A Birth Story

Thought I'd never blog again, did ya?

Wrong.

Honestly, Rosalia's birth, though only a month ago, seems like a very fuzzy lifetime ago. So much has transpired between July 31st and today. So much that today was the very first time I even looked at the pictures from her birth. And since I promised I'd start sharing all the events of the past month, the perfect place to start would be the birth of our beautiful girl.

July 31st, 2012. (Times are approximate.)

2:00PM - 38w4d OB appointment. Found out that I was 5cm, 80% effaced. My lovely doctor decided to "stir up some trouble" by stripping my membranes. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Immediately upon leaving the doctor's office, I start feeling uncomfortable.

5:30PM - It begins to rain. The kids' football and cheerleading practices get cancelled. I take it as a sign that tonight would be a perfect night for a birth. I begin to have very infrequent, yet painful contractions. Le husband and I decided to head out to the mall and do some walking. 

7:00PM - In the middle of the DVD section of Wal-Mart, I have one very uncomfortable contraction that takes my breath away. I demand that le husband take me home before I start moaning and people start staring. I begin to get the feeling that Rosie is definitely coming that night, though contractions are still not timeable.

7:30 - 9:30PM - Home. Try to time contractions while bouncing on my exercise ball and watching the Olympics. Contractions are coming anywhere between 6-15 minutes apart. And getting painful. Le husband spends half an hour trying to convince me to call the doctor, even though contractions are still too far apart to be considered active labor. I finally give in and make the call at 9:35PM.

9:40PM - Doctor calls back. He says to head in to the hospital. I finish grabbing a couple last minute things. Kiss the kids bye a couple million times. 

10:00PM - Immediately upon pulling into the parking lot, I have a contraction that makes me rethink the whole "No Epidural" rule I had put into place. 

10:05 - 10:10PM - Get escorted up to L&D. The nurses ask me if I have a history of quick labors. I answer, "I guess so." I grossly underestimate. The next half hour is a big blur honestly.

Nurse quickly checks me and I'm 6-7cm. Within two minutes of being checked, I begin shaking uncontrollably. I remember this feeling very well.

Transition. Oh crap.

There will be no time for pain relief. I begin to very vocally freak the freak out and insist that I cannot do this. In fact, I repeated it, loudly over and over again to all five nurses very quickly preparing me and my room for Rosie's impending arrival.

Nurse checks me again. 8-9cm dilated. Obviously, I'm still very vocally freaking the freak out.

Pop. Whooosh. Yep, my water just broke. Though burst with a gusto would be a more accurate description.

10:30ishPM - Doctor calmly whisks into the room. The nurses set me up to push. Three pushes later..

10:40PM 

Rosalia is born.

Moral of the labor story? If I had waited until contractions were in the standard 3-1-1 pattern, I would have had a baby on my kitchen floor. I'm still amazed that only one hour had passed from the time I was told to head to the hospital until she was in my arms. The whole experience was fantastic. The nurses, my doctor, the hospital..they were all a Godsend. 

I'd even wager to say I'd do it again??

Just kidding. (That loud thud was my husband dropping to the floor.)

<3

Owen's Arrival {Part 1}

December 11, 2003. 6:30PM.

I was standing over the stove, carefully watching hamburger steaks sizzle on our flimsy grill pan. In between contractions, I'd peel the potatoes that would become a huge pile of mash. Dinner seemed to be taking my mind away from the tightness in my belly, distracting me from what could or could not be about to happen. I didn't own a watch, so I had teetered clumsily on one of the 1978 looking orange upholstered chairs that made up my breakfast table set, grabbing the clock with the second hand perched high on the wall to properly time the steady coming pain.

The night before had been a doozy. Contractions kept me up until 4AM, when they magically ceased, causing me the curse my body and maybe even slightly the baby that was calling it home. Le husband le boyfriend was off running the streets with his best friend, doing whatever it was that they did after work. 

I loved le boyfriend, but we were both still in our immature, barely post teen "No one's going to tell me what to do!" phase. We were young. And stupid. And stubborn. Which made for an interesting and sometimes (a lot of the time) argumentative household. 

"Mom, I think I'm having contractions," I cautiously said into the phone, scared that even mentioning them might make them disappear. "And if I'm counting them correctly (which I wasn't) I think they're about 3 minutes apart."

Le boyfriend finally strolled in the door. I cradled the phone in between my shoulder and face, put my hand over the receiver and informed him that I think MAYBE we could be having a baby tonight but not to hold his breath. 

"Jess, listen to me," my mom urged through the phone, "finish cooking, eat a little bit, take a warm bath and wash your hair, just in case. If the contractions continue through all of that, then call the doctor."

As soon as I hung up the phone, I was doubled over in pain. 

"Dinner's on the stove! I'm getting in the tub. Eat, because I'm not sure if you'll have time to later," I shouted, not so nicely, at le boyfriend as I gingerly made my way to the bathroom, clutching a small piece of paper, a pen, and the wall clock.

Every 2-3 minutes.

They were getting stronger. But at only 35 weeks and 6 days, I was doubting that this could really be it. Just days before, the doctor discovered that I was nearly four centimeters dilated. He didn't think I would make it to January 9th, my due date. I shouldn't be so surprised that this was happening, but I was a first time mom! Wasn't I supposed to go days, even weeks past that date?

After getting out the tub and quickly dressing, I silently checked through the hospital bag that I had packed weeks before. I grabbed the little blue layette that I planned on bringing my baby boy home from the hospital in, laid it neatly on the bed and ran my hand over it. Pretty soon, there's going to be a little person filling out these clothes. Our Owen will no longer be a far off idea. 

"So what are we doing?", le boyfriend suddenly appeared, interruping my moment of silently freaking out. I quickly tucked the blue-trimmed gown back into my bag. 

"I think I'll call the doctor and then we should probably head into the hospital. Please don't call and tell anyone yet. I don't want everyone to get all excited over a false alarm."

He agreed and listened quietly while I relayed the past few hours to my OB. 

"He said to head in," I said wide-eyed. 

Holy shit. This is really, really happening.