PSA: This will be a detailed, dramatic, and probably slightly exaggerated account of Lenny’s/Andrew’s birth. I will spare no medically relevant details, so if you’re not comfortable knowing exactly where babies come from you need to skip this post. Dad, this means you. Oh, and I was on drugs for 90% of this story so you’ll understand if a few parts are fuzzy/completely false.
Okay, so our journey begins Tuesday night, January 27th. Being my child, it’s not surprisingthat Andrew was bothstubborn and dramatic. I’d spent the previous week going to see Dr. Doom and to triage to try and get my cervix to do its job and get out of the way with minimal progress. (That’s where the stubborness comes in.) We decided to induce, and Mother Nature decided to up the drama factor by sending an ice storm to Texas. Thanks, lady.
Anyway, Tuesday night we got to the hospital before the roads got too bad and got settled in. I was given a dose of cytotec to bully my cervix and we began to wait. I was able to forgo the second dose at midnight because for once my cervix was cooperating. I was also given ambien to try and help me sleep. It didn’t work at all and I stayed up all night freaking out about labor/parenthood/pooping on the table.
At 6:00 a.m. the Pitocin Posse rolled in. The contractions picked up immediately, and around 11 Dr. Doom broke my water and signed me up for the glorious epidural. I was 4 cm at that point and not too miserable, but the anesthesiologist was going in to do a series of c-sections and wouldn’t be available for a while. The epidural didn’t hurt at all, but it also didn’t work all that well.
I was able to relax for about an hour or so before the contractions picked up again. Now I had to breathe through them, listen to my iPod, and think of ways to harm Mr. Aggie for doing this to me just to make it through each one.
I was somewhere between 8-9 cm when the epi wore off. My butt was numb and so were my ladybits, but that was all. It was not much comfort considering nothing was happening down there yet. The lovely anesthesiologist came back finally to top off the epi but it didn’t seem to help. This is the part where I seriously began to lose my confidence/mind.
Eventually I was told by my fantastic nurse that it was time to start pushing. Here’s where the random numbness became a problem. My pushing seemed to be about as efficient as a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey since I had no idea what I was doing.
And tried to breathe.
And said I couldn’t do it. Repeatedly.
And meant it.
And pooped on the table at least four times.
Mr. Aggie held one leg the whole time and the wonderful nurse held the other. She was always extremely honest with me, which I didn’t always appreciate (Me: “I’m going to die. How much longer do you think?” Her: “I’d say at least 45 minutes.”).
Throughout my labor/pushing I was extremely quiet. I never yelled or cried out (though I certainly cried). Screaming is for people who have extra energy and I wasn’t one of them. Especially after the meds wore off, I was just trying to survive.
After an hour and a half of pushing with no break (and minimal drugs, did I mention that?) Dr. Doom was finally called. He swept into the room moments later and commandeered a front row seat. I pushed through three contractions and the baby finally came out. I really didn’t think that would ever happen.
Once the kid arrived with no bruising/no coneheadeness it was obivious why it sucked so bad for me and took so long: he was never engaged and I had to push him all.the.way.
It seemed like an eternity before he finally told us it was a boy. I don’t remember my reaction-I think I was just numb and exhausted. Of course we’ll tell Andrew how magical the moment was, but honestly I would have reacted with the same enthusiasm if he’d announced what he had for lunch.
The kid started wailing immediately and the nurses were shocked by his size. Once they put him on the scale it was confirmed- 9lbs 15.3 oz. I wish I’d eaten a little more ice cream so it could be an even 10, but whatever. He received a 9 and 10 on his Apgars (why that is something parents need to share I don’t know). Mr. Aggie soon got to hold him, and stood by my side. The nurse who’d handed him to Mr. Aggie said we should name him Andrew. She had no idea it was one of the three choices we were considering for a boy name, and it was my top contender.
Mr. Aggie agreed and said there was no question this kid was meant to be an Andrew, and that was that. Ten months of wondering/debating/questioning all resolved within thirty seconds.
Resolving what happened to my nether regions was not such an efficient process. Dr. Doom worked silently down there for over forty minutes putting things back together in layers (!). I had a forth degree tear and as of this writing, the idea of pooping still brings me to my knees. It still hurts as bad as an epi-free contraction at 9 cm, and all you get out of it is poop.
Other than that my recovery has gone well. There’s still a ton of upkeep that has to be done every time I go to the bathroom and the term “sitz bath” is one of my favorite new words, but I hardly notice. I have the most gorgeous child who is sleeping on my husband right now and I couldn’t be more thankful. Even feeling like I’m passing Stonehenge every time I defecate is worth it to be Andrew’s Mommy.