Big Brother

So far the boy seems to be adjusting well to the new addition. He doesn’t act like he feels “displaced” at all. He does get a little jealous when we are all lying in bed and I face her instead of him (usually because I am feeding her), but otherwise he seems to be adjusting well. He seems to really like his new sister. Sometimes a little too much. When she was only a few days old and needed a little bit of seringe supplimenting, we let him use his finger for her to suck on. It was cute and sweet and he enjoyed helping mommy feed the baby. However, now I occasionally hear her choking and turn to see big brother sticking his finger down her throat. “She wants to suck on my finger,” is his only reply.

When she was only a few weeks old, I left the baby sleeping on the couch while I went to the bathroom. The thought occured to me that it was much more disconcerting to leave a sleeping infant when that sleeping infant has an older sibling. Seconds later I hear a baby whimpering, and it sounds way too close for comfort. “What are you doing?” I called to my son, hurrying to see for myself. As I reached the hallway I found my two-year-old caring my two-week-old upside down in a bear-hug. “Mama, I need help with the baby,” he informed me.

When I tell Ian he is my love, Vincent always follows up with, “Cecelia’s my love.” And whenever we tell Cecelia to be quite or stop crying Vincent races to her defense and says, “No, she has to cry. You have to let her cry!”

Yesterday Cecelia was crying in the living room and I was in the bathroom bathing Vincent. “Mom, Cecelia’s crying,” Vincent informed me. “She needs you mama.” I told him that she was with daddy and that I was sure she was okay. “No mama, you go make a bottle and I will feed her,” he told me. He is always very concerned for her well being.

The Gory Details

Friday, May 22: My last day of work. Cecelia is due on Sunday, and whether she comes or not, I know I don’t want to be dealing with squirmy, last-week-of-school  8th graders. I go to my weekly Dr. appointment and ask them to strip my membranes. We did this when I was pregnant with Vincent and he was still 11 days late, so I had little faith in the procedure. But I figured I should at least try it. The midwife tells me that they don’ t usually like to do it this late in the afternoon, because they don’t want to be delivering babies in the middle of the night. But the midwife on-call gives her the okay. “We don’t usually bother with first time mothers, because it doesn’t always work. But with someone who has already had a baby…”

Why did she have to say that? I was having a hard enough time not getting anxious. I kept trying to tell myself that this baby wasn’t coming until June, but when your midwife says something like that!

I feel a few contractions on my way home. I try to nap, rest up for the big night ahead, but I am too worked up to sleep. If I am going to do this tonight, I am going to have to do it tired. I wait with half a mind on what I am doing and half a mind on any slight sensation that might lead to a contraction.

It is a very long weekend of fruitless anticipation. By Sunday night I give up and resign myself to another late induction.

Monday, May 25: Memorial day. We spend our vacation hard at work preparing for the baby. We clean out the old car seat and install it in our car, clean the house, sort through the old baby clothes, buy some new trees for the yard, etc.

Around 5 p.m. we head to my parents’ house for a family dinner. We start talking about all the silly things we tried to put me into labor last time I was pregnant. My brother asks me if I have tried curb walking. I tell him that I haven’t. He becomes very preoccupied (as is his nature) for the next half hour or so, searching online for ways to induce labor.

Finally he finds one he likes: acupressure.  My brother has done some massage therapy school and learned how to do acupressure. So when he reads that there is a pressure point (I guess that’s what you call it) that is supposed to induce labor he becomes very excited to try it. I have little faith in the idea, but all it requires of me is lying on the couch while he holds my ankles. At that price, it is worth a try. He tries several times, for long stretches. He probably spends an entire hour all together. But in the end, he feels he is too out of practice, and he never manages to synchronize my pulses.  I thank him for trying and tell him that if I go in to labor that night I’ll take him fore sushi.

Tuesday, May 26, 1:55 a.m.: I wake up feeling slightly wet in a very personal area and get up for one of my many, nightly potty breaks. As I sit up I feel a little more wet, and with each step to the bathroom, more liquid runs down my legs. Any one who knows me well knows that I have wet my pants many times. This is not the same feeling. This is not urine.

I clean myself up and debate what to do. I know that once your water breaks you are supposed to go to the hospital. But I am not feeling any other signs or symptoms of labor and I really don’t want to labor the whole time in the hospital. I decide to call my midwife. I explain the situation, she asks me a few questions, and decides I can just go back to bed. Hallelujah. I know that what I need more than anything is to get some good sleep. We stayed at my parents’ house far too late, so I have only had about 2 hours of sleep at this point. I don’t wake Ian up for this same reason.

As you can probably imagine, I am unable to make myself go back to sleep. The excitement is too much for me. At about 3:30 I decide to sneak out into the living room and get a movie to watch so I am at least still resting. The commotion wakes Ian. “Did you wet yourself?” he asks me.

I don’t know how to respond. I know he needs sleep, but I am also excited to tell him the good news. “Um, maybe,” I reply. “I’m pretty sure my water broke, actually.” He asks if we need to go to the hospital and I tell him the midwife said we could wait until morning.

“So do I have time to go plant my trees?” he asks. It’s 3:30 in the morning and his wife is in labor, what else would he worry about?

Neither of us can sleep, so we sit down and watch a few episodes of a show we have been watching recently. I have a few more contractions, and just enough “spills” to convince me that this is the real deal. I look at the clock on our living room wall and realize that it has stopped: at 1:55.

Finally, around 6 a.m., we decide it’s time to rest and both take about a two hour nap.  Vincent wakes us around eight and we decide we need to get some things taken care of before we head to the hospital. Ian heads out into the yard to plant his three birthday fruit trees (a nectarine and two apples). I hop on the phone to order 50 pizzas, ice cream, and drinks for a school party. Yes, I am that bad of a procrastinator. Auntie Rhoda takes Vincent to stay with Auntie Lia.

We know I’m not supposed to eat once I check into the hospital, so we get breakfast burritos from Betos and chocolate donuts from Albertson’s on the way: last supper.

12:00 noon: We check into labor and delivery at American Fork Hospital. They take us into trioge room number 1 and confirm that yes, I am having contractions (though usually I am not feeling them),  and yes, the strange liquid leeking out of me is amniotic fluid. They also check my cervix and find that I am dilated to a 4+ and am 80% effaced. Our nurse’s name is Moana, and although she looks white as can be, is part Maori.

When they take us to our Labor and Delivery room I am very pleased. It is all the way in the corner, which means that there is very little traffic outside and that we have two walls of windows. It’s beautiful: full of natural light, spacious, and welcoming. I feel much better about having to come to the hospital so early after seeing our room. Soon afer, the midwife comes and tells me we have until 4 p.m. to get this labor going on its own. Otherwise they are going to break out that nasty old pit that gave me such a miserable experience last time. She gives us a few things to try and leaves us to it.

We start out with some walking. Unfortuaetely, once checked in we aren’t allowed to leave the LD floor. Walking that tiny circle of rooms gets really old really fast. Especially since everyone we pass has to make some little comment about our small track and how we are “really walking.” Every 10 laps or so we head back to the room so that I can empty my tiny bladder and we can try some squatting.  Next we try thr jetted tub, which feels great, but also doesn’t seem to help.

4:00 p.m. The midwife, Roberta, and her assisstant (a midwife in training), Erica, return for another checkup. I am now dilated to a 5 and almost 100% effaced. It isn’t much, but it is enough progress that they give us until 5 p.m. to establish a regular contraction pattern. We decide that none of these moving-around tricks are helping, so we will keep me hooked to the machine hoping to prove I am contracting regularly. Contractions are comeing about 7 minutes apart, but aren’t getting too much stronger or closer together.

5:00 p.m. Last chance. Not enough progress. They give me until 6:00 p.m.–no later. We decide that this has been dragging on a bit, and it would be nice to get things going. We resign ourselves to the pit and settle in to watch some James Bond: Quantum of Solace.

6:00 p.m. Changing of the guard. Moana comes in and puts in the IV. Yuck. I hate those things. I find them so uncomfortable. Moana says goodbye and goodluck. The next nurse on duty comes in about 6:15 and starts the pit. Here goes nothing.

7:30  p.m. another check:  6 cm, 90 percnet, station 0. Pitocin is working, but so slowly we fear we are in for a long night. We are still watching James Bond but not really enjoying it. I just about got caught by the nurse eating some beef jerky.

8:00 p.m. the midwives are concerned that the contractions are not strong enough and decide to place an internal monitor. A few more contractions and they are confident that that strength is good amd we should be progressing quickly soon. They grab chairs and settle in for the long haul. Roberta is concerned that the baby is not fully facing the right direction and has me roll over and lie on my right side. After a few minutes we hear a release of air and Roberta says it is the sound of the baby moving into place.

The contractions are getting quite painful and start to take all of my concentration to bear. Roberta pushes on my back, Erica rubs my feet, and Ian holds my hand.  After 20 minutes they rotate. Erica doesn’t seem to have the force necessary for adequate counter pressure, so she stays at my feet while Ian takes the back and Roberta massages my hands. Robert keeps telling me that we are close and that I will be done soon, but I’m sure she is just saying that to make me feel better. I haven’t been checked since the monitor went in and the contractions got worse, so I have no idea how well I am doing. I start contemplating an epidural. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

I begin to feel a strong pressure and I can’t seem to relax the muscles no matter how hard I try. Roberta reads my body language and tells me to go ahead and push if I feel the need. Eureka! That’s what the feeling is. I am shocked. I didn’t realize how close we really are. I move back onto my back, sit up a bit, and begin to push. The pressure is extremely painful, but things are progressing much more quickly than I thought they would. I realize that this is the end and I am doing this naturally. There is no chance of getting an epidural now. I am surprised and very proud of myself.

 Reading my body language again, Roberta tells me to grunt when I push. It helps. She tells me to scream if I want. I try it. Screaming with the pushes seems to be a kind of emotional release and feels great. I wanted to be one of those tough women who doesn’t even scream in child birth, but at this moment I couldn’t care less. After a few long minutes of pushing Ian is already seeing the head.  A few more screams and her head is out. One more and they pull her shoulders and body out.

Roberta places Cecelia on my stomach and the nurses vigorously wipe her down. I make a quick check to confirm she is, indeed, a girl. Cecelia isn’ t breathing yet, so they quickly wisk her away and finish the clean up/evaluation process.

I am amzed at how quickly I feel normal again. None of the daze and exhaustion of the last labor. I immediately have my brain back. I tell Ian to grab the video camera and record what he can of Cecelia’s first moments in this world. We planned to do more filming earlier, but things went so quikly we were caught off guard.

Cecelia is beautiful and healthy. 19 inches long, 7 pounds 15 ounces. She has a bluish forehead  and dark red eyes from all the pressure but otherwise seems perfect. They give me one stitch, finish with Cecelia, congratulate us, and leave us alone for a while. I feed Cecelia while Ian feeds me: a hard-earned sandwich box with heavenly orange juice. I swear no drink ever tastes better than post-labor orange juice.

Quite an ordeal, but an amazing experience. Time for some much-needed rest and family bonding time.