He's Here

I had been having pains all night.
But this was pregnancy, it's painful.  So I didn't think much of it.
At 6am I told John.
Thrown into alertness "Should we go to the hospital!?!"
"No," I said, disinterestedly "I'm sure it's just braxton hicks."  And I went back to sleep.

At about 7 I got up.  Still hurting.
John: "Now should we go?"
Me: "I'm gonna take a shower."

I don't really think I'm in labor (we're at 35 weeks, after all), but, if I am, I'm going to start the process as clean as possible.
I have a hard time making it through the shower.  I get out early because I can't stand.  Dripping, I decide to look at a clock for the first time this morning.  (John had filled me in later regarding the timeline, in case your curious).  What I was determined was braxton-hicks contractions were coming 3 minutes apart.
I got dressed and walked downstairs.

I saw John on the couch.
Me: "We should go to the hospital."
He sees me slip on my shoes.
John: "Oh!  You mean now!" as he springs towards the door.

In case anyone thinks John was being dense, I'd like to point out that I had already told him that I wasn't in labor-twice.  And I hadn't actually filled him in on the 3 minutes apart bit.

Just a few blocks from our house John says "Shouldn't you call your mom?".
I huff and puff a bit and roll my eyes.  Why bother if I'm just going to walk around the hospital a bit and get sent home?
Fine.  So I send her a text.  It's 8:45am.

It's a 15 minute drive to the hospital and, despite John's asking, I insist that there is no need to speed.
When we get to the maternity ward I let out with the oh, so convincing "Hi, I think I'm in labor."  (At this point I'm not as confident that this isn't the real thing).
They check their calendar-"Oh," I say "I'm not due for another month".
After a pause, they tell me to go to this side room while they call the doctor over to check me.
I go.  I lay down.  And a minute or two later I look at John.
"I need drugs, NOW."
I'm finally convinced that I'm in labor.
He asks the nurses-they can't administer drugs until after the doctor checks me.
We wait.
"John, I want DRUGS."
He goes to find the doctor-who just stepped in the ward.
He checks me and you can see his eyes pop open "She's at 8, plus 1-get her to the delivery room."

In case you don't know, that's 8 out of 10 cm and plus 1 pretty much means his head is just itching to come out.

"I want drugs!"
"Too late for that now." the doctor informs me.
As John later described, it was as if "DOES NOT COMPUTE" was streaming across my forehead.
And it's true.
I had just barely accepted that I was in labor.  I certainly hadn't come to accept that baby was coming any time soon and definitely wasn't ready for him to come without an epidural.

The nurses wheel me over (I assured them that I couldn't walk).
I'm not sure what everyone else kept saying, but I kept asking for drugs.
Over and over.  And over.  And over.  No joke.
The nurses quickly realized that they should just stop talking to me and talking to John.  I don't blame them-when anything you say is combated with "I WANT DRUGS!" the conversation would get old, fast.

And here I started letting out what I think would be described as "primal screams".  Honest to goodness, I had no control.  I actually remember thinking "am I doing that?!".  Then I'd close my mouth and it would stop.  Then I opened my mouth and this screaming just came out.
At this point I imagine the nurses and doctor wished that I hadn't had a background in vocal music and was unable to sustain the screams for so long.

I do remember the doctor saying something about focusing that energy and using it--and I was screaming again.  If I recall correctly, that is when the doctor gave John this "I'm not getting through, hows about you take that end and I'll cover stuff down here?" kind of a look.  Maybe not, but I swear it happened.

Here is where my brilliant labor logic came into play.  You see, I hadn't stopped asking for drugs-you know, in between those primal screams.  And it occured to me-if I get a c-section, they have to give me drugs!  At which point I began insisting that I have a c-section.  Didn't matter that he's practically out now, I wanted a c-section.
Of course, my ever-cool doctor calmly glanced over and replied "How about we just have this baby?".
And we did.  By 9:10am John had texted our family pictures.
9:10am.  Remember what time I texted my mom?  Go ahead and scroll up to check.
That's right, 8:45am.  When you account for the 15 minute drive, that's 10 minutes.  Everything that happened in that hospital happened in (probably less than) 10 minutes.
Yeah.  No kidding.

But John William Adams was born.  6 lbs and .1oz.
He was named for my paternal grandpa (John) and John's maternal grandpa (William).
Of course, the naming is a whole 'nother story in itself :)

Two Stories Meet

The end of Analee's beginning story and the start of Bub's overlap.
You see, Analee was only 5 weeks old when Bub was conceived.

Nursing was horrible.
Lots of pain.
Lots of bleeding.
Lots of crying.      Mine and hers.

When she was about 4 weeks old I couldn't nurse more than maybe a minute, literally.  It was so excruciating.  I had started pumping, which hurt but not nearly as bad.  It cut down on the pain, and therefore my crying, but Analee was still having a tough time.
I was 'nursing' and pumping all day and my supply didn't budge.  We traveled to visit family.  Our last stop was Nebraska, where my parents live.  About then I realized that my milk was not enough.

I had never been an advocate for nursing or anything and didn't feel too strongly about it, but suddenly I felt like a failure as a mother.  I couldn't even feed my baby.  I was shocked by how important this suddenly was to me.  I didn't know what to do when my dad suggested I go talk to my mom.  I had one of those "oh, yeah!" moments and went to confide in my mother
My mom is amazing.  She is supportive and loving and understands how to respond to all the crazy hormone-ed emotions.  After reminding me that she had totally been there, this was the jist of what she said:

Giving your child formula is feeding her.
You love her enough to give her what she needs-even if it's not from you. 
That is not failing.
That is loving.
That is being a good mother.

We got some formula.

Theoretically I was nursing too, but really it was a combo of pumping and formula.
Nursing was still extremely painful and the opportunity to not be in a boatload of pain every hour was not one I could pass up.
And yes, every hour-or more sometimes.  Not only was it painful but my supply was low.  Pumping all day and drinking all day and whatever else I tried didn't help. 
Eventually we found out why.
A few weeks later we realized I was pregnant.
A few months later...say, nine-ish...we realized I had been dealing with depression.

But one bit at a time.
I'll admit, though it's still hard to, when I found out I was pregnant I cried.

When you have a baby you always say that's it's all worth it.  You tell your war birth story with zeal and with pride gaze down at your little one.  "It was all worth it."  "I'd do it again."
I said that.
And I meant it.
But I didn't realize what it meant.

I want to say-right now, four and a half years later, I'm glad that little guy came just when he did.
In fact, I know he came exactly when he was supposed to.
But that doesn't mean it was easy.

I can't remember most of that pregnancy.  Most of that year.  It's all dark.
I wish I could, for everyone who was in them, but I can't.  I'm sorry for that. 
Perhaps, eventually, it will come to me.

But at 35 weeks we drove to the hospital.
 

The Dad's Side of Babe's Birth.

So now that my wife has finished her Babe story, let me give my abbreviated one.

We had been trying to get pregnant from Day 1.  In fact, we were in La La Land just after we got hitched, going wherever anybody wanted to take a picture of us, when Anika's dad brusquely asked "don't you two have a room somewhere?"  Yeah, OK, Dad, we'll go there.  We'd talked about kids before, and both wanted them, but to have Anika's dad tell us to go was a bit of a shock.  It was the moment between sex being forbidden and sex being acceptable or even desired.  Dad's great with changes like that.  I'm OK.  Anika's a bit of a wus.

Four months later, I think she was freaking out.  Her mom got pregnant right away, and she figured it'd be easy.  Luckily, the Lord knows us pretty well.  He was right, again.  Her memory of me finding out that we were pregnant is pretty accurate.  A few of us knew she was pregnant before the test said so.  I don't know how to explain it, but my wife is just different when she's pregnant.  I know almost right away.  This was one of those times.  So yes, I did burst into the apartment after washing cars, and I saw the test, and I was excited, but I was also terrified.

You see, I grew up with a single mother.  She took me and ran from an abusive husband when I was a baby, and though she'd gotten married again when I was a teen, it was a short marriage.  So I'd never had any real father figure around me until I was a teen, and instead of it being my stepfather, it was a friend from church that didn't have kids younger than me.  So I'd never really been around kids.  I thought for sure I'd drop Analee and break her.

9 months later, and I'm starting to wonder if this baby will ever come.  Finally, on the day of my wife's inducement, my brother- and sister-in-law helped me with my paper route (one of them threw up along the way), and I got home quick enough to get my wife to the hospital at 6 AM.  ...and then we sat and waited.  Pioneer children sang as they walked and walked and walked.  My wife had needles in her, so I sat quiet and bored as I waited and waited and waited.  Through a "What Not to Wear" marathon.

ALL.  DAY.  LONG. 

For lunch, I left to get some food.  Best.  Break.  EVER!  Wendy's frosties > What Not to Wear.  Seriously.

At around 5, the party started.  You hear a lot about how wives feel in the delivery room, but not much about husbands.  Let me tell you the husband side of the story.  Being a husband who can do nothing to help his wife is just about the worst position a man can ever see.  There are only so many times a wife can hear "can I help in any way?" before she wants to punch a husband in the face.  Likewise, I only continued asking because I never got an answer!

Labor was...well...labor.  Two steps forward for every one and a half steps back.  I remember Analee's head popping through (almost literally), and then the doctor telling my wife to stop pushing.  Her face gave a look of "Does not compute, divide by zero" as one could tell that her body wanted to push, still.  Finally, Analee was out.  Anika and I had talked about how the whole post-birth thing would go.  She would take a nap (she sure as heck deserved one!), and I would follow the baby.  Well at Stonewall Jackson Hospital, there really is no "follow the baby."  She stayed in our room.  And Anika didn't take a nap.  You could see the Oxytocin hit and her arms flew out and she said something along the lines of "gimme my baby!"

Me, being the knucklehead that I am, said something along the lines of "are you ready for #2?"  I wasn't the most favored person in that room that day.  (But I wasn't far from being accurate, as you'll find later if you don't already know.)  Such is the life of a new father.

She's Born (I Promise!)

Re-cap: I showed up at the hospital at 6am for an induction and got an (heavenly) epidural at about 11.
I had been slowly progressing (centimeter-wise) until about 3pm.  I was at 8cm (out of 10) but my body stopped.  My doctor sat down to talk with me.  I had stalled for a little over an hour at this point.  He explained that stalling isn't a bad thing, in fact normally it's no big deal-except that I was already at 8cm.  My body was practically ready to go and just stopped, kinda sudden like.  In his experience, when that happens it's usually because something is wrong and your body wants it to be right before the baby comes out (i.e. the cord is wrapped around the baby).
We went over my family history again and he decided to give it more time (going 'by the book' would call for a c-section).  He gave me an hour.
45 minutes into that hour I was at 9cm, then 10.
At this point I'd like to say that not all epidurals are created equal.  It would be nice, but I understand that there are lots of variables.  You are, after all, sticking a giant needle into someone's spine-it's not exact.  But combine that with the leaking (meds going onto my bed instead of in my back) and the epidural didn't help much when it came to the pushing.
I was not a fan of the pushing.
I asked John how long it took-he said hours.
I'm guessing two hours.

Two Hours.

I don't know how long other ladies push, but 2 hours is not cool.
If you pushed longer than that then you should probably be exalted right now.

In all the haze I do (vaguely) remember an odd conversation I had round about that time.
My mom, trying to lighten the mood, points out that this is what I always want, right-being center stage?
I made some comment about not remembering the audition and wanting to switch parts with somebody.  When no one took me up on the offer I asked if I could read the script, as I didn't seem to have one.
The doctor got a kick out of it.
Sometimes I wonder what kinds of things people usually say when they're in labor.
I chose to have the mirror up and even had someone put a towel over the tv because I could see myself in the reflection.  I didn't say it, but I remember when I was asked if I wanted the mirror down (so I could watch her come out) my shocked brain spat "I've got to feel this and you want me to see it too?!".  (For the record "it" refers to the pain, not my daughter!)  Funny, though, the moment the doctor said he could see her my whole head shot up, looking for that mirror (or really, a glimpse of my daughter).  Thankfully a wise hand carefully angled the mirror just as I looked up.

Now, we learn in anatomy (and sometimes in family and child development classes) that the largest shot of oxytocin a woman will get is released just as her baby is born.  I can attest that that is true (at least the first time around).  I could tell you the exact moment when it came.  A chemical switch flipped and extreme pain became extreme joy.
I thought I would want my little one to be cleaned up a bit before I got her.  Work that hard and she might as well be cute, right?  With that switch it didn't matter.  I found myself reaching down, calling out "my baby!".  It didn't matter what she looked like and frankly, I don't remember.  What mattered was that we were each exactly where we were supposed to be.

Friday, July 13th.  7:20pm (ish).  7lbs 14oz of sweetness.

I have to admit, come about 7pm we thought it would be really fun to have the numbers line up.
date: 7/13, time: 7:13, weight: 7lbs 13oz.
We were close.

Oh-another shout out to the awesomeness of my doctor.  My mom told me this bit after the fact (since I was a little distracted at the time).
When Babe's head came out the cord was wrapped around her neck (she was okay, perhaps because her hand was stuck between her neck and the cord).  One of the nurses started to tell me, but the doctor very quickly stopped her.  He smoothly unwrapped it, checked her and encouraged me to keep pushing.
So, two things.  First, remember when I stalled at 8cm?  Well, looks like that was probably why.  And second, can you imagine the panic I would go into if I knew that the cord was around her neck?  She wasn't even out of me yet, I needed to finish what I was doing and they needed to make sure she was okay before I was given news like that.
I love my doctor.  Smart, compassionate, good sense of humor-the guy is awesome:)

One last factoid before we close the story-both Babe and Gideon were born on Friday the 13th.
I'm feeling pretty lucky.
Pretty blessed.

The Start of Babe...Part 2

I think we left off in July.
With the swelling.
And the itching.

It was nearing the end of the pregnancy when we moved from the apartment to a house a few blocks down.
The process was horrific.  Let's just leave it at that.
 
But, a few weeks later, my whole family came out!
It was fun and crazy and I'm still in LOVE with the breakfast hash my dad made:)
Let me tell you something.  Growing up we had plenty of stories about dad's cooking.  It wasn't that he wasn't good at it, but when you combine his military background with a greater appreciation for spice than us little kids had, well, we didn't always see eye to eye regarding what we would call "good" meals.  So I was pleasantly surprised when I thought his hash was delicious (I'm still kind of a wuss when it comes to spice-just ask John).  I guess I shouldn't have been, though.  He is the one who taught me how to make scrambled eggs.  And I make some pretty good scrambled eggs, if I do say so myself.
Anywho, it was fun and we had a birthday party for my little brother.  Being 5 his excitement was contagious and I almost forgot that this baby still wasn't out.  Almost.

Her original due date was July 4th (!)...then it was moved to July 7th (meh)...and we induced on July 13th.  By then my dad had already gone home, which makes me sad.  I wish I had had the confidence to say-no, I'd like to induce now.  But I understand the doctor's desire to let my body do it's own thing.
My body, however, wanted to take a little too long (at two weeks post-partum all sorts of bad things can start happening, I know lots of ladies are against inducement and don't like how it affects the mother-but, put simply, I'm more than happy to take a hit for my kid).


The night before I go in I'm seriously psyching myself out. Can't sleep, I'm throwing up.  And, of course, because of the inducement, I couldn't eat anything after midnight.  So by the time I stopped throwing up I couldn't eat.  My poor mom, trying to help me discovers that my 3 year old sister is throwing up, too.
If anyone is wondering, John had a paper route, so he got some needed sleep and was gone for the early morning hours.
Despite it all we got to the hospital at 6am.  By 7 (I think) the paperwork and the IVs were set up.
Funny thing, though, as a nurse was setting up the band to monitor contractions she started looking curious.
"Are you feeling anything right now?"
"No."
"Well, you're having a contraction.  A big one."
After the fact, I was talking to my mom and she thinks I had started into labor the night before.  I was nauseated, my back hurt and was apparently having contractions before any actual 'induction' took place.  Looking back, I don't doubt it. 
Within the next hour we started pitocin and, according to the monitor, it did it's job.  Then the doctor broke my water.  Then it hurt.
Totally didn't feel ANYTHING until my water broke.  Then I REALLY felt it.
By 11am I got an epidural.

Yes.

Back story-for several years prior to getting married I had been training as a classical vocalist.  Let me tell you, I was ready to perform an aria right then and there to the glories of epidurals! 
It wasn't perfect, though.  Along the way (you know, rolling back and forth, trying to get 'comfortable') the tube had become undone, so the epidural wasn't fully effective.  However, it was still pretty heavenly and I'm glad I got it.
I have to qualify.  Getting the epidural was horrendous.
Horrendous.
Sort of unique-but I got the local anesthetic (the "bee sting") and the epidural itself 5 times.
You read that right.

I got that combo 5 times.

 Hospital rules said John couldn't be in there.  We heard it was because some dad fainted during his wife's epidural and getting injured but as everyone was focused on his wife he didn't get medical care immediately and he sued.  Or maybe that's just a pretend example.  Anyways...
When John found out he was furious.  To this day he says if he ever sees that guy again he'll knock him out (Ha!  Get it?  Knock out the anesthesiologist?  Huh?)  Oh well, clearly John is more mad about it than I am.

Regardless, I was glad that I could breath again.
But that didn't mean things just sped along.  Nope.  We waited.
I didn't mind too much, though.  I wasn't in extreme pain and there was a What Not To Wear marathon on tv!  John still doesn't get why I enjoy the show, but that's okay.  Plus, I was the only person in the maternity ward, so when the nurses didn't have anything else to do they came in and hung out and watched with me!

The day stayed at pretty much that pace until 5pm-ish...

The Start of Babe...a Little Late

John keeps telling me I need to post.
So I will.
Even if it's a little late.

Babe's pregnancy/birth story.

See, I told you it was late.
But in the end I figure she'll enjoy it the same even if I didn't post it days after it happened right?  I mean, she's only just now starting to read, so, it's not like she's been scrolling through this blog wondering why I didn't post this before.

John and I were wanting to get pregnant.  Like, we should have bought stock in pregnancy tests.  It seemed I was constantly peeing on little white sticks.
One month I decided to stop.  The anticipation, the disappointment-it was too much emotion for me to handle month after month.  It was, of course, that month that it seemed person after person looked at me stating "you're pregnant".  Despite my insistence that I wasn't, one of my friends (and John) wouldn't buy it.  So much so, that she drags me (and John and her husband) to her apartment to use one of her pregnancy tests.

It was negative.

See?  I wasn't pregnant.  I was never pregnant.

We had only been married about 5 months.  Yeah, I was impatient.

Meanwhile, John and I had a paper route.  Wake up at 3am, drive around, throw papers.  It was actually fun, we'd each take a side of the street and race to see who could make it back to the car first.  We enjoyed the time working together.  Well, one morning I was feeling a bit sick.  We did the route but we didn't race.  Then I'd ask John to take this street.  Then that street.  Bit by John filled in for what I couldn't seem to do.  Not so happily.  He was getting fairly annoyed (and sarcastic).  "Yeah, sure, and you only happen to get sick in the mornings!"

You see where this is going, right?  It's pretty obvious in retrospect but for some reason we were both pretty clueless.

When I finally started to catch on I took a test when John was at work (one of our other jobs-washing cars, I believe). 

YES!

I left the test on the bathroom sink and paced around the apartment until John got home.  Thinking, near daydreaming, about how I would tell him.  I'm pregnant.  We're pregnant.  You're going to be a father.  Hi, dad.  When I hear the door knob turn.
And he barrels past me-he needs to go to the bathroom.
Yep, not only was it totally not daydreamy at all...but I also left the test by the sink.
He knows.
And I didn't even get to try to be cutesy or sentimental.
He comes out, straight-faced.
"You saw it?"
"Yep."
::pause::
::smile::
::hug::
"Well I already knew you were pregnant."

Yeah, yeah.  Thanks, honey:)

So we finally got clued in as to why I mysteriously was sick during the paper route and John took it over.  The morning sickness got pretty bad.  If I didn't get steak then I would throw up all day long-no joke.  If I did get steak then I'd only throw up until 2pm.  Again, no joke.  Poor John tried making them at home, too, but it didn't work.  So when we could we ate at Applebee's.  I'd eat half at the restaurant and save the other half for morning so I could limit the...expulsions. (Is there any polite way to say that?)
And again, poor John, that gave him a lot of cleaning to do.  You see, walking gave me motion sickness and despite the bathroom's close proximity to our bedroom, I never made it.  Literally, I never threw up in the toilet.  We had garbage cans strategically placed throughout the apartment.
When it got to the point that I was starting to loose weight (not too much, but starting) I told my doctor.
In my defense, I just assumed that everyone got that sick.  I mean, almost all pregnant women I had met complained about morning sickness.
Needless to say, I got on some anti-nausea medicine and that significantly reduced the intensity.

Most people take a lot of preggo pictures, especially with their first.  With a TON of nausea the first half and crazy weight gain the second, this is one of the few pictures of me pregnant with Babe.  I was about halfway through at this point.

The other major preggo symptom I had was this obnoxious rash.  It was right at the end.  The last month or so.  I had gained about 50lbs, it was June/July so I was even more swollen then I might have been otherwise, and then I get a rash.  We're talking bright red hives.  That's right.  On top of an extra 50lbs and swollen hands and feet and (probably) face I also was bright red with creepy bumps all over.  Try to picture that.  On second thought, no, please don't.  It was bad enough that when people would come over I'd go to another room and John would explain to them how I looked before I came in.  I like to think it was so they didn't think I was contagious.  It was probably just so they could temper their initial reaction.
My doctor told me that sometimes we react to the pregnancy and all the hormones.  Other than trying to keep me comfortable there wasn't much he could do.  Actually, at one appointment he did tell me that he had a magic solution.  It would solve everything.  The swelling, the rash-I'd probably even lose some weight!  Magic solution.  It was called "Labor".  I got a good laugh out of that one (let me tell you, it's way fun having a doctor you can laugh with).

That overview brings us up to the end of the pregnancy.  I think I'll save the birth for another post:)