A Baby Story

(This is a repost. Enjoy it!)

Large and in charge

March 1, 2006.… I was large and in charge, my friends. I was 5 days past my due date and was ready for this child to come out NOW. Of course, Bug had other plans and had set up permanent shop. I wasn’t even having contractions, wasn't even dialated. Rats.

I went to my scheduled OBGYN appointment on Wednesday, March 1. I knew they were going to decide at that appointment whether to let me keep cooking or to schedule a day and time to be induced. Frankly, I was hoping to be induced. I liked the control that it gave me. I had fears of my water breaking while standing in line at the bank. Not a pretty sight.

My appointment was at 11 am. The Agent came with me. We were going to go to this appointment, and then get something to eat, since I was always hungry. I could almost taste the French dip sandwich already.

At the appointment, they hooked me up to a machine so they could check my levels of amniotic fluids, and I was supposed to sit there and tell them how many times the baby kicked during the test.

There wasn’t any amniotic fluid in there. None at all.

And Bug wasn’t kicking.

“When the last time you felt your baby move?” the nurse asked.

I had to really think. She was so big, she didn’t move much by then, and when she did, it was at night. Plus, she had been kicking for so many months, that I barely noticed it anymore. I wasn’t positive that I had felt her at all that day.

I told the nurse as much, and she ran to get the doctor. My doctor was with a patient, so another doctor came instead. He looked at the pictures of the non-existent amniotic fluid  and said, “We need to get the baby out today. I’m calling an ambulance to take you to the hospital.”

I started to panic a little. Taking an ambulance was not part of what I imagined. No one I knew needed to take an ambulance when they had their baby. “Can’t my husband take me?” I whimpered.

“You need to go right now,” the doctor said flatly. “you need to take an ambulance.”

That was enough to start me crying. Something was seriously wrong. I was freaking out.

“You need to calm down!” the doctor ordered. “You’re going to lose the baby if you don’t calm down.”

Yeah, right. Tell someone they’re going to lose their baby if they don’t calm down, and see how calm they get. Ass.

But I did my best to relax as the paramedics came and strapped me to the gurney. Then I had the frightening ride in the ambulance, alone, because The Agent had to follow with the car.

(Poor Agent. I don’t know what he was thinking, but his mind must have been racing. Or at least the car was racing. He beat me to the hospital, and was pacing the room when I was wheeled in.)

Thank goodness, the hospital staff was more encouraging. They said the baby was fine, but they agreed that she needed to come out today. I was given Picotin. By 3 pm, I was starting to feel my first contractions.

I started inquiring about an epidural. The pain wasn’t overwhelming, but I didn’t want to wait until I was beyond my threshold before I got some relief. "You still have a ways to go,” the nurse said. “Your contractions aren’t even registering yet.”

Ugh. They hurt this bad and they’re not even registering yet? I must be the wimpiest person ever.

I suffered through increasing pain for almost three hours. Each time a nurse came in, I’d ask for something. “It’s still early,” the nurses would say, “Induced labor could take 24 hours or more.”

God bless The Agent. “Can someone at least check her?” he pleaded. Thank God he said that. They sent in a doctor to check me, and it turned out the band that they put over my belly to measure my contractions was out of whack, and not registering. They put a new band on me and suddenly the readout looked like there had been a 6.9 earthquake in my belly.

Friggin’ incompetents.

I got my epidural at 6 pm. Heaven. Life was good again.

I was starting to get uncomfortable again around 8 pm, but the pain wasn’t bad right away, and I had American Idol playing on the tv, so that helped to keep me preoccupied. The Agent was getting antsy and nervous. He kept asking for the doctor. One of the nurses came in while I was watching tv. “All the nurses simply love him,” she said.

“Who? The doctor? Is he coming?” The Agent seemed more nervous than I was at this point.

The nurse laughed. “No, Chris Daughtry, on American Idol. We all think he’s just so cute.”

I thought this was hilarious. The Agent did not think it was very funny.

I was able to suffer through the pain until the end of American Idol, and then asked for more pain killing juice.

Nope, too late. It’s time to push.

Crap.

I took a deep breath and pushed with all my might, while the nurse counted to 10, just like on tv. Then I looked down between my legs. Where’s the baby?

She didn’t even budge.

It turns out I sucked at pushing. I gave it my all for two hours, each time the nurses saying, “One last big push and then your baby will be out.” Here’s what I have to say to nurses everywhere: DON’T LIE! If it’s going to take two hours to push out a baby, then don’t say it will only take one more push!

At 11 pm, the doctor was bored, I was exhausted and in pain, and the baby was showing signs of stress. “We need to get the baby out now,” the doctor said. “I’m going to have the operating room prepped for a cesarean.

Sounds good to me. Let’s get on it.

The doctor spent at least five minutes talking to me, about the risks and dangers involved, how I needed to sign something, The Agent needed to sign something, blah, blah, blah. I remember just laying there with my eyes closed, and I kept answering, “OK. OK.” That’s all I had the strength to say, but inside I was screaming at the doctor. “I HOPE YOU HAVE SOMEONE GETTING THAT ROOM READY FOR ME WHILE YOU'RE BLABBING AWAY! THIS BABY NEEDS TO GET OUT NOW!”

Then, the doctor left, and there were still four nurses around me. They told me to keep pushing while the room was getting ready. Fine. So I pushed some more. And some more. And some more.

And then one of the nurses said to The Agent, “Come here.”

The Agent didn’t want to leave my side. The doctor had told him to press down on my stomach to help the baby out, and he had been pushing hard on my stomach for the last two hours (so hard it left a mark… I didn’t even feel it). The Agent had a squimish stomach, he really didn’t want to see anything a nurse had to show him.

But The Agent went to the nurse, and she pointed between my legs.

The head was coming out.

The Agent was a changed man after that.

“Babe, she’s here! She’s here! Push her out! She’s right there!”

Oh my God, I wanted to smack him so bad. What does it LOOK like I’m doing?

But I didn’t have the strength to argue. I wanted to ask the nurses, “Hey, how’s it coming with that c-section?” but I didn’t have the energy. So, I just took a deep breath and pushed.

Ow. Owwwwwww.

The doctor came strolling in as the head came out, me wanting to scream and cry and swear like on tv, but I was too busy getting this person out of me to do any of that. “Oh, it looks like we won’t need that c-section, after all.”

You think?

The head was the hardest part, and the rest of her came out easy after that. At 11:38 pm, the doctor guided her out, and then said, “Wow, she’s pretty heavy, you’re going to have to hold her for a bit,” and all but dropped her on my stomach. But I didn’t care, I actually only know that from watching the video later. I was just so amazed.

“Look, Agent. I can’t believe I did that.”

The nurses and doctor couldn’t believe it, either. She was a really big baby.

Really Big.

Really REALLY big.

Are you ready for the number?

11 pounds, 3 ounces.

Me and Bug, the day we came home from the hospital

She didn’t break any records, but she was the biggest baby born that day. I'm so glad that I was able to deliver naturally. The pain of childbirth went away as soon as Bug was in my arms, and I don't think I would have been that lucky if I had to have a c-section. We knew she would be big-- I’m 5’10”, The Agent's 6’2”, I gained 76 pounds while I was pregnant, and I wasn’t diabetic-- but I never in my wildest dreams imagined she would be THAT big!

So now, my baby isn’t a baby anymore. She’s ten years old. TEN! Double digits!  She’s still a big girl, but she’ll always be my baby.

Now, if I can just do something about that sassy mouth of hers....