Owen's Birth Story

So, I really should get this typed up . . . you know, before I become so tired that writing coherent sentences becomes near impossible.  :-)  I've spent the last week though, just holding my baby.  As well as, wincing when I cough or yawn, trying to keep a 17 month old and a 3 1/2 year old from diving onto my stomach, and trying to find that balance of getting up and moving and taking it easy.

But, all in all, I have to say things have gone amazingly well.  Recovery has gone as well as can be expected, if not better than I was expecting.  My baby is healthy and doing well, and seems to adore me.  (So much so that from 1-4 this morning, he refused to sleep anywhere but in my arms . . . but that means he likes me, so I'm not gonna complain.)

I guess I should go back to last week to start to tell Owen's birth story though . . . so, Tuesday, December 27th, I had my 39 week appointment with my midwife.  We chatted for a minute, then I laid down so she could find the heartbeat.  It was taking a lot longer than normal.  I wasn't worried, since I'd felt the baby moving no less than 5 minutes ago, but I didn't like that look on her face.  I may not have been worried, but she definitely was.  Finally, after what felt like forever, but was probably a minute or less, she found the baby's heartbeat.  Apparently in a place she did NOT want to find it.  She asked if he'd been moving a lot lately, and at first I said nothing big, that he moved all the time but I hadn't felt any major movement.  Then I thought back to Christmas Eve or Christmas night, I can't remember which, when I made Greg lie next to me in bed with his hand on my stomach for a good half hour 'cause of the tumbling act Owen was putting on.  Aw, crap.  He'd turned.  My midwife didn't flat out say he was breech, but she scheduled me for an ultrasound at the OBs office, in less than an hour.  So, I ran home, got Greg (my Mom came over to watch my kids) and we headed in, the whole time I'm thinking, "He can't be breech, he can't be breech, he can't be breech . . . "  They started the ultrasound, and immediately a very recognizable little butt showed up on screen.  He was breech.  The next several days were filled with me doing weird inversion exercises, going to the chiropractor, getting acupuncture (the baby would move ALL over the place whenever I was getting it done, but he didn't ever flip because of it) and praying like I've never prayed before.  We're never optionless, but my options in this situation were limited, and I wasn't liking anything other than 'he magically flips himself back into position and labor starts spontaneously.'  But that was looking less and less likely.  The decision was made that I would come to the hospital on Friday, December 30th, where they would attempt an 'external version' (flipping the baby from the outside).  If he flipped, they wanted to induce labor immediately (basically 'lock him into position' while they could).  While not ideal, it was the preferable option to me versus the alternative.  Which was a c-section.  The being cut open thing was a little freaky, but it wasn't the worst part by any means -- it was the idea of recovery.  The no picking things up over 10 pounds, no stairs, no driving . . . none of this seemed very conducive to my life at home, with a 17 month old, two other children, and three stories of house.  The idea of not being able to pick up Isaac for weeks was enough to reduce me to tears just thinking about it.  But, throughout the week a ever growing sense of peace seemed to inch its way into my heart . . . I thought it was because the version would work and I'd be able to go on to have the birth I'd planned on.  At least for the most part.  Turns out, once again, this kid had different plans.  A mere 6 hours before we were supposed to leave for the hospital, my water broke.  It was one in the morning, I jumped up, woke up Greg, told him to call my parents (my Dad was over less than five minutes later) and I told him that I don't think the baby had flipped.  And I was going to be having a c-section.  (Once my water was broken, it was 'game over', they couldn't try flipping the baby at that point, so I knew what we were going to the hospital for.)  And oddly, I felt really good about it.  My water breaking was an answer to prayers I didn't even realize I'd been asking for -- it was confirmation to me that my baby, my body had picked the time for birth.  And the only good option was a c-section.  I hadn't forced anything by doing a version or getting an induction (both choices I was fine with making, of course, it was just reassuring to me when my water broke and left us with one, clear answer.)  I wasn't nervous anymore (still freaked out about the recovery, but the surgery itself, I was really pretty chill with), and it no longer seemed like the undesirable choice.  It was just they way this baby needed to come into the world, and who was I to argue with that, or stress or worry about it.  It was right, and I knew it.  We called my sister Star, who after being out of town for the last two births in our family, was finally here to be a part of the birth -- except now she'd just be waiting for the surgery to end.  Poor Star.  She met us at the hospital anyway, and the next several hours were ridiculously fun.  Star, Greg, the nurse, the midwife (not my normal one, but the same one who was there the night Isaac was born -- or, who was at least in the next room when he was born) and I have such a good time laughing and joking.  At first I don't think the nurse knew what to think of us, laughing so hard it kept messing up the monitors they had on the baby.  The midwife had been up for like 24+ hours though, so she was already slap happy :-)  The nurse warmed up to us and our humor though, and was totally getting a kick out of our witty repertoire.  (Or, at least it seemed witty at 3AM).  It took over two hours for them to get an ultrasound to confirm the baby was breech.  (The baby was obviously breech, but the anestesiologist would not move forward on even prepping me for surgery until he had a picture in hand, and we were not having ANY luck on finding a machine that would work.)  Finally, someone from the ER brought up their ultrasound machine, we got to see Owen flaunt his butt one last time, and then it was go time.  Which could not have come soon enough for me.  Remember, my water had already broken.  I was in labor now.  Not hard labor (it felt much like Isaac's did last time), but I was contracting pretty regularly.  Which isn't super pleasant.  I was starting to worry about getting into harder labor and still getting the c-section -- didn't seem fair to have to do both!  Soon though, we walked to the operating room.  They realized they'd never put Greg in his bio-hazard suit (that's what it looked like at least), so they had him get ready while they brought me in to start the spinal block.  I was a tad miffed they wanted me to start getting giant needles shoved into my back without my husband even being there to hold my hand, but I was SO ready for this to happen that I couldn't imagine telling them to wait.  He was back soon though, and before I knew it, surgery had started.  At just after 4AM, and 7 and a half minutes later, Owen was born.  But not without scaring us first.  It had never dawned on me that the dangers that can exist in delivering a breech baby vaginally, also are an issue delivering the baby through an incision.  He was still coming out feet first.  Which was the first problem we ran in to.  Turns out he wasn't just frank breech (butt first, which he had been in the past), but at some point had gotten one foot down below himself and one foot up above . . . he was in the splits.  It took them a minute to wrestle his feet out.  I remember them talking about stuff like, "Where is that other leg?" but since I couldn't see anything, this was all very weird and trippy to me.  Soon, they were excited they got his legs out.  Then his head was stuck, his chin firmly anchoring him inside me.  It took another minute before he was out.  This whole time I kept thinking, 'This is taking so long!  Why haven't they picked him up to show him to me?'  Then I heard the scariest part. They were working on him, things weren't going well, Greg asked why he wasn't moving.  My brain could not compute what was happening.  Finally, he moved, and breathed, and they rushed him straight over to the warmer and started working on him there.  I'd still never had anyone hold him up, but I could see him now if I turned my head to the side.  I watched his little tight fists and arms suddenly go limp, and a few seconds later he tightened up again and finally started to cry.  I think Greg was a lot more scared than I was, since he was able to take it all in -- by the time I could even compute what had happened, he was fine.   His initial apgar score of a 4 was already up to a 9 by 5 minutes, and he's done fine ever since.  (But, because he started out low, he was on a non-standard protocol in the maternity ward, and he had to be checked hourly for awhile, then every two hours for a lot longer than normal.  But his oxygen and everything was always perfect, and we haven't had to worry about him since.)  It was a full 22 minutes before anyone picked up my baby and showed him to me.  Greg brought him over at that point, lowered him down by my head and I kissed him, and then because Owen was screaming about the awkward angle he was being held at, I just told Greg to take him and cuddle him to his chest, and I would need to wait to see him again when we were done.  The last 22 minutes of surgery had gone by quickly, as I'd been engrossed in trying to figure out what was going on with my baby.  The last 10-15 minutes was excruciatingly long, as I hated the pulling and tugging feelings, and I just had to close my eyes and go to my 'happy place'.  (Oh, at some point after delivery, my midwife had to jump up and run out of the room -- food poisoning.  She apologized profusely afterwards, but said she was glad that this time she made it for the birth at least.)  When they said they were done, moved me to the rolling bed, and handed me my baby, I was in heaven.  I just cuddled with him the entire time we walked back to the room, and soon as we got there he latched on and we started nursing.  He's a pro, and hasn't had any problems with nursing at all, which I am SO grateful for, as c-section related nursing issues was one of my concerns.  I can't get over how different Isaac and Owen's births were -- from delivering one spontaneously and picking him up within seconds of birth, to not holding the other for well over a half hour after birth.  And yet, I don't feel any different about them or their births.  Both were right for the situation we were in.  Would I have preferred to have another natural birth vs. a c-section?  Yep, but I knew in the long run it wouldn't matter.  What surprised me was how much it didn't even matter in the short run.  I wrote this in an email to a friend a few days ago:
I'm doing well physically, I feel like I'm recovering well, I'm spotty about when I take pain meds, and I'm not noticing a huge difference, so I'm pretty close to phasing them out (night time is the only time I still feel crappy, trying to roll over in bed and stuff . . . ouch).  (I have since stopped taking all pain medicines).  Emotionally (knock on wood) I'm doing pretty great actually -- I have not cried once since I had this baby :-)  I know the c-section wasn't ideal, and it was far from my first choice.  I know I didn't get to really see this baby for 20+ minutes after his birth vs. the 2 seconds after Isaac's.  I know I was immobile and stuck to wires and tubes for an extra day or so.  But you know, I don't feel ANY different about or towards Owen than I did any of my other kids.  The bonding is the same, the emotions are more stable if anything, and he's doing great, even if his cord was immediately clamped :-)  Physically, the pain is different, but I actually think I was MORE physically miserable after Isaac's birth (probably due to less drugs) :-)  

Within hours the kids got to come meet their new little brother.  They're smitten -- Isaac is by far the most excited to hold the baby, and wants to ALL day long.  Recovery in the hospital went well -- I felt surprisingly great until the third day, then like a truck hit me for about half a day, then I've gotten progressively better ever since.  I loved having the kids come see me -- for about 10 minutes.  Then, as was even proven by the nurse who did my vitals during one visit, my blood pressure and pulse would start to rise and I kinda couldn't wait 'til Greg took them home.  A small hospital room is NOT the best entertaining space for a 17 month old and a 3 1/2 year old . . . especially when you can only entertain them with graham crackers and the buttons that make the bed go up and down (hopefully without hitting the nurse call button on accident too often).  During one visit the kids were fighting, Isaac ran out of the room and ran free down the hall, and Isaac and Greg accidently spilled a giant cup of ice water on my lap, in my bed.  I so wanted to ask the nurse if I could stay one extra day at that point.  :-)  But, by Monday I was ready to come home.  Greg's been great, taking care of the kids and everything that takes place on the main floor of the house while I mainly hang out with a tiny, squeaky little guy all day upstairs.

I need to write more, but Owen's just woke up from his nap.  But, I figure I should throw out the essentials:
Born December 30th, at 4:08 AM
7 pounds 15 ounces (7 lbs. 5 oz. when we left the hospital)
21" long (my longest by a whole inch!)
He looks an awful lot like his older brother (his pediatrician's reaction when she first saw him was, and I quote, "Holy crap, woman! You gave birth to your son's twin!  That's creepy!"  You'd have to know her, but it was pretty funny, and she spent the rest of the exam mildly freaked out by the similarities.)

And, of course, pictures from our first day in the hospital (one or two might be from Day 2) . . .

Final Countdown

Today was my 37 week appointment.  Full term.  As in 'can have this baby tomorrow or in four weeks from now' countdown.  I've always pictured having this baby a week late or so (like his older brother), so not until the first week of January.  But it's just been this last couple (increasingly uncomfortable) days that it's been dawning on me that I could actually have this baby any time now.  Especially once my midwife told me the baby is in perfect position, really far down, and I'm dilated to almost a three.  The great thing about dilation is that it tells you absolutely nothing :-)  Being dilated to a three could mean I could have this baby tonight, and it could mean I go a week overdue.  But, still.  Hearing that made me come home and pre-register at the hospital finally, and get started on packing a hospital bag.

So, I'm due January 2nd, 2012.

To recap, I had Annie on her due date, Ellie was a few weeks early, and Isaac was a full week late.

Annie was 6.5 lbs, Ellie was 6 lbs. and Isaac was 8 lbs. 1 ounce. 

Remember, last time my labor went pretty fast.  And I didn't realize I was nearing the end of labor until I suddenly yelled to the nurse who just happened to be in the room talking to us that I was pushing.  Then Isaac was born about a minute later or less.  With my midwife in the next room, and no time for her or anyone else to get into the room.  The next day my midwife said to Greg, "Hope you were paying attention . . . you may end up delivering next time."
So, do we think we'll make it to the hospital in time?
Will Greg end up delivering this baby in the car?  By himself in the hospital room?

Any guesses when I have this baby?
How big will he be?
Dramatic birth story taking place in the hospital lobby?  (Like my cousin . . . hi Marissa!)

And then just for fun, a picture one of our last family outings

(to see Christmas lights) as a family of five . . .

 . . . I JUST realized that means we're going to be a family of six sometime in the next month.  That suddenly sounds huge and scary to me :-)  Think I would've done some of this math before now . . . :-)

My Recent Life in Bullet Points

•  I need to write all about being a part of the support team for my new niece's birth.  Sixty hours after my sister was transported to the hospital via ambulance, and 48 hours after the induction was born, little Bailey was born happy and healthy (and stubborn) and it was one of the most amazing things I've ever been a part of . . . more details to follow.  I love my sister more than words can say, but my respect, admiration and feelings of tenderness toward her have quadrupled over the past week.  She's a rockstar.  The most impressive person I know. 

•  We are on week 2 of Ellie's potty training strike.  Yesterday showed some real promise though, so who knows, maybe it's over?  Almost.  PLEASE.

•  For the last several days, Isaac has been alternating between calling Greg "Dada" and "Daddy".  Then, last night (when he woke up at 4:30AM wanting to play), he almost tricked me into getting up with him with his happy calls of, "Mommy!  Mommy!"  Seriously, the kid has already graduated from 'Mama and Dad' to 'Mommy and Daddy' . . . how is that possible?!  He was born, like, yesterday!

•  Annie had her first report card, book fair and Parent Teachers Conference.  Holy cow, she's growing up fast.  And she's such an impressive little girl.  And going to the book fair brought back some of my fondest Elementary School memories.

•  Greg and I attended the parents meeting for the ALPS program (the magnet school for gifted students).  We both left with a very similar feeling of -- what a cool program, but not for our daughter.  Not yet, at least.  Annie's happy in a mainstream school, she's not lacking for social or fun opportunities, and as long as she's not getting bored or having issues with school, we want to keep her where she's at.  Later on, if she's still ahead (since a majority of kids, even those who are 'far' ahead, often even out within a few years), and needs something different, then we'll look into it.  I'm glad there is a program like it, I just wish they did more at the individual schools.  It seemed to us that the ALPS program wasn't just for kids who were smart, but kids who really 'need' something different.  We don't think Annie does yet.

•   Ellie has more personality and spunk than any kid I've ever met.  Her and Annie were learning a Halloween song about a witch in their dance class.  They both get up and sing and dance along to it adorably, but Ellie might as well be in full-on make up and costume for the play "Wicked" by how much she puts into it.  Her facial expressions are pretty much the most hilarious thing ever.  Her and Annie start indoor soccer today, and I can't wait to see how her enthusiasm plays out . . .

• I am in my third trimester now.  At my appointment yesterday they told me to come in again in three weeks, and it really hit me that we're closing in on this if I'm coming more often for appointment now!  I also just weaned Isaac this week (probably 'cause I was at the hospital with my sister more often than not!)  I never thought I'd nurse clear until my third trimester (as I weaned both girls during the first trimester of pregnancy), but I was really surprised just how easy nursing during the pregnancy has been.  He was only nursing once a day, for a little while now, so it didn't 'take much out of me', and I can already tell I'm gonna miss it, but it's a bit of a relief to have that off my plate before the new baby comes.  I will miss our snuggly mornings though -- nothing beats putting off the day an extra 15 minutes by curling up under the covers with the baby and ignoring the world for just a little bit longer . . . now he wakes up and just asks for 'Melmo!'  (That kid LOVES Elmo.)

I'm an Aunt, Again!

While we were out of cell phone range in the wilds of Yellowstone, my sister in law, Liz, finally went into labor.  Well over a week overdue.  Since Isaac was born a full week overdue, while my family was all out of cell range in Mexico, I'd joked with Liz that her baby was waiting 'til he had some family out of communication too.  Sure enough, Liz's contractions stepped up pretty much the time we were driving into Yellowstone Wednesday afternoon.  But, and Liz can blame me for this one, we came back into town that night (where our cell phones worked) and Liz's contractions fizzled out and it looked like another false alarm.  That is, until her water broke during the night and she finally (at ten days overdue) got to go to the hospital.  Around the time we were entering the park we got the message that Liz hadn't had the baby yet though, and the pushing phase was taking (a lot) longer than normal.  (Poor Liz).  That baby was bound and determined to be born while we were out of range, I guess . . . he's just like his stubborn cousin Isaac!  We were able to get cell reception later that afternoon while in Mammoth, where we joyfully learned that my chunky new nephew had been born!  At 9 lbs. 13 oz., 22 inches long, this kid may even make our massive Isaac look average.  He knows how to make 10 days overdue look good!  It took a little while, but he was given a name (a first, at least . . . last I heard, middle name was still up in the air).  

So, meet my third freakishly cute nephew -- Ian.

Pretty darn cute, huh?

Liz is looking amazingly gorgeous for a woman who just pushed for over 5 hours!

 This one just melted my heart!  So sweet!

That just about seals it -- I have three of the most adorable nephews in the entire world!

Now if only I could talk 'em into moving to Utah!  :-) 

Good work Liz!  Now get some sleep!

Just Sharing . . .

My birth story (with Isaac) is featured on the Hypnobabies website today!

I've already had the story on here before (or at least a similar one, this one focuses more on using the hypnosis techniques), but if you want to check it out, feel free!  :-)

Small World

I keep meaning to do an update -- with pictures and answers to lots of questions we've gotten about Isaac and our adjustment and his birth, etc.

But, Ellie just went down for a nap, and Annie's over playing with Grandpa at the Splash Park, and Isaac is still sleeping, and I'm gonna lay down and watch an episode of "Veronica Mars" while it's quiet . . . but I wanted to share one quick 'it's a small world' story about Isaac's birth.

Many of you know that my parents live just a few blocks from us. In Utah Mormon-dom, this means they live in the next Ward over. In my parent's Ward, my Mom spent 6 months being the 'birthday cookie person' . . . meaning she delivered a big cookie as a present whenever a woman in the Ward had a birthday. Months and months ago, she was over dropping off a cookie at a woman's house, and they got into a conversation. Turns out the woman was a labor and delivery nurse at the closest hospital. My Mom told her I was planning on delivering there, and maybe she'd introduce us beforehand, on the off chance she was there and my nurse whenever I delivered. She'd mentioned this to me, but I hadn't given it much thought until last night, when I was driving home from the hospital (after visiting my Mom, who was recovering (quite well) from surgery), through the part of my neighborhood that is part of my Mom's Ward. And I suddenly remembered a conversation with the nurse who delivered Isaac, an hour or so before he was born. I hadn't given it another thought until last night (since most of what I remember about that night, and my nurse, was the delivery), but we'd gotten into a conversation about where we lived, and were surprised to find out that Becky (the nurse) lived really close to me. Like, just two-streets-over-close. And last night it finally hit me (I'm slow) that Becky is the same nurse my Mom had talked to all those months ago.

So now my Mom is very excited now to go to Church on Sunday (although, not this Sunday, she did just have a hysterectomy after all) and find Becky and thank her for delivering her first grandson.

Small world, huh?

Birth Story and Baby Pictures

My birth story starts about a week or so before Isaac actually made his appearance. I was rapidly approaching my due date, and despite some 'good signs' wasn't going into labor. Now, obviously every woman starts to get antsy at this point. I think under normal circumstances, I would've been fairly chill about it -- I really truly believed that Isaac would come when he was ready, and I had no desire to be induced. Whether he came before or after his due date, it would be the right amount of time for him to have spent in the womb, and he'd come whenever his body and mine figured out it was time. One snag though -- my family (like, almost all of 'em, my parents, Talina, Star and Cody) were all leaving for Mexico on the 4th of July. The idea of my family not even being in the same country when I gave birth literally made me a little sick. I couldn't think about it much without getting upset. Star and I had talked for months about her being in the delivery room with me -- the first time I was going to have anyone other than Greg in there. My Mom and Dad live just a few blocks away and were posed and ready to easily run over to our house at any hour and watch the kids so Greg and I could make a hasty exit for the hospital when the time was right. As my due date approached, the clock was ticking. Then it passed, and I was constantly walking the clock, refiguring in my head each time how many hours I had to give birth before they'd leave. The morning of the Fourth, I said goodbye on the phone while they were waiting in the airport, hung up and started to cry. It hadn't happened. They really were going to be gone. I had run out of time.

I spent most of that day kinda down and sad. But, with them gone, a certain amount of pressure and stress lifted. I reminded myself often that many of my friends give birth in states far away from their loved ones, and in the long run, it does not matter if everyone 'meets' while still in the hospital.

(Oh, and if you're not comfortable with basic birthing terms like contractions, pushing and episiotomies, you might want to just skip down to the pictures.)

Monday morning I was feeling a lot better, but a new clock started to tick in my mind. Wednesday was the date my midwife had given me for an induction. Something I very much wanted to avoid. We drove an hour away for a family party with Greg's extended family, part of me hoping that Murphy's Law would insist that my labor start when I was as far away from the hospital as I'd been in weeks. But we returned home from a fun afternoon and took it easy for awhile. Around 6:30PM, I noticed some very light cramping and tightening that felt a little different than my normal Braxton Hicks. And, according to Greg's iPod Touch Labor Tracker app, they were coming every 3-10 minutes or so. I didn't take 'em very seriously though, 'cause I'd had some before, and these were so light that I could easily ignore them completely. Plus, in the past, they'd always fizzled out. Around 7:30 that night, my family got online and we chatted for almost an hour, they happily timed my mini-contractions from another country . . . my Mom kept telling me to get to the hospital already. They did get a bit annoyed though, when they started coming only every 10 minutes or so instead of every 5, like they had been. By 10ish that night, they'd really started to space out. I was barely noticing them, and only every 10-15 minutes at the most. We put a couple people on stand by, in case we needed middle of the night babysitters, and settled down for bed. By then, I was fairly convinced I'd fall asleep quickly and either wake up in the middle of the night to some stronger contractions, or wake up in the morning to find they had truly stopped. So, I was surprised when at 11PM as I was laying in bed, my water suddenly broke.

We had my brother in law David, who had been house sitting for my parents home just a few blocks a day, come over right away. We called Greg's parents to come over for the night to watch the girls (so they could relieve David in an hour or so and he could go back home, get rest and go to work in the morning). As we drove to the hospital, I kept waiting for the contractions to start up, and pick up in intensity since the cushion of the amniotic fluid was now gone. We got there, got into triage, and I was being checked out, and I kept thinking, "I hope they start soon," since all I was noticing was an occasional light cramp. So, I was surprised when she said I was dilated to nearly a 6. We got into a room, and I noticed a few more minor contractions while I got hooked up, settled in and met all the nurses. I met the midwife who'd be handling the delivery (mine couldn't be reached), and I instantly liked her and was excited when she said I didn't need an IV. She said as long as I was going natural, I was fine without either the IV or even the hep lock. She became my new best friend. Unfortunately, the slightly more nervous nurses soon decided that there were some slightly less reassuring things on the monitor with Isaac's heartrate, and they wanted to pump me back up with fluids so he'd have more volume going to him too. I was fine with that, and ended up with an IV. I would've been more disappointed about this if I'd been trying to get up and walk around and stay mobile like I'd originally planned, but I found all I wanted to do was curl up on my left side and try and relax as much as possible. Something I decided I could do with an IV in. Oh well. So, once we were left to ourselves, I returned to my headphones, curled up on my side and listened to my "Hypnobabies" tracks. I told Greg to go ahead and lay down and rest . . . things weren't picking up that much with my contractions, that while more uncomfortable, I could still relax through them mostly, and easily relax in between. At one point I noticed them becoming a little more frequent, but not much. After a little bit, I noticed that they were getting a bit more uncomfortable, and I couldn't relax through them anymore, I'd just tense up, so I called Greg over to come 'help' me, and he rubbed my back through one contraction. It felt great. He tried it again during the next contraction, and it made it worse. I told him I was getting nervous that I wasn't handling them as well as I wanted (that I wasn't able to relax through them), and then I sent him back over to the couch and just went back into my own world of listening to my iPod. I think now to the bag of 'comfort items' I packed, the birth ball still out in the car, the walking and swaying and leaning I'd planned on to deal with contractions, and the only thing that sounded appealing was curling up on my left side in bed. I called Greg back over after one contraction and told Greg that with all that fluid they were pumping into me, I wanted help getting into the bathroom. I had one or two contractions while in the bathroom and decided that I just wanted to get back into bed as quickly as possible, where contractions were far more comfortable. I was so much more comfortable there. We made it back to the bed, paged the nurse to come hook me back up, but before she had a chance to come in, I decided I wanted to go back into the bathroom. This entire time, I was carrying on conversations with Greg, I was talking about how things were feeling more intense, but I wasn't consumed by the contractions by any means. In fact, the nurse mentioned when she came in that maybe I needed to get up and walk around to get these contractions coming faster and more intense. Then she started explaining the privacy & safety policies to me while I got back in bed. I had a contraction at this point . . . I could hear her and even follow the conversation, but the contraction had the majority of my attention. Then about 10 seconds later I had another one. She was talking about the menu for tomorrow's lunch :-) Then as soon as that one finished I had another one. This one made me whimper and squirm around a bit more. She suddenly asked, "I wasn't going to check you yet, but maybe I should . . . " I agreed, and as she came towards me I suddenly cried out, "I think I'm pushing!" Sure enough, she checked and Isaac was crowning. I couldn't believe it, she hit the nurse call button and was calling for anyone who could come . . . two nurses made it in (we were in the room across the hall from the nurses station thankfully), there wasn't even time for her to drop down the bed or anything . . . and for all my stressing while preparing for labor about what position I would want to push in, turns out all I could do in this case was lay back on the bed and push -- he came all the way out the next contraction. The midwife was in the next room and couldn't make it over in time, and the OB on call couldn't get from across the labor and delivery ward in time. Isaac was delivered right onto the bed, with the nurse just sitting at the end of the bed. Right onto the sheets in front of me, I sat up immediately and the nurse helped me pick him up and I held him on my stomach. I think Greg and I were both in a bit of shock :-). It was amazing. The nurse had said there'd be a lot of pressure and then burning -- the pressure was definitely there -- I even screamed out for a few seconds with both pushes (more out of shock and effort than actual pain), but there was no real burning. I would even go as far as saying it wasn't painful . . . just intense and a lot of pressure. It was literally over in a minute or two, it was crazy. And as soon as he was out, it was like it was over. No pain, no discomfort, it was just over. And he was there. And it was one of the coolest things ever. I turned to Greg and said, in a bit of shock, "I would do that again. That wasn't that bad." The whole experience had gone better than my greatest hopes for labor -- as much as I'd practiced and relaxed and 'self-hypnotized' for a 'painless childbirth', I always expected it to hurt. Not beyond what I could handle, but to the point of sheer miserableness followed by a huge high of accomplishing it. Turns out, that for me it was intense at the end, but looking back, even as I was approaching transition nurses with decades of experience had no idea I was even in very active labor. (Here is where I should probably add a little disclaimer: I think I'm a freak. I don't think this is the norm, or something that anyone who listens to some relaxation CDs should expect -- but I do believe that just like women have different levels of menstrual cramps and whatnot, women have different experiences in labor. One of my reasons for wanting to go natural this go around, was a little nagging voice at the back of my head that said, "What if? Just what if you're one of those it isn't 'that bad' for, and you never try and never know." Weird, I know. But, turns out that voice had a point. I also believe that this being my third, and not first, was a HUGE part of the level of comfort/discomfort. Being a week overdue probably helped too, as my body was very prepared. Anyway, I don't think this is the 'norm' of natural childbirth or anything -- just a possibility that exists. And a very cool one to have personally experienced. Something I'm grateful for.) It was 1:37 now. We'd gotten into our room after midnight. Time had flown by, it hadn't felt like an hour and a half.

Anyway, I held him while the nurse delivered the afterbirth and got everything cleaned up, at this point we're waiting for the midwife to come check out everything. The nursery nurses made it in after Isaac was born, and his chart makes me laugh, where the nurse wrote something like, "We came in to find the baby laying on his mother's chest, already pink and wiggling. Other nurses there tell us his Apgar was an 8." I was shaking pretty hard by now though (which happened after my epidural births as well), and I gave the baby over to Greg and the nurses to go take care of cleaning him up a little and weighing him, so I could take a couple deep breaths and 'come down' a little in time for the midwife to come in and take care of a couple stitches. This was the first point where I missed the epidurals of my first two births -- I loved just holding and nursing my new babies while the doctors and nurses got everything patched up and cleaned and taken care of, while I obliviously cuddled my new babe. With the natural childbirth, the after stuff had a little bit more of my attention. :-) Nothing was really that bad, the stitches and stuff weren't nearly as bad as I'd psyched myself out for, it just took a bit of my attention. On the flip side, I loved being able to walk off the delivery bed and into the bathroom to take a quick shower right there in the labor and delivery room, then walk around the room rocking my baby before getting into the wheelchair to be taken to the Mom & Babies rooms. Sure beat dragging my numb legs and body from one bed into another and being wheeled around the hospital, unable to get out of bed for hours. Oh, the other 'epidural benefit' Greg and I noticed was picture taking -- we have dozens of pictures of the girls right after birth, and all of us together as a family, and with extended family in the delivery room with us afterwards. This time we were both still in shock and barely remembered to take pictures. We got like six. Then with it being the middle of the night, there weren't extended family pictures (plus, my family was still out of town.)

We eventually made it over to our room, and it was funny, 'cause every nurse who came in that first day 'knew who we were'. We were kinda famous at the hospital that night. The baby born with the midwife in the next room, who couldn't make it over in time.

Here's Isaac and I right after birth -- I look a little shocked and very happy. And puffy, stupid IV fluids. :-)

Isaac on the scale. 8 lb. 1 ounce, 20 inches.
Much bigger than his sisters! (Annie - 6.5 lbs., Ellie 6lbs.)

This is first thing that morning, after I changed out of my hospital gown and got about an hour and a half's worth of sleep.

Annie, Ellie and Grandma Ruth showed up in the morning. You could hear Ellie calling, "Baby Isaac! Baby Isaac!" from the hallway. :-) Both girls were so excited to see him. Annie had Grandpa call us at 8AM to ask what color hair he had. She was quite disappointed it was dark, and not light like hers.

There were many interesting hair and accessory choices made over the few days Mom wasn't home . . .

Daddy, Isaac and Ellie

Isaac and Aunt Andrea

He was a huge fan of his fist that first day -- now he prefers the binkie.
When he's not nursing hourly :-)

Isaac and Uncle David

Mommy and Isaac cuddling

Annie loved holding her little brother, and was always anxious for her next turn . . .

Ellie was far more interested in climbing around the room like a monkey and eating saltines and cookies from the snack room . . .

Little baby feet

My kids

Ellie and I both sporting awesome hairdos . . . and Ellie running around naked. That was a tad embarrassing when she'd make a run for the snack room in nothing but a diaper . . .

Grandpa KC, Annie, Isaac and Grandma Ruth

Father and son

The girls both got new baby dolls as a present from their brother -- they basically spent the next hour fighting over baby doll accessories, whining about who got the better gift . . .

Isaac ready to leave the hospital.

Isaac and I right before we left.

My baby boy.

The Boy With Two Middle Names

(Birth story and pictures coming soon -- there's some pictures of Isaac on facebook for now (my sister in law Andrea took and posted some great ones), but until I'm home I can't upload pics off my camera).

We've had Isaac's name picked out for quite awhile. Since before the ultrasound even. Isaac Clark. Isaac was a name we just 'fell into', no particular reason (although it does further our accidental 'vowel names' pattern Annie-Ellie-Isaac, A-E-I). Clark as a middle name holds a lot mroe signifigance. It's Greg's middle name, and his Dad's, and his Grandfather's and his Great-Grandmother's maiden name. So pretty much as 'family name' as you can get it. And I love it (I wanted to use it as a first name, but Greg was never convinced.)

But then something happened. I went overdue. Like, almost a full week overdue. And Isaac picked a very signifigant date to be born.

Thirty four years ago on July 6th, my mother in law, Ruth, gave birth to her first child. Kevin was born far too early though, and only lived for 8 hours or so.

Thirty four years later, Isaac Kevin Clark was born on his oldest Uncle's birthday.

We chose to use both names as middle names. It makes for a longer name, of course, but it carries so much signifigance to us, that we can't imagine a better name for our little boy. Add to that, when you just use initials for the middle names, it becomes Isaac K.C. -- and Greg's Dad goes by the name KC.

Thus, the boy with two middle names.

He's Here!

Isaac was the talk of the hospital last night (well, and me, I was pretty famous too). Our perfect 8 lb. 1 oz. little boy joined us quite dramatically in the middle of the night. Once that kid decided he was done stalling for 5 or 6 days, things moved pretty quickly. So quickly in fact, that one second the nurse is explaing tomorrow's lunch menu to me, and the next she is catching Isaac on the bed. No time to get the doctor or midwife, no time to even 'set up' the bed or room. Just a couple nurses made it in time to witness his birth, and that's only 'cause we were in the room closest to the nurses' desk. The nursery staff came running in to find the baby already cuddled up on my chest and crying.
I'll post pictures soon, as well as a bit more of Isaac's story, but for now I'm just happy to share that he's here, he's gorgeous and we're both doing well!

For Mine & Annie's Benefit

While Annie is sitting on my lap, 'patiently' waiting to feel Isaac kick, she loves to hear stories about herself in the womb. How anytime her Dad tried to feel her kick she'd go quiet. How whenever the doctor tried to listen to her heart, she'd roll away and kick him. How whenever I had another baby sat on my lap, she'd kick furiously until the baby was removed.

In preparation for Isaac's arrival, she's also loved going back and looking at all the pictures from when her and Ellie were born and in the hospital. Going through them tonight, her and I picked out our favorites of each girl's first three days. I decided to post 'em -- just for fun, and future reference and all that . . .

Here's Annie's very first picture. So happy. :-)
She came out screaming, and kept it up for quite awhile -- all the nurses and doctor were laughing, and as the doctor left the room she chuckled and said, "Good luck with that one."

One of our first family pictures.
Not to sound vain or anything, but for just having had a baby, does my hair rock or what!? I can't get it that smooth and shiny now!

Annie in my arms on our first full day in the hospital. She was so teeny. (6lbs 8oz.) Interestingly, Ellie was even smaller at just under 6lbs., but no baby has ever seemed as tiny to me as Annie did those first few days.

Annie and I almost ready to go home.
(Compare this picture to the ones right after Ellie's pregnancy, and it becomes pretty clear which pregnancy I gained 15 lbs. with and which one I gained 40 lbs. with -- I think my face is thinner in these pictures, two days after giving birth, then in my wedding pictures!)

Big yawn.

Dad & Baby Popeye getting ready to leave the hospital.

Our first full day home -- in Greg's favorite 'outfit' ever for Annie -- a Tigger robe.
(Dang, she was beautiful!)

Here's Ellie -- two years and one day after the birth of our first. She is also mightily pissed off.

Ellie and I in one of our first pictures together.

Ellie, proud new big sister Annie and Daddy.

My girls.

One of our only pictures of just the three of us from that morning.

Ellie -- one day old.

Getting ready to leave the hospital -- me with my baby, Annie with hers.

Ellie's first several days were at home on the bili-lights.

So, for no other purpose than to have them saved on my blog, those are the first three days of each of my girls lives. I can't believe we're like 10-12 weeks from another first three days!