Sunday Bloody Sunday

(Sorry, couldn't resist)

Thanks again to all of you who have left your best wishes and sent happy thoughts our way! Now that we're settled in at home and L'il I (who needs a new blogname) is getting used to the noises and chaos that abounds in a house of men, I have a few minutes to sit down and tell his story.

Those of you who have been following the blog for the past few weeks know that his arrival has been a long time coming. Gestational diabetes (ahem), premature labor and subsequent bedrest and excruciatingly slow dilation finally came to a head (literally) on Sunday morning. If you read my long, rambling post in the wee hours that day, you know that I was not of sound mind at that point. I had been contracting every 10 minutes for three days and was absolutely exhausted. I had been alert since Friday a.m. when I sounded the "yellow" alert with my husband and the strain of watching and waiting had taken its toll. I went to bed sometime between 1:30 and 2:00 a.m. and slept on a towel -- just in case.

For yet another night, I slept fitfully, but made it through the night without making any significant progress (other than the serious nesting jag I had the night before). Woke up in the morning and went back to nesting -- washed some dishes, did some laundry -- before settling in for some internet research on "prolonged latency labor phase" and e-mail checking.

Before too long, all the fluids I'd been drinking kicked in (dehydration and a full bladder impede labor so I had been drinking and peeing round the clock for days). I jumped up to make a dash for the bathroom and BAM! Did I pee myself?

Horrified, I raced to the bathroom with a change of clothes before my kids could come down the steps and start the teasing (I can only imagine what two little boys would do). But it just kept coming. And then I knew. D-day had arrived.

I was nearly as horrified when I called the doctor and DR. SERIOUS returned the call. Oh no. Sunday was supposed to be Dr. Wonderful! Dr. Serious told me to get my affairs in order and head over to the hospital and she'd take care of letting Dr. Wonderful know I was on my way (whew). Woke the hubby and the boys, took Zee and the Sniffer to the in-laws and we alit to the hospital.

To make a long story short, I had made ZERO progress dilating. Dr. Wonderful arrived and I asked if she wanted to use this opportunity to reschedule our date with pitocin. She laughed and ordered the drip. The very nice anesthesiologist talked me into an epidural and put that in and the waiting game started.

We arrived at the hospital at 10:30, got the drip going sometime between 11 and 11:30 a.m. and the epidural went in around 1:00 or so. Just before the epidural, a cervical check showed only moderate improvement -- 4 cm. Ugh.

Now I should say that I'm a spoiled pregnant woman. Zee and the Sniffer came after incredibly short labors and swift dilations (and water that broke at the hospital and not on the floor at home). Pitocin is pain in a bag, and the fact that it wasn't working quickly was making me mad. Granted, the epidural provided some relief from the pain, but the wait was excruciating. Not to mention the fact that L'il I kept falling off the monitor, which freaked out the Muggles and had them turning me from side to side constantly.

Almost three hours after the epidural (around 3:45 or so, I think), the doctor, my nurse, hubby and I were talking and my wonderful husband asked why no one had bothered to sit me up and try letting gravity do its thing. The nurse explained that the babe's heartrate kept falling off the monitor and Dr. Wonderful pointed out that they could always put me back on my back but it was worth a shot.

And so I sat up at 4:00 p.m. Sitting pretty at a full FIVE cm, 100% effacement and a baby sitting at 0 station (right there and ready as soon as the door opened).

At 4:10 p.m., I was hit with what I call "pushing pressure" -- the kind where there's no question what's going on. Hit the nurse button before whimpers gave way to sobs and Dr. Wonderful came in like a whirlwind and announced, "And now here's a change!" I don't think she even put KY on her glove to check and then said, "Oh my. Plus two. That was FAST. Do NOT push. Whatever you do, do NOT push. I have to get gowned and get my table. Do NOT push. I'll be right back."

And right back she came (I think everything was sitting outside my room), they managed to slide me down to the foot of the table, feet went up and FINALLY I could push. Now keep in mind that what was happening is all a bit spotty to me, but I would guestimate that this whole transition from being moved to a seated position, blowing through five cm in record time and getting ready to deliver took about five minutes. I remember seeing Dr. Wonderful come in tying on her mask, laying the drape over my knees and giving me the go ahead. After that, it's only pain and counting.

I have only one statement to make this long story a little shorter:

3 contractions + 4 pushes = full baby delivery

Now before anyone rolls their eyes and says, "We should all be so lucky," I'd like to point out that it's no picnic to dilate 5 centimeters in 5-10 minutes. Sure, I may have only had to push a few times, but I had days of labor and then a furious finish. This may be my third baby, but it hurt more than the others and once again the epidural did nothing for that part. I suppose this justification is unnecessary, but I feel the need so work with me :)

And so, after weeks of dilation (remember, I have been holding at 1 cm since mid July), we finally got to see L'il I.

And he realized that his head made it through delivery, and this seems to have delighted him to no end. (Hubby told me later it was a yawn, but I like my story better, LOL)



And he looked around at the folks in the room.


Before finally getting to meet his Mommy. (And I mean finally -- I didn't get to touch him for about 20 minutes while they cleaned him up. One of the nurses was particularly stubborn and even though my OB kept pointing out that they needed to bring him to me, she must have been deaf or tuning her out. For the record, that's Dr. Wonderful.)


He got his picture taken with both parents:


And then he got to nurse a little bit (a real natural, I must say) before the paparazzi arrived (my mom, aunt and uncle, father-in-law and, of course, his big brothers -- who got to see him first).

L'il I weighed in at 4 lbs, 13.2 oz and measured 18.25 inches. His size dictated that he be taken to the NICU for evaluation (even though he Apgared at 8 and 9) for two hours. So I visited with company before everyone cleared out to let me rest for a bit before he came back to me.

I will tell you one thing: L'il I may be a skinny little thing (have you ever met me? It makes sense) but he's sturdy. He's already holding his own with his brothers.

The Sniffer adores him:

And Zee is content, too (though way too cool to say so).


Tomorrow's entry: The (Blood) Pressure Goes High for Mom.