The birth story

It was Saturday afternoon and Kristen was over. Classes hadn't started for her yet and her boyfriend Gavin wasn't flying in until Saturday evening.  Noah and Austin were napping and Kristen was happy to watch the boys while Kevin and I went to Walmart.  I hate Walmart, but it was a good one-stop to get everything on our list.  Mostly we were gearing up for while I'd be in the hospital and were buying splurgy items that would make things go more smoothly for the boys.  Crackers, cookies, string cheese, pretzels, candy, etc.  I was having contractions here and there, but nothing serious at all. 

At 4:30 we headed home. We saw a tree that was completely covered in ice, with Christmas lights frozen inside. It was pretty awesome and we decided we'd take the boys to see it, pick up some dinner, get a movie and have a laid back night. The trouble started when we got home. Kristen left to pick up Gavin. I started feeling some slightly stronger contractions and opted to stay home while Kevin took the boys on our planned evening. I thought that if I took it easy, perhaps things would die down. Not so much. My contractions were getting stronger, and there was nothing I could do about it.


My sisters were all planning to get together that night, go to dinner in Salt Lake or something. When I called (which I hated to do) they were all happy to change plans and come to my house instead, just in case the strong contractions continued. I started scrambling, packing a bag and getting things ready for my sisters to come. Kevin returned with a Cafe Rio pork burrito, black beans, mild sauce, enchilada style. We ate and got the boys to bed...and the contractions died down. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. My sisters arrived, I told them it was probably a false alarm and they were all cheerfully understanding. We played a few games, laughed a lot, and I didn't have any more strong contractions. Hmmm. Still, I asked Mikelle if she would mind staying until morning, just in case. She didn't mind.

We went to bed, but I didn't really sleep much as the contractions sortof continued, though nothing consistent. It was all a little blurry until 12:20. That is when I had my first really painful contraction and thought this must really be it. But I didn't have another contraction until 12:37, and the next didn't come until 12:49. But they really hurt, so I woke up Kevin and told him that we were going to the hospital. Even if they sent me home, at least I may get a shot of morphine and be able to sleep.

But then I stood up, and the contractions came a steady 3 minutes apart. Hard, strong, awful contractions. I threw the last few things in my bag, pulled on my old boots, woke up Mikelle and let her know we were leaving (Kristen had stayed as well, I guess because of the snow storm) and we were off to the hospital. The storm kept us from going very fast, and I was dying. My contractions were now 2 minutes apart, lasting a long time, and killing me. Kevin was on the phone with the hospital, letting them know we were coming and giving them all of my information. I clung to the handle above my door, breathing, cringing, trying to find a happy place in my mind. It wasn't working. As a new contraction would start up I'd start getting vocal about how the doctor needed to be there when we arrived, and the anesthesiologist would also need to be ready, how we were going so slow, how this was NOT false labor...Poor Kevin was on the phone with the hospital, trying to answer their questions, drive in the snow and track down our doctor's number. It took us about 25 minutes to get there.

I was between contractions when we arrived. As we approached the desk, I felt the next one coming on so I leaned on the desk as Kevin answered questions. I didn't want to look overly dramatic, but I was in pain. I was trying to remain calm. But within seconds of arriving at the desk, my water broke. This had never happened to me before. The nurse wheeled me to a room and I quickly changed into a gown. She checked me at I was at a 9.5-10. Yes, I still wanted something for the pain. I hate pain. My doctor was on his way, the anesthesiologist should be there shortly. I'm not a screamer, so I clung to the bed and just tried to endure the steady contractions. The nurse asked me if I felt the urge to push. I didn't know, I just felt the urge to not feel anything. Finally, the anesthesiologist arrived and suggested a "spinal". He said it is very effective, it just doesn't last as long as an epidural.  That sounded just perfect to me. He said he'd give it to me after my next contraction subsided.

Then the doctor arrived. The nurse asked if I still wanted the spinal, or if I just wanted to push and get it over with. I wasn't sure. My other boys have come with very little pushing, like one or two pushes. The nurse said she thought I'd go fast this time too. The doctor was ready. The anesthesiologist was ready. I figured I could endure another few minutes of pain, so I opted to just do it. But this was not a one push baby. I pushed for about 10 minutes, which doesn't sound like a lot, but as someone who is used to one quick push with an epidural, it seemed like a very long time. I wondered what was wrong, why it was taking so much longer this time. I expected each push to be my last, but he just wasn't coming and I was in serious pain. I know I've used the word pain a lot in this post, sorry. Before I started pushing the doctor used the term "ring of fire" to describe the final, most painful moments before the baby came.  I felt like I was in that ring of fire for a good five minutes. What I didn't know until after he was born was that the baby was posterior, which explains the difficulty in getting him out.   

But then, finally, the doctor announced we were done and there he was, my pink little baby with a head full of fuzzy brown hair. And the pain was over.

From the time I rolled out of bed until the time he was born, only an hour had passed.  What an hour!   And had he not been posterior, the nurse said I would have been lucky to make it to the hospital, so that was a blessing, I suppose.  A painful blessing.  (I promise, that's the last time I'll say painful in this post.)

 

And, oh, how I love my little Adam. He is so sweet and I can hardly believe what a dream he is. He seems to have an inner peace that permeates his whole little body. I can't get enough. And "cute" doesn't seem to do him justice. He is just so perfect. I know all mothers feel this way, but I really think he is the most adorable baby on earth and he just seems to get better every day. His brothers are all crazy about him, though for some that love came more quickly than for others. At the hospital Kaevin asked Jack if he loved our new baby. Jack responded "Not really. But I do like him." He wasn't too fond of the name we picked either and at first vowed that he would not call him Adam. He has since warmed up to both the brother and the name

 Five is a lot of little boys.  My mom came from Thursday night to Monday and before that I always had a sister or Kevin home with me.  For the past 2 days it's just been me and the boys, trying out this new arrangement of ours. We're just taking it easy and the playroom has proved to be the best investment we've ever made.  So far, so good.  I feel very blessed.  Very tired, but very, very blessed.