We Plan. God Laughs (Part Two)

WARNING: The following blog post contains the details of a birth story. They are not gory details because a.) I wouldn’t want you to think about them, and b. ) I wouldn’t want to think about them either. Nonetheless, read at your own discretion.

Early in the morning on Saturday, October 8^th I woke up to take my usual 3am “pinkle”. I hopped back into bed and lay there wide-awake. The grocery shopping had been done for the week, the house was pretty much in order (as far as “order” goes around here), and the calendar was basically cleared of all activities. So what the heck could I think about to lull me back to sleep? Feeling uber pregnant and begrudgingly realizing that I was now 5 days overdue, I started to convince myself that this baby was never going to come on his own and I should just accept the fact that he would arrive via C-section on the 17^th. [Being the last day of my 42^nd week, this date was set in advance with my OB as a last resort. I referred to it as “Evacuation Day”. If I was potentially going to still be pregnant by mid-October, hell, they pull him out through my right nostril for all I cared…]. Coming to terms with this, I began to mentally pack my hospital bag with a few extra items for a longer hospital stay. I’ll need that black nursing cami and my postpartum pressure belt… Don’t forget the iPod… I’ll grab some magazines tomorrow… Ugh! Stupid cramping again. Eh, I felt this a week and a half ago with false labor. It’s nothing. Besides, I am going to have another section anyway.

We Plan. God Laughs.

Three hours later I awoke to a pretty strong contraction. Hmmm... No biggie. I figured that it was another Braxton Hicks pain and disregarded it until another one came about 10 minutes later. And then another one 10 minutes after that. Since Dan was due to be home from work within the hour, I decided to hold off on calling or texting him. No point in him racing home to wait around a few hours while the steady contractions got stronger and closer together, right?

We Plan. God Laughs.

7am: Dan walks in through the door and I am holding myself up with the kitchen counter. “Brace yourself, Babe. Pretty sure we’ve got a long day ahead of us.” We began timing the contractions in order to get the “go ahead” with the midwives. They were coming 5-7 minutes apart and at 8 am we were told to head on down to Baystate. My mom hurried to our house to watch Caiden and by 9am I was admitted to WETU (the evaluation unit). Upon my first check I was at 8 cm dilated. 8 centimeters?!?!? Yep. It’s baby time. [Except this is not the wording that I used. What I actually said was HOOOOLLLLLLLY SHIT!] I was whisked away to the Labor and Delivery Unit where I was immediately able to receive an epidural. When I had Caiden, this portion of the birthing process was a cake walk so I wasn’t really nervous when anestheosilogy walked in.

We Plan. God Laughs.

Two tries later (after getting the epidural in a vein the first time—yeah, that is pain that actually rivals active labor contractions), I was completely numb on my right side with some sensation still remaining in my left. [This would prove to be a blessing in disguise later on.] Despite some panic because I could still feel part of my lower half, I was able to rest and relax for the next few hours. Dan was able to catch some shut-eye on the pullout couch as I psyched myself up for the work ahead of me while simultaneously watching a “Law & Order: SVU” marathon. Around 3pm my midwife broke my water to get me to that last centimeter that I needed and by 4pm it was “go time”. [Insert another HOOOOLLLLLLLY SHIT! here.] It was at this point that I literally was regretting my whole “let’s go VBAC” decision. This is going to hurt! The process of pushing, however, wasn’t as traumatic as I anticipated. Because I still had some sensation remaining in the lower left quadrant of my abdomen, I was able to tell when a contraction was coming on and didn’t have to rely on a nurse reading a squiggly line on a monitor. This allowed me to really jump on each opportunity to get this little man out. And it worked. Screw you C-section. I am woman. Hear me roar!

From the first contraction to the last push, the entire process took only 11 hours. Ryan Patrick entered the world at 5:06pm weighing in at 7 pounds 6.4 ounces and was 21 inches long. The second he was placed my chest I began crying. Dan kissed my forehead and told me what a good job I did and how the little guy was really, actually, finally here. My tears weren’t for how sweet this little baby was though—that would be saved for later. In that moment, those tears were for ME. And the fact that I had set my mind on something 9 months ago that I so desperately wanted to achieve. And I did it.

God wasn’t laughing then. I think that He was smiling and nodding in contentment, too.

The Waiting Game

“… all the time we wondered and wondered who is this person coming/growing/turning/floating/swimming deep, deep inside.”

~ Crescent Dragonwagon

Pregnancy is a waiting game. It begins from the very first second you pee on an EPT stick and anxiously count down the seconds until your fate is determined by one or two blue lines. If you see a positive test result, you then anticipate the first OB visit where your doctor gets to tell you how much longer you have to wait until your baby is due. Then you get to wait for the doctor’s appointment in which you hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. That is usually followed by waiting to see the fuzzy images on a small screen at your first ultrasound that they say resemble a fetus, yet my own personal jury is still “out” on that one. Then you get to wait for your next doctor’s appointment to hear about how good you are at growing babies. Oh! And then there is that (what seems to be the most) excruciatingly long period of time that you have to wait until you get to go to your second ultrasound in which the baby’s gender can be disclosed. (Aside from the actual due date, waiting for that particular ultrasound is what eats away at mine and Dan’s patience the most.) It is almost as if as soon as you learn that you are pregnant, an invisible clock forms around your growing abdomen and sounds louder by the day.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Let me tell you, from experience—TWICE now—that that clock becomes nearly deafening when your baby decides not to arrive until after their due date. Our family continues to await the arrival of out new little “bundle of boy”. I had mentioned in my last blog entry that we were in anticipation of the results of an ultrasound, and since I received a resounding amount of support, maternal wisdom, and well wishes from so many, it only seems fair to share what happened at that appointment. Baby Manley is still measuring small—they are thinking he is about 6 lbs. 11 ozs.— but all his pieces and parts are right on point with regard to development. He is, indeed, a full-term baby, just a small guy. (No complaints here.) His heartbeat is strong and steady as are his movements. (I believe that he is a budding ninja.) He continues to float in plenty of amniotic fluid and there is no deterioration of the placenta at this time. The best news that we received was that he is currently lying in a sideways position. Although there is a chance that he could decide to flip and face posterior again during delivery, our obstetrician was still very encouraging and supportive of persuing the route of a VBAC. Seeing that “No-Name” Manley is predicted to be on the smaller size, delivery could be on the “easier” side (ha ha—“Easy Labor and Delivery” just seems like an oxymoron to me…). Our doctor said that if he does flip back into a not-so-desirable position, she would continue to work with us to achieve the birth that we desire, but allow us the option early on to elect a surgical route if needed. So, all in all, it was good news! We were also lucky enough to get a headshot of the little guy in utero. He has a tendency to always have one of his hands in front of his face, but he is really going to have to get over his camera-shyness if he is to survive a childhood with me as his mother…

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

So here were are, now two days post-due date, and the Manleys are becoming connoisseurs at playing “The Waiting Game”. My feelings about it change by the hour. One minute I am doing everything known to man trying to induce labor. Walking. Jogging. Squats. Exercise ball. Evening primrose oil. Spicy food. Praying. BEGGING. The next minute I take a look at what is around me and relish in the routine and predictability of it all. Then I think, “We got this down pretty pat. Why hurry to turn it all upside down?” In order to get through this latent period, we just focus on keeping busy. Dan, the “do-what-really-only needs-to-be-done-outside” kinda guy, has made sure that our mums and pumpkins have been purchased and has even dug up some flower beds and planted bulbs. The other day I actually found him chopping down a tree on the side of our house. No joke. I, the anti-cook, have prepared meals to throw in the freezer and even attempted to embark upon some new recipes. (There is a crustless apple pie that is in my oven as I write… I don’t think that will make it to the freezer though… Hell, it probably won’t even make it to suppertime.) Our home is constantly being tidied even though I know that my two-year-old tornado will immediately run his course through the area. I go to the gym daily and have carried on with scheduling appointments, playdates, and other activities to fill up our calendar. “The Waiting Game” becomes inevitably painful—physically, emotionally, and mentally—if you just sit there.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

In addition to keeping busy, I’ve been trying to focus on the positive side of stuff. At the forefront: Hey, at least I am not doubled over in pain, confined to a hospital bed, and dead below the waist. Hmmm, I’d say that could be categorized as “positive”, right? Then I look at bonuses of not being a mom of two right now. It means that I am changing half of the diapers, laundering ¼ less clothing, bottles and miniscule pump parts are not in need of washing, I know where my youngest is at all times and have him under control, I can feed myself and the baby at the same time by tackling a burrito (Spicy, of course), and can achieve consecutive hours of sleep without any interruption. The last component to my outstanding stamina with regard to playing “The Waiting Game” is a reliable good ol’ sense of humor. I have created a mental list of reasons why Baby “No-Name” has yet to make his debut.

ü He still has no agreed upon name and the idea of having to grow up being called “Captain Hand-Me-Down” is completely unappealing to him.

ü He hears me yelling at his big brother all the time and is wise enough not to enter this warzone.

ü In the event that he has blonde hair, he is working really hard to change it to brown so that at least one of my kids resembles me in the faintest of ways.

ü There are already too many birthdays on dad’s side of things being celebrated within a 2-week period.

ü He has survived on ice cream for the past 9 months. What’s the point of living if Friendly’s declares bankruptcy?

ü Let’s face it, he knows how happy maternity yoga pants make me.

And, so, despite all of the coping mechanisms “The Waiting Game” continues. If, eh hem, I mean, when our son arrives, he will be perfect in every way (even if he does have blonde hair) and it will have totally been worth the wait. And, in all reality, I can’t stay pregnant forever. RIGHT?

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.