and he would turn it back. After several failed attempts, we again discuss options. Start Pitocin hoping that will move labor along so I can at least push. If I start pushing, it could take 4-5 hours and might still result in a c-section. Or go to a C-section. Crazy but the ONLY L&D dream I had was that my labor stalled and I had to get a c-section (oh, and that Paul and I politely declined the baby they tried to hand us because he had brown hair and brown eyes).
It wasn't much of a discussion but with our moms and the doula's input, Paul and I agreed that skipping to the c-section was the way to go. Not really what we'd planned or hoped for when things started that morning but I'd said all along that I really just wanted healthy baby and healthy mama as the end result. Because of another c-section that was being performed right then, we had about 1 1/2 hours to wait and keep trying to get the baby to move. He didn't and when the time came, I was whisked off and everything started happening very quickly.
I was glad we'd gotten the doula through the hospital at this point because she was able to come back with Paul and me into the delivery room. She also explained some of the procedures--that I would be alone during all the prep stuff and they would be able to enter once I was draped. I would have been really freaked out if I hadn't known that beforehand (as it was, I was only moderately freaked out).
And at 2:22 on February 27, we got this:
His name is Henry Mac and he has neither brown hair nor brown eyes. And we probably would have kept him even if he had.
Lots more to tell about this fun day but right now, I need to spend some more time staring at my son.
He eventually talked me downstairs (it's about 3:00 at this point) and I needed to get some items out of the dryer for the hospital. I'd bought a new robe to take with me as well as another outfit for the baby to possibly wear home. There I am, sitting in the floor of the living room, shaking uncontrollably (now realize that it was probably a transition point in labor), when Paul says that was it, we're heading to the hospital.
We manage to make it to the hospital with little ado, arriving around 4:00 to the maternity triage where we find out that, yep, I'm definitely in labor. In fact, I'm 6 centimeters dilated at this point. Woohoo! Our doula arrives, we head to the L&D room, and things are going great. Paul was a rockstar when it came to talking me through contractions and even in between, we were able to joke and talk. Paul and I were relaxed as we could be and really taking things in stride. Everyone kept commenting on how great we were doing, they couldn't believe we were so focused yet relaxed, etc., etc. At one point, I asked Paul for a piece of gum because my mouth was dry and he got a piece for himself as well. He managed to bite his cheek and commented that it really hurt. You know, not like what I was going through but it really hurt. After that, the nurse would ask him how his cheek was periodically as well. They also loved that he had our birthing prep book and was reading about what to expect during each phase of labor.
Around 7:30, Paul's parents and my mom arrived at the hospital, just as my water was breaking and I was entering the transition stage (Paul informed everyone that I might get irritable at this point). They set up the birthing equipment, the doctor came by to check on things, still doing great, I'm telling everyone that I'm really doing this just because I really want that #1 burrito from Golden Pride, we're taking bets on what time the baby would be born. And then at 8:30, I'm 9 cm dilated and labor stalls. We try different positions--standing, moving, sitting on the toilet, nipple stimulation--and nothing happens to make it progress. Around 11, the L&D nurse mentions Pitocin which nearly makes me cry. At 11:30, the doctor does an ultrasound and determines that the baby is OP--his body is in position but he has his head turned and won't/can't engage into the birth canal. She tries to move him and I stopped that quickly. We discuss options and agree that an epidural and trying to turn him is the way to go at this point.
After the epidural kicks in (and might I add, it wasn't just taking the edge off her trying to turn the baby), the doctor gets to business. Except that this little guy is as stubborn as both his parents. The OB could turn his head and he would turn it back. After several failed attempts, we again discuss options. Start Pitocin hoping that will move labor along so I can at least push. If I start pushing, it could take 4-5 hours and might still result in a c-section. Or go to a C-section. Crazy but the ONLY L&D dream I had was that my labor stalled and I had to get a c-section (oh, and that Paul and I politely declined the baby they tried to hand us because he had brown hair and brown eyes).
It wasn't much of a discussion but with our moms and the doula's input, Paul and I agreed that skipping to the c-section was the way to go. Not really what we'd planned or hoped for when things started that morning but I'd said all along that I really just wanted healthy baby and healthy mama as the end result. Because of another c-section that was being performed right then, we had about 1 1/2 hours to wait and keep trying to get the baby to move. He didn't and when the time came, I was whisked off and everything started happening very quickly.
I was glad we'd gotten the doula through the hospital at this point because she was able to come back with Paul and me into the delivery room. She also explained some of the procedures--that I would be alone during all the prep stuff and they would be able to enter once I was draped. I would have been really freaked out if I hadn't known that beforehand (as it was, I was only moderately freaked out).
And at 2:22 on February 27, we got this:
His name is Henry Mac and he has neither brown hair nor brown eyes. And we probably would have kept him even if he had.The little bun had some problems with phlegm in his lungs and trouble breathing as a result so in the recovery room, he was kept under oxygen for a while. I finally got to meet him after an hour or so. That is one very happy mama there.
Paul in the recovery room with his "bunny suit" on. While he was in the operating room, he commented that he looked like a painter since he was wearing that and everyone else was in scrubs. The L&D nurse really didn't want us to leave since she was having such a good time with us. We're just happy when we've found an appreciative audience for our bad jokes.
Henry, who was still unnamed at this point and would remain so until Monday morning, with the oxygen. Everyone was commenting that they don't get many blonde babies through the ward. He is definitely a tow-head.
I keep telling everyone that I should get credit for more than that (the 7 lb. 15 oz from my first pregnancy dream, perhaps) since he pooped twice before they weighed him. Still a good-sized boy at 20 inches long.
With Daddy on Sunday morning. The first time Paul ever held an infant was when the nurse handed Henry to him to walk to the recovery room. Perhaps we should have practiced that beforehand.
And I finally got that #1 burrito, only 24 hours later. :)
Paul in the recovery room with his "bunny suit" on. While he was in the operating room, he commented that he looked like a painter since he was wearing that and everyone else was in scrubs. The L&D nurse really didn't want us to leave since she was having such a good time with us. We're just happy when we've found an appreciative audience for our bad jokes.
Henry, who was still unnamed at this point and would remain so until Monday morning, with the oxygen. Everyone was commenting that they don't get many blonde babies through the ward. He is definitely a tow-head.
I keep telling everyone that I should get credit for more than that (the 7 lb. 15 oz from my first pregnancy dream, perhaps) since he pooped twice before they weighed him. Still a good-sized boy at 20 inches long.
With Daddy on Sunday morning. The first time Paul ever held an infant was when the nurse handed Henry to him to walk to the recovery room. Perhaps we should have practiced that beforehand.
And I finally got that #1 burrito, only 24 hours later. :)
Lots more to tell about this fun day but right now, I need to spend some more time staring at my son.
3 comments:
I am so wanting to meet my newest great nephew. Hopefully ya'll can come to Amarillo soon, and I can pop down to meet him. By the way, Uncle Joe and I approve of the name. It's not quite as good as Barnabas, but we still like it.
Congratulations, Carrie & Paul! He's beautiful!
Congratulations! Oh, and be sure to tell Paul I hope his cheek is okay...LOL. :-)
Post a Comment