Perspective

So I wrote a post last June, which you can read here, in which I documented me finding out I was pregnant and telling my husband. Two weeks ago, I asked my husband to tell his side of the story, and here it is.

The Sum of All Fears or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the bump

So I come in from a morning run, tired and sweaty and just looking forward to a stretch and a shower and then some breakfast. I walk in the door with music still going and take off my headphones to say hi to Keighley, whom I had left asleep but assumed was up and about by now. I get no response after trying a few times so I guessed that she was just sleeping in. Took off my shoes, put away my headphones and running belt, refilled my water and finally made my way upstairs.

Now at this point I should probably state that I am really bad at being surprised. I have an annoying knack for figuring them out beforehand so it takes more than just “not telling me” to not tell me something. So when Keighley finally responded to “Where are ya?” with “I’m upstairs, I have something to show you”, the thought crossed my mind: What if it’s a pregnancy test?

At the risk of digressing too much, I will backpedal one more time to tell you that we had been “not trying, but not preventing” for about four months at this point, so you can understand why the thought was among the list of them that pop up when she says “I have something to show you”. The other things that came up were “I’m too sweaty and gross for any fun times”, “I hope whatever it is, it isn’t another puppy”and “Where did you move the furniture to?”.

I approach cautiously, not sure what to expect, and as I push open the door, I quickly notice a few things. Keighley is standing on the other side of the bed, she’s fully clothed so there goes one possibility. I hear no barking, so no new puppy. Furniture is intact, no new layout. But there’s the camera on the tripod, and then I finally see it. The pile on the bed.

Keighley had been keeping a few things for just such an occasion: a few books, a thirt, A ONESIE! “Who’s gonna be a dad? THIS GUY “. I looked at the pile for a second. Then I looked at Keighley. Then back at the pile. At this point, I’m not sure what I said, but it was probably to the effect of “Really?!”.

I walked over to her and gave her a big hug and kiss and she pulls out a little plastic baggy with no less than four different types of pregnancy tests. Now, they all use different symbols but I’m pretty sure it’s universally accepted that a smiley face or two blue lines means your life is no longer the same.

I was excited, but terrified. We had talked about it, we had a general plan, we knew that we’d make it work, etc. but we hadn’t guessed for one second that it would happen so relatively easily. In an instant, it went from worrying about the future of this abstract concept to a defined timeline and a concrete reality.

I spent a while just accepting that it was real, and I still can’t believe it to this day even though he’s already a month old. That Sunday I was truly surprised and couldn’t have been more excited about it.

The Best of 2014: Part 2

The car ride to the hospital wasn't easy, but my husband was a champ and helped me breathe through the contractions and did his best to avoid all the potholes. I had this moment of realization on the ride, a moment a lot of moms talk about. It's this kind of surreal feeling, being pregnant, and you can't imagine how your life will change but then there's this moment when you know that you will never be the same. In the car, I started crying as I realized that on this drive in the opposite direction, we would be a family of three.

We arrived at the hospital a little before 5am and went to triage. The Thursday prior I had been 2-3cm dilated and 100% effaced at my midwife appointment. I knew that they wanted me to be 4cm before they admitted me, so I was crossing my fingers and toes that I had made some progress in 5 days, even though I knew they had told me I likely wasn't going to be sent home. The very nice overnight nurse hooked me up to both the baby heartbeat monitor and the contraction monitor. The baby's heartbeat had nice variance and my contractions were coming in these waves. I wouldn't get one for seven or eight minutes and then I'd be struck with ten-ish minutes or so of contractions at a time. The nurse monitored me for about 45 minutes, and was so tired I was falling asleep between waves. I was also terribly uncomfortable being strapped to the bed. The nurse checked me and said I was a solid 3cm, stretchy to 4cm, so she would go ahead and admit me. I asked if I could PLEASE walk the hall because, OUCH, I really needed to move. I was unstrapped and got up to walk; it was about 6am.

I walked and leaned and contracted and walked and leaned and contracted for a couple hours. My in-laws arrived, a nurse prepared the birthing tub for me, and I contracted and contracted and contracted. Pete, my mom, and my mother-in-law were fabulous; all I wanted was pressure on my back and they gave it to me. They switched off between the three of them so their hands didn't get tired which was smart because I ended up asking for this particular soothing technique the entirety of labor. I got in the prepared tub around 9:30 and it felt so good. Pete got in with me and continued the back pressure, which was amazing. Things got fuzzy about this time because I was so tired and the water so warm and the pain getting really intense. I know for sure exactly what time my water broke because I made sure to check, but aside from that, this is about when all sense of time was lost to me. It had to be about ten o'clock when the nurse, Gee, asked me if I wanted to get out of the tub and walk around again, to which I said yes. I say about ten o'clock because my water definitely broke at 10:10 and that happened after being asked if I wanted to walk, getting up from the water and standing there through a wave of contractions, and then saying "Something popped." It was a strange feeling, my water breaking, and that was when I became apologetic.

It took three people to get me out of the tub because the contractions intensified exponentially with my water broken. I kept saying 'sorry'; "sorry this is taking so long," "sorry I can't do this on my own," "sorry I'm leaking everywhere." I apologized for everything from then until E was born. The nurse who ended up being with me during delivery, Aimee, said I was the most polite laboring woman she had ever nursed.

After getting out of the tub, someone decided to evaluate the water because it looked as though there may be meconium. My nurse kept me in my room until they made a determination, just in case. If there was meconium, I needed to be monitored and the baby checked, if not, I could walk. When it was determined there was meconium, I was strapped back up and asked to stay in bed. Things got hairy. I lost the ability to really control the pain because I couldn't move and get comfortable the way I wanted to. I don't know how long I was fighting through these contractions, but I was inconsolably in pain and the one thing I was holding on to was that I was making progress. Except when the nurse checked me and said I was still only 4cm, I just knew I couldn't take it any longer. I asked, please, for pain relief. Though I had really wanted to avoid an epidural, I got one and it was the best decision I could have made, and not just because it really did relieve the pain. The biggest problem I was having was not progressing because I wasn't relaxing because I was exhausted. The epidural let me sleep most of the afternoon, and when I woke up, I felt awesome and was ready to have a baby.

So the anesthesiologist came in and, though he was short both in stature and attitude, did exactly what he had to do quickly and efficiently. he gave me what was called a patient controlled analgesia epidural, which you can read about here. Basically, I was in charge of how much pain relief I got. The anesthesiologist gave me a test dose after putting the line in and I fell deeply asleep. When I eventually woke all the way up, the nurse checked me, found I was 8cm dilated, and took my button away so that I would feel everything when it came time to push.

Now, there were actually a lot of things going on while I was sleeping. It's important to mention that the baby was posterior, meaning his back was against my back, which is exactly the opposite of how he was supposed to be. Also, I had an anterior placenta. These two things made it difficult to accurately capture baby's heartbeat through a seriously contracting uterus. So while I was asleep, baby's heart rate kept dropping way more than anyone was happy to see. So all kinds of people kept showing up and having me change sleeping positions; from my left to my right, from my back to my hands and knees. It was quite scary, but having my midwife mother-in-law there really helped. If the nursing staff weren't reacting quickly enough, she took action. If something happened faster than my husband or I could understand, she made sure to explain to us what was going on. We took our cues from her. If she wasn't freaking out, we weren't freaking out, even if there was a lot of action taking place. I managed to half sleep through it all.

When I fully woke up, not only was I 8cm but the midwife and nursing staff had had enough of baby's heart rate being all over the place and not getting as good of a reading as they would like. They decided to put a scalp monitor in, which was fine with me, although I was sad that they would be hurting my little one before he'd even really entered the world. It definitely did help a lot, but it meant that when his heart rate did drop, it became much more of a panic situation as it was much more accurate.

Eventually, I was checked and found to be at 10cm, but I wasn't really ready to push, so the nursing staff continued to monitor me as I labored down (being left alone until my body was ready to push, no coaching allowed!). I was flipped onto my hands and knees because of the baby's heart rate, and that's the position that the need to bear down found me in. I truly does feel like needing to poop. It was about 6pm. I think maybe this is a good point to let the birthing pictures take over the story.

When pushing began.

Sympathy pushing.

I pushed and pushed, but he hadn't quite rotated all the way out of the posterior position. He got a little stuck halfway out.

Because he was stuck, the midwife shoved his head all the way back in, and with the next push, he was born!

My midwife's, my mother-in-law's, and my hands brought him into the world.

It's a boy!

Meeting our son.

Skyping my dad!

With Granny.

With mumsey.

With grandpa.

With my friend Kelly, who took the pictures.

With Aimee, my favorite nurse.

I had a second degree tear and needed nine stitches, but I didn't care. I was on cloud 9. Everett Albert Johnson was born on December 9th at 7:01pm. He weighed in at 7 lbs. 13 oz. and 21 in. long. This sweet little boy has so changed our lives and we are desperately in love. He is the best of 2014.

The Best of 2014: Part 1

Unless I'm 43 weeks pregnant, it's time for a labor and delivery story! I'm happy and proud to tell you that my SON was born on the 9th of December, two days before he was due. It was a profoundly moving experience that has changed me to the core. Now, I'm a mom.

The first indication I would soon meet my child came on December 5th. My mom had arrived on Wednesday the 3rd, and we had enjoyed a few days out and about together. On Friday, we were doing much the same and stopped into Chipotle, one of my favorite medium-speed food establishments, for lunch. I had to pee, as I usually did with a 39-week gestational baby pressing on my bladder. Without divulging too much, I found I was losing my mucus plug. I told my mom and crossed my fingers and toes that something would happen sooner rather than later, knowing in the back of my mind that losing your mucus plug can mean something or absolutely nothing. Ultimately, I really did not want to go to work on Monday, which was the plan barring baby. But the entire weekend came and went without fanfare. My hubs called my MIL Sunday evening to see what her opinion was on working Monday (she's a midwife), and she said to go about business as usual. That was seriously disheartening, so much so that I resigned myself to believing it would be weeks before this kid would come.

Monday morning my mom got ready for work with me. She drove me in and then spent the day in Newport while I bounced on my birth ball, listened to my co-workers continue to predict my birth scenario, and felt sorry for myself. When I left for the day, all the women I work with insisted on hugging me, just in case, and it's a good thing they did!

That evening, my mom and I made pancakes and bacon for dinner. We sat down to eat about 6pm, and that's when the contractions began. They were five minutes apart from the get-go, and I was so resigned to the 18th as my babe's birth date that I was in complete denial. My mom and hubs insisted on timing my contractions but I kept not telling them when they were happening or how long they were lasting, until they both were pretty upset with me, and then I felt compelled to tell them. So we hung around watching Miranda (check it out on Hulu; it's hilarious) and timing my contractions. My mom thought we should head to the hospital right away, but I had done enough reading about jumping the gun that I suggested going to bed instead. That was about 10pm.

At 1 am, I woke up because I was having a contraction that needed me to get on my hands and knees. They weren't particularly painful, but I found that certain positions were terribly uncomfortable and others were much better. I labored alone for a while and intended on letting my husband and mom sleep longer but I inadvertently woke my husband by leaning on the bed and rocking. He sat up with me and we discussed baby names through contractions for a bit over an hour. By this point, the contractions were pretty regularly a minute long and a minute apart, so my husband called his mom who was planning on being at the birth to catch the baby. She lives a couple of hours away, and there was an ice storm that night, so we wanted to make sure she took her time and arrived safely. She said she thought we should call the hospital, actually, so we did. They said we should come in! To waste a little more time, I took a shower, which felt phenomenal! I woke my mom, had some leftover bacon, and at 4:30 am, we went to the hospital.

I'll take a pause here and be back for more later!