The Beginning of Us: Imperfectly Perfect

Early Labor:

After two weeks of every home remedy you can think of to induce labor (aside from Castrol oil) it only took two hours for my contractions to become 2 minutes apart and last 1 minute each. Ouch. We were told after an ultrasound 2 days previous that because I was carrying so much water my contractions would be harder, as it irritates things more. So I had Mikey running around making last minute preparations as I sat in bed and tried not to die. And as badly as those contractions hurt I was still willing to wait for Michael to change the shirt he had donned in a hurry to something more daddy-to-be-appropriate as per my request (he had thrown on my least favorite shirt that I refer to as his “Single Californian Bachelor Screen Tee”).

Waiting until a contraction passed and leaving the bed unmade which yes, really bothered my mommy nesting instincts which wanted everything perfect to bring my baby home to, I waddled to the car and we drove the route we had practiced many times before to the hospital. At this point, it was 2:00 a.m.

The Hospital:

After waiting for the elevator for far too long, security let us in, put me in a wheelchair and took me to what I wish I could say was relief, but alas, no, took me rather to answer 943080229340 questions despite the fact I had made it a point to make absolute sure we had pre-registered. “Pre-registered” really means nothing people. That whole process took double the time it should have seeing I was unable to do anything besides focus on not passing out through my contractions; for those 60 seconds speaking was not even an option.

Luckily I was dilated, thinned, and effaced enough (vocab I had fortunately become familiar with in our birthing classes) to be kept and attended to. Did I receive an epidural when asked if I would like one? Why yes. Yes I did. Will I ever, ever regret that decision? My friends, no I will not. And I might add that the epidural is not only to put women out of pain, it is to put the husbands of those women out of pain too. Michael was very grateful for my decision and was possibly almost as relieved as I was once the magic had kicked in.

Pushing and the Unplanned:

Around 3:00 p.m. (unprompted by myself, my family and most of my extended family had already been waiting in the waiting room since 11:00 that morning, no pressure!) I was dilated enough to start pushing. I was doing great and his little hair-covered head quickly made progress. And then he stopped making progress. The nurse got the doctor who was standing in for my usual OB. After telling me how nice my legs were which yes, you might say is awkward but what a compliment coming from a man who looks at dozens of women’s legs every day of his life! Hahaha, and looking into things further, he declared this baby was not going to come any further, not matter how hard I tried to push him out. My frame/build was just too small. I would need a c-section and quickly because I had lost a lot of fluid already.

I was at peace with that. It was ok. I had always wondered if I was too petite for natural-birth and had inquired it of my OB who seemed confident it would be fine. But it wasn’t. And that was OK.

Hell to Heaven:

They rushed me into a freezing cold room and started pumping me full of medication. (Why in the world do they keep that room so cold? It’s like, “Ok so before we cut you open, please feel free to wait anxiously in this terribly uncomfortable room and freeze to death in your paper thin hospital gown.” It’s just rude). Because this wasn’t my usual doctor, nobody knew that I was a light-weight when it came to drugs. I’ve always reacted completely abnormally to heavy pain medications. My body started convulsing but I was unable to communicate. Thinking I was having an anxiety attack, they began pumping me full of more medication to combat my reactions, only making things worse. Poor Michael had to help the anesthesiologist hold my flailing arms down, which I had absolutely no control over. I have very little memory of what went on, fortunately. I do remember pulling out of it for long enough to hear my baby cry. Remembering that still makes me cry. He sounded so perfect. But I couldn’t force my eyes open to see him. I wasn’t able to meet him until I was in the recovery room. 

The doctor began squeezing an IV full of water with his hands to dilute the medication I was on as soon as possible, as I was still completely out of it.  I remember my mother in the room, crying. She was scared of how I was reacting. I remember wishing I could snap out of it because I didn’t like that she was so worried. But I couldn’t.  Eventually the drugs began to wear off enough I could take in a little more of what was going on around me. I heard my mother say, “He is hungry”, referring to my son. And finally able to speak I said, “I can try”.

She handed him to me and suddenly I was brought back to earth. Everything clicked as I looked into his face. My baby. The fog lifted and everything was right and I was so filled with love for him. There is nothing like that. I’ve never experienced anything like it at all. As cute as my husband is I definitely didn’t feel overwhelmed with love upon first seeing him. That took time. Haha Though admittedly, not very much time. Yet here was this little boy I hadn’t ever met previously but he was everything to me instantly.

I was able to feed him and he fed perfectly. We spent lots of time skin to skin and I just soaked him up. Love.

So was it an ideal birth? No. But it was still perfect and there is no way I’ll allow myself to feel otherwise. Even though I could focus on the fact that had I been born 150 years ago who knows if I would ever had had that baby; something women are just supposed to be able to do, or that despite everything taught in my child birthing classes I wasn’t able to have skin to skin contact with him immediately after birth, or feed him within his first half hour, or have my husband cut the umbilical cord, or have those precious pictures with tear filled eyes holding my goopey baby fresh out of the womb. Nope. None of it matters. Because right now my perfect baby is sleeping next to me and he is everything and because I’m a momma. And that is what matters.
The Beginning of Us has been imperfectly perfect.