I had to move late in my pregnancy, two hours away from the hospital I wanted to give birth at. I moved in with my aunt and uncle, who have been gracious enough to open their home up to us until I can get on my feet.
At 39 weeks, I had an OB appointment, and she told me she guessed my little girl would be about 7 to 7 1/2 lbs if she came out that day. This was definitely enough to make me want an induction, as I'd had problems birthing my 8 lb, 3 oz son 3 years before. So we planned on it as of June 1st - just two days from my 40 week due date.
The day arrived, and I called a few hours early to make sure there was room for me at the hospital. Every woman must have been giving birth that afternoon, because they were full! So my induction was postponed to the 2nd, at 6pm. Right.
My due date was the 3rd, so I had no problem with being induced a day early. After all, they were going to use something to slowly begin labor, and that something wasn't pitocin, so it sounded better. Of course, I didn't know about the "failed labors" which lead to C-sections.
Around 2:30 the morning of June 2nd, I wake up with cramps. These are dull and pattern-less, so I figured it was the way I was laying. I shifted positions many times within an hour with no relief from the pain. I also felt the urge to fart, which only progressed to feeling like I had to poo as the contractions got stronger. That's when I figured out they were contractions. Labor had started!
I packed my things, the baby's things, and woke my aunt up around 4. She got ready, and I timed my contractions at 4:30 - they were a minute in duration and 3 minutes apart, as long as I wasn't moving. The moment I got up to walk, they came much closer together, so I headed out to the van just as fast as my contractions would allow (read: a snail would have beat me in a race!).
My aunt, although I love her, isn't the greatest support person for me to have. When I go into labor, I'm vocal. I get loud, and I don't care. Telling me I'm going to be OK makes me want to punch you. Telling me to breathe and how my breathing can lengthen or shorten labor makes me want to tell you to cram it. Telling me that's not breathing is most frustrating of all - I'm inhaling and exhaling, what more do you want?! Of course, my aunt tells me to be quiet as well; it would be easier to tell the fire not to burn.
Since all the support I had was my aunt, and she drove me to the hospital, I didn't have much choice. Besides, I wanted her there.
Contractions picked up speed and intensity on the way, and by the time we arrived at the hospital, I was lifting myself off the seat, because it was so painful to sit normally. Now I know why. I was fully dilated! Someone came out with a wheelchair, and it seemed the wheelchair ride took longer than the drive! The guy was telling me I'd be OK, but of course that irritated the daylights out of me. Thankfully, I was too withdrawn to comment much on how others treated me, because I'd have used some very unchristian language!
They took me to an empty room, but they could tell from the way I was yelling that I was pushing. That was something I didn't even know! With my first, I never had the inclination to push, so this was my first experience with it. We backed out of that room, and went to triage. On the way, my water broke. Apparently it wasn't much fluid, because they said they couldn't find any liquid on the chair.
My OB helped me onto the bed, where I struggled to get my shorts and panties off. Contractions were pretty constant at this time, and I only had seconds between them. It was a team effort, but we got 'em off! I said I wanted an epidural (epi), or at least some pain relief, but they told me to push. This was too painful, and I wanted pain meds to help clear my mind and give my body some relief and all they could tell me was to push?!
What I didn't know was that pushing with my contractions was the best thing I could do. I did so, and the pain went down dramatically. It was no longer unbearable, but it still hurt so much. When I took a breath during a contraction, all I could do was feel the pain. OOOOWWWW!
My aunt entered the room, and two contractions later, a crying little girl made her own entry into the world. I was crying because it was finally over, the horrible pain gone, but I was oh so sore, and there was my beautiful baby. It was 6:42 on the morning of June 2nd.
They didn't ask me who I wanted to cut the cord, so I'm not exactly sure who did it, only that neither my aunt nor I did. I held her just after she was born, and breastfed her. She ate for an hour, then they did their assessments which took far too long for my taste. She weighed 6 lbs, 2 oz. Her height was 18 inches.
While feeding Lollipop (Lolly for short), I fell completely in love. She looks so like her brother, they can almost be mistaken for twins in their newborn pictures. She has red marks on her eyelids, forehead, the back of her head, and the nape of her neck. I've been told it was "stork bites." I call it "baby road rash," since they said it's because she came out so fast. I've been told they would fade away. They have faded, but not by much.
After two days and many problems breastfeeding later, we got to go home. She's a challenge to breastfeed at 3 1/2 months, but I enjoy it all. After all, I'm able to feed her longer than I was her brother, and every day Lolly nurses is a blessing!
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| One Day Old, In The Hospital |
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