Because I love a good birth story

And because it's somehow almost 7 months later!

WARNING: this is a birth story, so there is some mention of bodily fluids, body parts, etc. Read at your own discretion.

Also, it's long. Sorry. And all the cute pictures are at the end.

Toulouse was due December 3rd. Besides just wanting to be done being pregnant early, I was really really REALLY hoping for a November baby, as I already have one December baby. Sadly, November came and went with no baby.

Saturday, November 30th we were out and about and ended up picking up some Papa Murphy's for dinner. I ate more than I probably should have and was up all night spewing half-digested pizza out both ends.

Lest you think I'm used to that sort of thing, I'm pretty sure that was only the second time that I've thrown up since I've been married. So, yeah, not so much a common occurrence.

I still was not feeling fantastic in the morning, so I sent Tom and the kids to church without me. Knowing that would cause people to speculate (they'd been asking when I was going to pop for WEEKS) I texted several people to let them know that no, I was not in labor, not in the hospital, no little baby in sight.

I slept in, took a bath, painted my toenails and took a nap. It was divine. I had no desire to eat, though, what with the puking and diarrhea all night. I think all I ate all day was an apple. I had contractions on and off all morning.

By the afternoon, they started seeming more regular. Not wanting to get too excited (I'd had plenty of contractions before this point), I kept an eye on the clock but figured it was just another false alarm. As expected they petered off after awhile, then came back, then petered off again. But they kept getting stronger. Finally as we were putting the kids to bed, I decided that they were the real thing. We called my mother-in-law who was coming down to stay with the kids, as well as my mom who would be meeting us at the hospital.

By the time my mother-in-law got there around 10, I was ready to walk out the door. I made sure she knew where everything important was, including the kids' morning routine for school the next day and waited for Tom.

And waited.

And waited.

I'm still not sure what he was doing, but he was under the impression that we had time.

I did not share that sentiment. I considered getting something to eat, since I was now ravenously hungry, but I figured I could get around to that once the baby was born, since it would surely be soon.

Tom was finally ready and we got in the car.

Aaaand it wouldn't start.

Seeing as it's a manual transmission and our driveway has a slight slope, I was in favor of a rolling start, but he was worried that it might not work and opted for jumping it.

So, out came the mother-in-law and the jumper cables, and they attempted to get it hooked up while I waited in the car, gritting my teeth through each contraction.

And I waited.

And waited. (Are you noticing a theme here?)

I'm sure it wasn't really all that long, but when you're in large amounts of pain, everything seems to take longer. They had the cables properly attached to our car, but couldn't seem to get them hooked up to her car.

I climbed out to survey the situation. I don't know who designed her car, but it was not set up for easy jumping. The positive battery terminal was blocked by something or other and it took quite the contortionist movement to get my arm around behind it. But I did because we needed to go. NOW.

We got the car started and got on our way.

Once we arrived at the hospital, Tom was still figuring they'd send us for a walk or something, just to make sure I was really far enough along in active labor. Um, no. I was plenty far along (though, sadly I don't remember details), and they got me admitted and set up in a room.

By then it was probably one in the morning. My mom got to the room shortly before we did and I let the nurse know I'd love an epidural. I'm sure I was all kinds of polite and cheerful. It wasn't immediate, but the anesthesiologist came soon and put me out of my misery.

It was the strangest epidural I had ever had. I could no longer feel the contractions, but I still had relative control of my legs and probably could have stood up, if needed. I was a huge fan. But sadly, it didn't last. Before too long I was feeling the contractions more than I liked. The nurse noticed and gave me the drug clicker thing, but it didn't seem to help.

She had the anesthesiologist come back and give me an additional bolus, but it still didn't do much good. He left, of course. When I was still feeling the contractions a while later, the nurse asked what I wanted to do. I figured if the baby was going to be coming in the next hour or so, I could just deal with it, but when she checked me and I was SITLL at a seven (or was it six?) we decided to call the anesthesiologist back again.

He took his sweet time, but finally came back for a third time and had me sit up to place another epidural. He assured me that this one shouldn't hurt as much since I was already numb.

Um, nope. Still hurt plenty. I was sitting on the edge of the bed with Tom standing in front of me, stabilizing me and providing moral support. Except that he looked like he was going to pass out. Or throw up. I sent him to the bathroom for a breather and my mom jumped in. I'm so glad she was there.  The anesthesiologist placed the catheter, but then decided he didn't like it.

So he took it out and started over. AGAIN. And it still hurt. Once the third epidural was placed I was finally numb.

And still starving.

Thankfully Tom was not coming down with whatever it was that kept me up all night Saturday and quickly returned to my side.

My doctor, who had been on call all night, was off at 7:00am, so I was really hoping to be done by then. She had been in and out, checking on me, breaking my water (around 3-4 am, maybe?), but things were not moving so quickly.

Once we got the epidural nightmare figured out, they suggested that we add some pitocin to see if we could move me past a seven. I thought that sounded like a great idea. Because I WAS STILL STARVING and ice chips really weren't cutting it.

Things finally picked up, but then baby wasn't so happy. They adjusted me this way and that way, trying to get baby happy. I had lay just so on my right side, and I think they finally put me on oxygen which seemed to help.

Sadly, the details are long gone from my mind.

I do remember feeling like it was time to push. It was nearing lunch time and my doctor had said she would come over for the delivery (she was at her office across the street). The nurse (or possibly the resident) called her to tell her to scoot on over, and she told them to have me start pushing and she'd be there asap. After one push, however, they realized that if I started now, there was no way she was going to make it in time.

So we waited.


Once she was in the building it was only a matter of a couple pushes (two or maybe three contractions) and he was out.

12:07 pm. 9 pounds, 5.6 ounces, and 22 inches long.


And worth all the waiting.

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