Happy Birthday

Friday the 13th:

Midnight: I've felt contractions for about an hour. Nothing out of the ordinary, though, I'd been having Braxton Hicks contractions every night when I went to bed for the last week or so. I shrugged it off, even though these were actually a teensy bit uncomfortable. McKay and I watched the latest Mentalist, which was awesome. I don't know how anyone has hair that perfect, I swear.

1:00 AM: Still having contractions, but I shrug it off. A week and a half late, I'd given up hoping for labor. Must be another false alarm, nothing to get excited about. I go to sleep.

3:30 AM: I wake up, possibly because I was having a nightmare, possibly because the contractions have gotten stronger. I decide to start timing them, since I know true labor contractions happen regularly, and Braxton Hicks do not.

4:30 AM: The contractions are almost exactly seven minutes apart. McKay wakes up from my constant sitting up to look at the alarm clock, and I tell him my suspicions. Then I tell him to go back to sleep because I want to wait until 8:00 so I can have my doctor check me out instead of some random person at the ER. Plus I want McKay to be conscious during the difficult parts of labor. Otherwise who will I scream at?

6:00 AM: Getting too painful to just lay in bed anymore, and I can't sleep. I decide to take a shower and shave my legs, since I figure lots of people may be looking at them soon enough. Probably the smartest move I made.

8:00 AM: McKay wakes up and commences running last-minute errands. He is anxious about labor, but excited to be missing work. I put off calling my doctor because I'm not quite five minutes apart yet, and I know that's when most doctors want to see you.

11:30 AM: Go to the doctor's. She was in surgery and couldn't see me before then. I am two and a half centimeters dilated (I was zero at my last visit three days previously). My contractions are five minutes apart, and are not feeling too hot. Still, I feel cocky, thinking labor isn't going to be nearly as bad as everyone goes on about.

3:00 PM: Been in the hospital for about an hour. They break my water. The leaking, oh my goodness, the leaking. . . Thank goodness for the nurses, they are all amazing. I don't know how many times I apologize, so embarrassed, and they're all incredibly kind and supportive. I had no idea how quickly I could get used to random people feeling up my hoo-ha, or helping me change my underwear, and other TMI stuff. You rock, nurses. Mad respect.

5:00 PM: SO MUCH PAIN. Tears leaking out after every contraction. Which is pretty much every other minute. McKay looks like he's in agony just watching me. Poor kid. I ask for an epidural. At that point, I would have begged on my knees for one. I'm four centimeters dilated.

6:00 PM: I had heard epidurals can be extremely painful, and I'm very touchy when it comes to needles, so I'm a bit freaked out. You're supposed to be very, very still when he puts the needle in, but I keep acting like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Only instead of giggling as someone pokes me in the tummy, I arch my back like crazy every time I feel the needle get anywhere near me. Finally, I grit my teeth and use every once of focus I have to STAY STILL. And you know what? It isn't too bad. And fifteen minutes later, I am feeling gooooooood. I keep saying, "I love drugs" in about as conked-out a voice as you can get.

9:00 PM: Dilated to a five. They start giving me pitosin to speed things along, but with that epidural, I didn't mind the long wait.

10:00 PM: More pain. Didn't realize the epidural medicine wears out and you can press that button thingy for more. I press it about five times in forty-five minutes, but it stops giving me more because it's set up so you won't OD. A good thing in my case. Anesthesiologist comes back and gives me a different drug to help with the pain in my pelvis. It does nothing. "This isn't fun" I moan to McKay every other minute. He keeps telling me I'm doing amazing. Liar.

11:00 PM: The nurses change shifts. I'm sad because the last one was super sweet. Doctor comes in with new nurse, and I'm practically crying from extreme pelvic discomfort. She does a routine check and says, "Oh! You're ten centimeters! Just wait for us to set up and you can start pushing." The set up takes an excruciating amount of time, and the pressure to push compounds amazingly. I'm chewing at the bit, and McKay becomes my water slave, fetching my water bottle every time I have a contraction, because I pant so much my mouth dries out.

Saturday, January 14th:

Midnight: I can start pushing. The nurse and McKay keep saying I'm doing amazing. I say, "All those years of constipation--finally paying off." TMI, but I still think this is true. They keep saying after each push how amzing I'm doing, so after twenty minutes, I assume they must see his eyes by now. Nope. They can barely see the top of his head. They tell me he has hair. I'm extremely thrilled by that.

12:30 AM: They get the doctor; the head's about ready to come out completely. I thought I knew pain. Those contractions, that pressure, that was all a cakewalk. THIS is pain. I scream things as the doctor stretches me out when I push (I think something along the lines of, "THIS HURTS TOO MUCH, TOO MUCH"), but when I asked McKay what I was saying, he's not sure. "You were crying and screaming, and it made me sad" he says with his best puppy-dog face. I'm so dramatic that I hear the new nurse snicker at me once. I can't really blame her, I guess. The doctor puts up with none of my nonsense and directs me to PUSH, PUSH! Finally I manage to focus through the excruciating pain and  PUUUUUUUSH. Keep pushing, keep going, they tell me. Somehow I do, though all I want to do is lie back down and sob. It hurts. It hurts so bad. McKay helps the doctor pull Lincoln's head out, and pulls as she helps get the shoulders out. After that, the rest felt like a walk down Main Street, USA, comparatively.

12:45 AM: Lincoln is officially born. They tell me to open my eyes, he's here! I'd been keeping them squeezed shut the entire time, trying to block out everything. Opening my eyes is hard. I'm terrified. I'm about to see my son for the first time. I finally crack them open and see a gooey baby. They hand him to me and begin to wipe him down. I'm shocked. He has my nose. Poor little guy. I hold him and marvel. I hardly even notice I'm getting stitches. Apparently, I had a small tear. The pain is a whisper. I finally relinquish my little baby to McKay. My heart melts as I watch him smile and cradle our baby boy.

 Happy birthday, Lincoln. I can hardly comprehend how much I love you already.