So I debated whether or not to do the whole “birth story” thing. I mean, I know some people enjoy hearing them, while some people would prefer not to know anything beyond, “Hey. The baby? It’s here.” Click here to see the highlights, and skip the details. This is the version with details. Proceed with caution.
I was due April 1st, but by Saturday, April 7th, NOTHING was happening. My OB actually told me not to get my hopes up for anything happening that weekend. This was making me a little crabby. Actually, everything was making me crabby. Including people. So when Chris (The Husband)called (after putting in a full day at work AND doing a side-job afterwards) and asked, “Do you think it would be all right if I went out for a bit?” I was all for it. Yes, by all means, GET OUT OF MY FACE, YO.
Heh.
In hindsight, kind of dumb.
So at 9pm, while chilling on the couch, my water broke. Or I wet my pants. One of the two. Now, last time my water broke, contractions followed within 20 minutes. So I cleaned myself up, and went back to chilling on the couch. When contractions didn’t start, I figured that it wasn’t my water breaking, it was just the fact that I had a giant baby, using my bladder as a trampoline.
I fell asleep while browsing Pinterest for more delicious looking food and baby things. So it was around midnight when I woke up and got up. And then realized that, no, that really was my water breaking.
I called my husband’s cell phone, to break the news that the one time he’d gone out in the last two months was about to take a strange turn. Luckily, they had just gotten to the bar, so everyone was still able to drive. I found out later that it was less of a bar, and more of a strip club. Which, I’ve never had a problem with strip clubs, other than they tend to be kind of icky. But The Husband has never been a strip club kind of guy. I mean, this was probably the 4th time he’d ever been in one. He explained to me, “There was no warning. We thought it was a regular bar. I mean, a dive bar, sure, but just a bar. Then we walked in and there were naked girls EVERYWHERE.”
So when my son grows up, he can hear the story of how Dad was at a strip club when Mom went into labor. AWESOME.
My mom got to the house (hours after arriving home from a nearly week long road trip, by the way), right after Chris got back. So we left for the hospital, stopping at the only fast food place open between our house and the hospital 40 miles away.
We went through the whole admission process, and I still wasn’t having any contractions. Which was good, because we got to get some sleep before the main event. Actually, we had a lot of time left before the main event. We spent most of Sunday making laps around the maternity ward. I did attempt the birthing ball, but the husband and I agreed; I do not have enough coordination to be bouncing on a giant ball while pregnant. Just not a good idea. For me.
It wasn’t until 4 or 5pm that contractions started. They started at 15 minutes apart, and when they got to be around 5 minutes apart, they were strong enough that I was all, “Epidural now, yes, please?” The anesthesiologist had gone home for Easter Dinner, so we had to wait a short bit for him to come in. I honestly think that getting the epidural is one of the worst parts of the whole experience for me. Every time.
But the epidural worked beautifully. I could still feel the contractions and what was going on, but it wasn’t that level of pain that kind of makes coherent thought shut down. So definitely a good thing.
By 6:30pm, I was feeling like I needed to push. But after a few pushes, it was clear that baby Wyatt was not where he ought to be. He was head down, yes, but facing the wrong direction. So my doctor had me (with help) turn over and lay on my side, in hopes that during contractions, baby would correct his position.
After about 10-15 minutes, I paged the nurse back in there. Just letting the contractions do their thing wasn’t working. I couldn’t NOT push. My body just wasn’t going to let me. At this point, the nurse informs me, “Oh. Well, we can definitely do that. The doctor won’t be back for a few more minutes. She ran to the grocery store.”
But we continued to push with contractions, and my doctor definitely made it back in time. Now, my first child came in a matter of minutes after we started pushing. I mean, seriously, five pushes, tops. My second one? Same story. This child?
TWO HOURS.
After a few more pushes on my back, the doctor had me turn onto my side, and push in that position (because of the epidural, we were limited in what positions we could use, but, I’m a wuss, so to me the trade-off was ultimately worth it), in the hopes that we’d see more progress.
We did get him to turn, but he still wasn’t lined up quite right, so he was trying to come out crooked, and getting stuck. At some point during this marathon of consistent pushing, my husband looked down at me, and told me that I was doing really well. I gazed back up in to his eyes and said, “And I haven’t even cussed yet.”
I was, apparently, proud of that.
But, eventually, we persuaded Wyatt that it was time to come out now, and he exited around 9pm. There was a brief (very brief) moment of worry for Chris and I, because he came out with the cord looped around his neck, and he was a little more purple than we recalled the other two being, and it took a minute for him to cry. But it was a brief enough moment, that the fear barely registered before he started announcing how angry he was at this whole eviction business.
Somehow, despite my husband’s saying (and I quote), “I saw his head coming out, and it looked so huge. Bigger than the other kids’. I bet that hurt.” And despite my chunky monkey’s size (9lbs 14oz; 21 3/4inches), there was no tearing, and no stitches. I’m a little amazed at that, but thankful.
And that is the story of how Wyatt Ermon made his way into the big scary world.
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