The Birthing: Part Four

Time to play catch up before the culmination if you haven’t stopped by yet this week.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Abridged Version

HEADS UP. This one gets a little personal. Possibly gross, depending on your delicate sensibilities.

Sorry to say there is no Big A commentary on this one, if you’ve been enjoying his input. He said he had nothing to add and that this was my story even though he was THERE. And this being, in fact, HALF HIS KID, TOO. But whatever. He did say it looked like my vagina was blowing a bubble. There is that. But he didn’t want to tell y’all that. But I just did. I have zero shame.


Part Four

It’s Go Time.

I am in position. They are giving me instructions. I’m trying not to flip out. OB tells me that on the next contraction, we’ll do a practice round.

I practice push. And the OB’s eyes sort of bug out. Because apparently I don’t practice. I just $#^@ing go for it. And that practice push became my first real I’M HAVING A BABY WTF push.

One, two, three. four, five, six. No vacuum needed.

JUST THAT FAST. We are now the proud owner of a newborn.

Six minutes. Six pushes. Three contractions. Apparently a little poo.

AND A BABY.

Apologies if that’s anti-climactic. It is what it is. I can’t help that he whooshed on out of there.

Six pounds, nineteen inches, a tiny little thing with a big head and chubby cheeks.

He was healthy, pink, screaming and scored a 9 on that Apgar scale thing, already an overachiever. He also lacked that ugly newborn look and was NOT A CONEHEAD. He got bonus points for those things. I may have sent him back otherwise.

Just minutes old. Hard to believe that was living in me.

They put the cheesy, sticky thing on my chest, Big A cut the cord (they called the cord “chewy” and for whatever reason, that cracked my $^@& up). I was tired and confused and hungry and emotional and overwhelmed and I found it hard to open my eyes to look at him. This being that had been making my body his home for months was now a part of the real world. MY world. OUR world. I wasn’t sure what to expect and I had thought so much about what he would look like that I almost couldn’t look at him.

The nurse asked me if I had even seen him yet.

I said I had. Briefly. And then admitted babies freaked me out.

And they laughed at me. This was becoming a theme.

As the OB was stitching me up – because while there was no episiotomy, there was a significant tear that I definitely was not aware of because I really couldn’t feel feelings – she kept telling me she couldn’t believe how fast that went and that I was designed to have babies. And even in that moment I totally agreed with her. And was already thinking about the second one.

She took that opportunity to remind me that breastfeeding was not birth control.

So why do people complain about this!? Pregnancy, labor AND delivery were all a giant piece of cake! (Note: Dudes, I totally know I got off beyond easy.) I was willing to go through all that @#%^ again in a hot minute. I loved being pregnant. Loved. What I wasn’t sure about was actual motherhood. I was sure I wanted cake.

The nurse started to chime in, telling me that I did awesome and she wasn’t just saying that to be nice. I began to wonder if I had set a new hospital record or something. I’m sure I chuckled but I was still in a deep haze of confusion. I was also trying not to think about what a mangled mess my underworld probably was.

I asked if I could eat. Food was a definite priority here. I got laughed at again.

I happened to look down and was shocked to see the lack of the bump I had grown so fond of. Well, DUH. I was warned that I probably shouldn’t let the other new moms in recovery see me as I seemed to lack the I-was-just-pregnant look. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for being awesome and basked in all these accolades.

See, he got cuter already! Except for the crazy Vitamin K eye goo.

As everyone was finishing up their duties, I held Little A again before he was taken to the nursery and was told that the meds I was so delightfully enjoying would be cut and to take a few extra hits if necessary. So I did. You know, just in case. I was also given a menu and I gleefully selected the first food I would shove in my facehole in over 18 hours.

My desired food after 18 hours without? Chicken Alfredo, Onion Rings, Apple Pie, Coke. WHAT. DON’T JUDGE ME.

I can’t feel my legs, I have an ice pack in my underwear, I’m exhausted, I am ravenous, I am suddenly svelte again.

And I have a baby.

I JUST HAD A !@#%@ING BABY.

Advertisements

The Birthing: Part Two

Welcome to part two in the series of five. Just joining in? Catch up on the story or skip ahead to the quick and dirty abridged version. SPOILER ALERT! It ends with a baby.

Part One
Abridged Version


Part Two

Obviously, I had not gotten around to filling out my pre-registration paperwork, so Big A had to stay in the ER to handle that as I got wheeled up to Labor and Delivery. I have to tell the admitting nurse my life story. I’m really tired of telling it. Because, no, I don’t know how far apart my contractions are, because I’m not sure I’m having them. Yes, I am positive my water broke. No, I don’t have that paperwork. Yes, that is in fact my birthday. Big A says: the funny thing was that she really did already have everything filled out from her milking class a couple days earlier so I can’t really take credit for being awesome here…though I have many other attributes, such as my modesty, that do make me awesome.

The OB on duty comes to check out the nether regions. She confirms my water has broken, but I am only a centimeter dilated and I would not be leaving here without delivering.

WAY TO F’IN LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER, KID. YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A BED TO SLEEP IN. IT’S JUST A %^!# PILE OF WOOD. YOU SHOULD BE STAYING PUT FOR TWO MORE WEEKS.

We could have had veal for dinner.

Then this nice, sweet OB decides to continue to root around in my hooey and do what I come to find out is “stripping membranes”. It hurt like a #^@!$^ing bitch. I wanted to punch her square in the face. SQUARE IN HER PRETTY LITTLE CHIPPER FACE. You know that scene in City Slickers where he has to reach up into the cow to help deliver the calf and then he loses his watch? Yeah. I was the cow. It was one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. AND SHE DIDN’T EVEN WARN ME.

YOU HAVE TO WARN SOMEONE IF YOU’RE GOING TO ROTO ROOTER THEM. WTF. Big A says: I’m pretty sure she did warn you. She said something like “hold on a sec, hon.” That seems legit.

At this point, aside from the unannounced hooey activity, I am uncomfortable but not in pain. I get told to rest as much as possible and that we’ll see how far I progress on my own. Big A crashes on the couch, I try to sleep but it’s pretty much impossible. I’m concerned, I’m perturbed, I’m excited, I’m scared, I’m asleep: says Big A. I’m so not ready for this.

A few hours in, around 4am, the pain starts to come mostly in my back. I get offered a drug; I take it, obviously. I have zero intention of being one of those natural birthers that are hyped up on TLC on weekday afternoons. NO %^!@ THANK YOU. I sleep, but it’s that sleep that makes you more tired than if you just stayed awake. Around 8 am, a new OB appears, tells me she’s 99% sure I’ll have the baby on her watch. I freak out. She checks my progress (slim to none on that front) and I hold my breath hoping she doesn’t try to deliver a bovine from me like the other one. She doesn’t. I like her already.

They start me on Pitocin to speed up the process to avoid infection. I have heard nasty things about this stuff, like how it intensifies the contractions. They were all true.

Holy Shit. THAT’S what contractions feel like? What the hell was I feeling for the past ten hours? I felt all of my core muscles clenching and tightening at once, then stabbed with a knife a few thousand times for about 30 seconds. So, those who have yet to experience this shit, you deal with intense pain for a few seconds. And then you’re fine. And you forget. And think to yourself, hey, that wasn’t so bad. And then like two minutes later OR LESS another one comes and you go all WHAT THE F@#$ IS HAPPENING TO ME WHY DOES THIS BABY HATE ME.

Let’s recap:

This isn’t so bad.

WTF IS HAPPENENING TO ME JEBUS CHRIST.

I don’t know why people complain about labor so much.

HOLY SHIT CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG.

My pain level isn’t so bad right now, I’d give it a 3/10.

MAKE THAT A M^&!$#^%ING SEVEN AND A HALF AND LET’S TALK ABOUT DRUGS.

And so on.

Eventually we really did get to talk about drugs. The good ones.

I’ve watched enough TV and heard enough stories that I had to ask if there was any point where the epidural would be too early. Because we’ve all heard the tale of the woman who gets the thing too early and then winds up feeling everything and I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want to feel anything. I didn’t even want to feel feelings. I was assured it was not too early. I’m all in.

Around 11 am the angel of an anesthesiologist comes in, explains the rules, I sign without reading the terms and conditions because I’ve learned nothing from South Park and we get this s%&t on the road.

She asks me what my tramp stamp means and I can’t even remember. I told her it’s been there so long I didn’t even remember I had it. They laugh at me. I get the DON’T F%^^&ING MOVE FOR ANYTHING lecture. I realize that whatever she is doing is less painful than giving birth to the calf. But it is pretty damn unpleasant.

And then she hits a nerve and my leg twitches and shoots out and I start laughing because that feeling was so involuntary it was like a knee cap reflex test but 178 times more intense and then I apologize profusely because she told me NOT TO F%&@ING MOVE (though maybe not in those exact words) and I moved and now I think I’m paralyzed.

But I can still feel feelings. SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT. They had to run another line because something hit something and the whatever wasn’t clear and I don’t know what the shit they were discussing at this point because the another contraction was starting. So she put in another line. It lacked the spastic leg twitch but she seemed really proud of herself. And then they asked me a question.

“Did you feel that contraction?”

“….no.”  I thought it was a trick question.

“What about that one?”

Big A laughed at my “dead feet”. Check those things out. And those sausage toes.

“Was there seriously a contraction?” I was convinced they were bullshitting me and it’s not very nice to play mind games on a chick in labor so I was about to THROW DOWN and then I realized they were serious and I wanted them both to be my best friends.

Now I have two new best friends, I can’t feel my legs and I feel like a m^&#!F%^#^ing rock star.

GAME ON.

THE Birth Plan

I have written and completed my very specific birthplan. I hope the doctors can understand it and will follow it precisely.

Phase One: Administer Epidural

Phase Two:

Phase Three: PROFIT  BABY

What’s Phase Two? I don’t f&*#$%ng care. Just get that thing out in one piece.

Again, just like choosing a pediatrician, I do not get the need for multi-page documents. I am not going natural, I am not into breathing techniques, I’m not opposed to C-Sections, in fact I sort of TOTALLY want one, I like drugs (not those kind of drugs, numbskulls), I don’t care who delivers the thing, just get it out.

In one piece.

 

Delivery Room Math