Welcome to our daughter

Before I forget the details and while MIL has Kate, birth story post.

Sunday started out like any other day. We got up, did our morning routine, went to church, and came home. After lunch, DH did his thing while I did laundry and tried to figure out when I'd get my exercising in (still trying to figure that one out).

Throughout the afternoon, I thought I might be having contractions, but I wasn't sure if they were the usual BH or the real thing. They didn't really feel much different. In fact, they weren't that noticeable, so I didn't (notice them, that is) for a good chunk of the day. I tried to time them while we were picking up Wegman's pizza for dinner. Still not sure. After dinner, I thought it might be a good idea to take a shower, just in case. Good thought.

DH and I settled down for the evening around 8:00 to watch an episode of Ghost Hunters which we'd DVR'd. I suddenly had an urge to go to the bathroom. This was not unusual - Kate was positioned over my bladder, so every time she pushed her head down, she sent me running to the bathroom - but it happened several times in succession. That prompted me to start timing my contractions again. Contraction, note time. Another contraction, note time, seven minutes. Another contraction, note time, seven minutes. Another contractions, note time . . . seven minutes. Okaaay. We might actually be in labor.

I become more certain as the hour wore on, and at 9:30, I mouthed to DH: seven minutes. Much to my surprise, he didn't panic, and we continued watching the DVR. At 9:45, he suggested we start putting our bags in the car. I agreed. At 10:15, he asked if he had time for a shower. The contractions were still seven minutes apart, so I said sure. He hopped in. He was back out and getting dress by 10:30. Within that time the contractions jumped from 7 minutes apart and barely noticeable to 3-1/2 minutes and strong enough to stop me in my tracks.

What on earth happened to the 5 minutes the doctor's office told me about?! They told us to wait to call until the contractions were at least five minutes apart and a minute in duration for at least an hour. 5-1-1! Well, we skipped the five completely.

I didn't tell DH of the new development until he was out of the shower. THAT's when the panic set in for him. I called the answering service around 10:30 and let them know we were coming in. Strangely, I still wasn't positive at the time it was actually labor. Yes, I was having regular contractions, but, well, I'd never been in labor before.

We got to the hospital around 11:00 or so. They checked me, told me I was between four and five centimeters. It was the real thing. By that point, I could have told them that. The contractions weren't unbearable, but they couldn't be mistaken for anything else. It looked like I wasn't going to be sent home with a false alarm.

My water broke just before midnight. Oh. My. Goodness. The first contraction afterwards had me hanging on the bed railing in pain. I wanted an epidural. No doubt in my mind.

I don't know how long it took for the epidural guy to come, but it felt like an eternity. They set up an IV, wheeled me to my room, and gave me a shot of something or other to take the edge off the pain. It helped for all of one contraction. I felt so bad for DH. I didn't want him to touch me or even talk to me. At one point, as another contraction came on, I started yelling at him, "Move! Move! Move out of the way! You're in my focus spot! Move!" The poor guy didn't know which way to go (I was still hanging on the bed railing, so my focus spot happened to be an imperfection in the floor under his feet). He put up with so much. I'm glad he was there to support me.

I don't know what I was so worried about with that epidural. It wasn't that bad. I felt some wetness as they cleaned the site and a pinch as the needle went in, but that was it. The relief was amazing. I was human again.

We labored until 4:00 AM or so when the nurse checked me. 9-1/2 centimeters. Not much longer. At 5:30, I started to feel nauseous, so I told DH to get the nurse. 10cm. We were ready. I started pushing from 6:05 to 8:43. Sometime early on, the nausea, cause by heartburn, became too much for me and I vomited. It was disgusting. I couldn't stop. I was so embarrassed.

I'm not sure when the doctor arrived. He could have been there for an hour or half an hour. I lost all track of time. All I knew is that I was growing more uncomfortable as Kate made her way down the birth canal. I remember being surprised that I could feel anything. I thought the epidural was supposed to dull that pain. At some point toward the end, I also got the shakes. I'd had them earlier, but they disappeared. I couldn't stop them this time. The doctor told me not to try. They continued for about an hour after Kate arrived.

Anyway, as Kate's head was appearing, the nurse said it looked like she had a lot of dark hair. I was surprised since I expected her to be blond, but I didn't think much more of it since "a lot" can have different interpretations. Turns out the nurse was right. She picked up the Italian side of the family with the hair.

But I digress. As I mentioned, the epidural didn't completely take away all sensation. I could feel my legs, even if they were heavy. I could really feel the crowning in a big way. It was painful. The doctor told me it would have felt much, much worse without the epidural. I don't want to imagine it. He had me stop pushing for a time as her head crowned so we could everything time to stretch. We were trying to avoid an episiotomy.

"Get out, get out, get out," I chanted under my breath. I now fully understood what people meant when they talked about the urge to push. It was all I could do not to until the doctor gave me the go ahead. After two or three years, he finally told me to push again. Kate's head came out . . . along with her hand. I don't know how big a tear I had from that, and I didn't want to find out.

I stopped pushing again so the doctor or nurse could suction Kate's nose and mouth. I heard some fussing on her part and a squeak: I knew all was well. I pushed again to deliver the rest of her. I remember thinking that this part was supposed to be less painful and wondering why it wasn't. And then she was here. They finished suctioning her, cut the cord, and dropped her on my stomach. I can still picture this slippery little thing with long, delicate fingers, tons of dark hair, and black eyes staring dazedly out at the world. This was our daughter.

That's it. The doctor delivered and showed us the placenta, pointing out various parts of the anatomy (fascinating), stitched the tear, and left us alone with our daughter.

I later developed nausea again as my blood pressure fell to normal. It had been higher than usual during the final weeks of my pregnancy and labor. My doctor prescribed an anti-nausea medication commonly used for chemo patients. It seemed overkill to me, but it worked, so who am I to complain?

We left the hospital on Wednesday afternoon. Since then, the days have become a blur. Kate doesn't like being put down. When she does sleep, it's during the day. After the sun goes down, forget it. I was up until 4:00 this morning until DH took over (I kept telling him to go back to bed before that). We're going to have to find a way to switch her days and nights. We've been trying to keep her up during the day today. I don't know how well that will work.

The BFing seems to be improving. It hurts like nobody's business, but I think that might be improving, too. Kate, although she is the most perfect baby in the world, has a strong suck but less than optimal latch. The LC taught me how to train her tongue to come forward. I'm now dripping whenever I think about BFing her, so my milk must have come in. Wich a vengence. The girls hurt. Well, as long as Kate's getting enough, that's all I care about. I have to say that while I'd love to BF Kate for awhile, I'm seriously considering supplementing with formula when I go back to work. Maybe sooner. It takes at least an hour for each feeding (better than the two it was taking earlier on).