Baby Adhis was born: on Memorial Day, Monday, May 26th @ 12:29:11 pmHer measurements were: 6 lbs. 9 oz. and was 19 inches long. Miscellaneous: little petite squeaky “cry.” Dark hair.
We camehome 2 days later and found someone had planted an “It’s a girl!” sign in our flower bed. Thank you, mystery sign planter! LONG POST I wasn’t kidding when I announced in Relief Society on Sunday that I was in labor. I came to church anyway because I wanted to hear the scheduled lesson; I was MAD when the teacher announced she had decided to teach a different lesson. I seriously almost got up to go home and eat, BUT I stayed because
Back at home, I bugged my husband to get some last minute things done (trash taken out, dog food put out, plants watered, etc.) When we went to bed, the contractions were still 20 minutes apart, then 15 minutes apart, and then 12, 8, 6, 7, and 4 minutes apart. Still, since what I felt was "just cramping" and not the stomach tightness and inability to carry a conversation that I had been warned about, I thought I'd relax by soaking in our jetted tub. I called the doctor at about midnight to make sure that would be ok and he said “no.” ::insert SUPER frowny pout:: He wanted me to first get checked to make sure the baby was ok. (FINE, Mr. Doctor Guy!) I did not want to waste my time going to the hospital 20 minutes away and back again just so I could soak in the tub, so I was contemplating hopping in the tub anyway. David insisted I go to the hospital and just get checked out first. It took us about an hour to get out the door as I paused for cramps, cleaned house, and finished packing my bags in case the hospital kept me long for monitoring. Once at the hospital, they wouldn’t let me go home to soak in my tub. And why not?? I was dilated 5 centimeters. (Oh.) The cramps were contractions after all.
Things quickly got sucky and boring. I didn’t have my comfy bed to contract in. I didn’t have my just-the-right-height stair railing to lean on. I wish I would have stayed home. :scowl: Without the comforts of home, I was hating life during the contractions. If my abdomen, back, and legs were going to hurt, I wanted MY room, MY bed, MY floor. I dilated to 7 centimeters and, since I hadn’t packed my jetted tub, bed, or railing, I gave in to the dumb nurse who kept suggesting an epidural, though I had told her not to offer it to me. (I’m still angry about that! Grrr… bitter, but whatever.) I gave my back up to the anesthesiologist. The administration of my epidural went classic textbook. Within minutes, my husband felt better. He had been having a harder time with my contractions than I was. After the epidural, he breathed a sigh of relief and said “aaaahh… I don’t know why anyone would do this without an epidural!” He did seem calmer. Pushing was easy, short, and pleasant. I just sat on a bed with the nurse and my husband and chatted like we were on a picnic. There were no sandwiches, though there was a mirror pointed at my… um… picnic basket. After 7 or 8 contractions, we waited for my doctor to arrive then finished the picnic-- er, we finished the labor and delivery. Baby got cleaned up while my husband smiled and got teary-eyed and my doctor ho-humly cleaned and stitched. (I think he was making a quilt.) When the nurse handed me the baby, I thought “whose baby is this?” She doesn’t look like either of us! Or, as I groggily later mentioned to some visitors from the aforementioned ’hood, “she doesn’t look like anyone in the ward.” This was an easy, fun, and short labor and delivery. If I get a chance to do it again, I hope to labor longer at home.
Now, what do I do about the little baby who followed us home? When are her parents coming to pick her up?
[Posted song: "Wonderful" by India.Arie]