Pull up a chair and a glass of wine, kids, this is gonna be a spill session.
In the time since my last post, I have delivered a healthy baby girl whose adorable mug will no doubt be dominating the new Instagram feed to the left this year. But I will get to that whole story in a bit, first I want to talk about that somewhat outdated, hated tradition of New Year's resolutions.
Having just had a baby, I'm in a prime position to take that ever-popular weight loss resolution, but I'm breastfeeding and hungry as a yeti these days, so I've decided no diets or weight-loss crap until at least May or June. Or until the kid turns 3.
Instead, lucky for YOU, my resolution is to make a blog post, journal entry, or make some small writing effort at least once a day for the entirety of 2016. The idea being, of course, to put myself on a path to becoming a best-selling author so my husband can quit the railroad and I can be a sugar mama.
So with luck, and hopefully more sleep, you'll be seeing a lot of us this year.
Now, on to the juicy details of the Birth Story.
I won't go into the usual gory stuff except when necessary, mostly because women reading this likely already know what it's about. Those who don't, well, let's just say there's a reason they say childbirth is a woman's battlefield. It's a hell of a bloody mess.
Like I'd hoped, latent labor started the morning of Saturday, Dec. 5th, and wasn't that bad a deal. I was even able to take a mid-morning nap through it. Fast-forward to around 5 in the evening, and I could sense things picking up. Contractions were still around 20 minutes apart, but getting slowly stronger. Much as I love my toddler, she was too much of a distraction and went ahead to Grandma's while we called in my wonderful doula, Christina Winton.
A doula is a birth helper, and while Christina is also an apprentice midwife, she stays with the mother through labor and delivery and helps both her and husband make things smooth as possible for the mommy. Definitely worth the money, and a valued member of the team. Christina was also able to monitor my vitals and progress, as well as the baby's, which was invaluable when it came to transporting to the hospital.
At around 10:30 that night, the contractions were strong enough that all I could do was hug over my birth ball, grab Jon's hands, and try to slowly breathe through it. No talking or eye contact, just good hard labor. I felt like if I waited much longer, even the 5-minute car ride would be too much. I think at one point I looked up at Jon and panted, "You do it for me! I'm done!"
Up until this point, I'd refrained from cursing despite my philosophy that a woman in labor is entitled to say whatever she wants. But after a white-knuckled drive to the women's center doors only to find them locked, I let loose with some especially choice profanity. This continued when we pulled up to the main entrance and the night clerk made me check in, panting and moaning through contractions while holding my crotch. He asked if I'd like a wheelchair for the ride back to the women's center. I snapped "No!" and started off that way, to meet the nurse they were sending to escort me.
In classic hospital fashion, as I was stripping and climbing onto the bed, they were pushing papers at me to sign. "Have you done drugs in the past 24 hours?" Um, NO, I was hoping you guys had some!!!
They got an IV in, but sadly, there was no time for those yummy pain meds or the antibiotics (I was positive for Group B Strep). The contractions were hardcore by now, enough to make me yell and forget to breathe as much. The pressure on my low back and pelvis was intense, and I wanted to push like a maniac.
I should add that as an extra bonus, my OBGYN forgot to tell me he'd be out of town for the weekend, and we were waiting for the other OB, Dr. Rocha, to rush in and deliver. Bless Christina for pushing on my low back to help the pressure and Jon for holding my hand, because shit was getting REAL.
First of all, because I'd gone from being dialated 6cm when we left the house, to now at am 8 or 9. In less than an hour. Second, because with each contraction now, blood was trickling out. My placenta was partially abrupting, having a little bit still barely over my cervix. This is normally an emergency C-section scenario, but with the weekend it would've taken 20 minutes to get the OR crew in, and we didn't have that kind of time.
Thankfully, once Dr. Rocha did run in (my first time meeting him, by the way, with feet up in stirrups and blood trickling out my vagina.), he stuck what felt like both hands up my cervix to push baby's head back in, broke my water, and said the magic word "PUSH!".
For the second time, I put on my warrior face, made a warrior battle cry, and pushed a baby out in 2-3 hard pushes with no contractions and no drugs. Honestly, the pushing is my favorite freaking part, because it gives me the power to END the pain. I don't know why women want to cry give up at the finish line, are you kidding me?? Push that baby OUT, you wussies!!!!
So, after 18 hours total, out came Katie Beth, and a little more blood, but the danger was past. I didn't tear or hemorrhage, and she was a healthy 7 pounds, 7 ounces, 20 inches of squalling baby. Apparently, she hadn't enjoyed the fuss either, because she made a rather sizable black tarry poo on the exam table.
Since the first hour, she's been strong, alert, and a world champion breastfeeder. We even had our first uncovered nursing in public at Walmart last week, woohoo! Despite waking me every two hours to see if the milk bar is still open, we've all gotten to like the new addition. Especially Evie, who runs over to check on her little sis every time she makes the smallest noise.
And there you have the story, ladies and gents. We have our girls, I have my man, and today is the 6th anniversary of our wedding. They say the 6th anniversary is Iron, and I think it's appropriate given how our bonds have strengthened.
Stay tuned for 2016, because life's about to get very, very interesting!
Happy New Year!!!
That was wonderful. ..
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