My Birthing Story - Part Two

After Baby A was born, the first night in the hospital was what I had thought it would be. Brad and I barely slept. Brad "slept" on the guest bed in my hospital room, which was the window seat. I "slept" in the hospital bed. Baby A "slept" in her little plastic box in-between us. All I wanted to do was grab her and put her in bed with me, but when I asked the nurse, she said that I couldn't. In hindsight, I know that I could have, but I was mentally and physically exhausted and didn't think about challenging the nurse. Brad was amazing and did all the diaper changes throughout the night. I had a difficult time getting in and out of bed because of my stitches, and I was really, really weak from labor. My legs felt like noodles because of the leg cramps during pushing and my arms were sore from pulling on the scarf for three hours. Baby A had a lot of spit up throughout the night that I think was her body cleaning out the liquid from being in my uterus. Brad got up each time I heard her making spit up noises and he used that blue sucker thing to suck out her spit. I was so worried that she was going to choke on her spit up. Because of her large size at birth, she had to have her blood sugar level checked a total of three times throughout the night. They did that by pricking the bottom of her heel. She hated that (who wouldn't) and I kind of felt like she was being punished for being a healthy size. Each time the results came back, she had perfect levels. The nurses were surprised that I didn't have gestational diabetes during my pregnancy because of her size, too.

The day after Baby A's birth, all the usual hospital happenings occurred, which didn't have usual outcomes (at least in my opinion). She had her hearing screening done and she didn't pass. I of course awful-ized and thought that she was deaf (I thought Bailey, our eleven year old dog was deaf when she was a puppy, too). The person that did the screening said she probably had fluid in her ears. She showed us how to massage her ears and then she came back a couple hours later. Her second time around, she passed! Phew! She had her pediatrician check done and we were informed that Baby A had a tongue tie, one of her hips was out of socket, and she was at risk for jaundice. The tongue tie really scared me! I texted my doula and a friend of mine from Kissui and asked them what I should do. They both said that I should have it treated right away. The pediatrician said that there were about six other babies on the floor that had tongue ties too, and that a doctor would come by later on in the day and cut them if we were okay with it. I struggled with the thought of Baby A going through a procedure at such a young age, but her tongue tie could have negatively impacted her ability to latch for feeding and impact her speech down the road. The pediatrician told me that it didn't really hurt (although I don't know how she knew that since she couldn't ask any of the infant patients that had the procedure done) and that it was a simple procedure. She said that the babies stayed awake and a small bit of skin was snipped. Brad could go with her and stay with her the entire time. We decided to go ahead and do it. When Baby A came back from the procedure, she seemed okay to me. Brad said she didn't cry much. I didn't let my mind dream build what it must have been like for her - I just didn't go there. A nurse gave her a syringe of sugar water to help if she was experiencing any pain. I wasn't a fan of her having sugar, but it was better than an antibiotic.

By late afternoon, we were both cleared to go home. However, Baby A's pediatrician suggested that we stay because of Baby A's jaundice numbers. She said that since it was a Saturday, if we went home and woke up the next morning with Baby A having jaundice, we'd have to take her to the Emergency Room for treatment. But if we stayed one more night in the hospital and we woke up with her having jaundice, they'd simply bring us a warming blanket and treat her in my hospital room and she wouldn't have to leave my side. As badly as we wanted to go home, we decided that it'd be best to stay one more night.

During the second night, as I watching Baby A, I noticed that her breathing seemed a little strange. I wasn't sure if I was seeing something that wasn't there due to my lack of sleep and extreme exhaustion. Brad suggested that I call in a nurse. A nurse came and checked her out. She noticed something a little off and said she'd monitor it throughout the night. Around 3:00 am., she came back and noticed that it was still there. She called the pediatrician. She ordered a chest x-ray, which was done in the old nursery. Gone are the days of newborns sleeping in the nursery (thank goodness!). I didn't think I'd ever step foot in the nursery, but we did. They brought in a portable x-ray machine. While I was in the nursery, I started getting really shaky. The nurse checked my heart rate and said it was really high. They had me sit and drink some water. I was told to calm down, but between the tongue tie, the hearing screening, the hip diagnosis, the jaundice, the long labor, and now this - the breathing issue - I was having a difficult time calming down. It was as if all that I had learned over the years had gone out the window. I was a nervous and anxious wreck! After a couple hours in the nursery, we were sent back to our room with Baby A to wait for the pediatrician.

When the pediatrician finally came in, she told us that Baby A could possibly have an infection and that they'd like to send her to the NICU for 48 hours. I could hardly believe what I was being told. The NICU? How could my baby end up in the NICU? The pediatrician said that there was a small chance of an infection, but if they didn't treat her now with antibiotics and the possible infection started spreading, we'd have a difficult time treating it. There was a spot on her chest x-ray that the pediatrician said was possible fluid, which was even more of a reason for observation in the NICU. They said they'd be back in a bit to take Baby A down to the NICU.

My birth wish list had worked out pretty darn well, but I hadn't even thought about what could happen after the birth. I didn't have time to research any of the things that could happen after birth, although I don't think I could have researched the exact thing that she was diagnosed with. I knew I could challenge things the doctor/nurses said during labor, but after labor, all I knew how to do was trust what they were saying. After all, isn't that why I was in the hospital? In case something went wrong, we were in the "right" place, right? Brad said that we were doing the right thing by having her go to the NICU. He had to make the decisions for me because I was in some sort of a fog. I cried uncontrollably and Brad held me in his arms telling me that it'd be okay. I called my mom after the pediatrician left and I bawled. My parents left their house and came over to the hospital. They walked through the hospital room door just as Baby A and Brad were leaving with the nurses to go to the NICU.

Before Baby A left, I held her in my arms, tears streaming down my face, whispering into her ear that she was safe and that mommy loved her. I could hardly believe that I was sending my baby away when I had tried everything I could to have her right next to me from the time she was put onto my stomach to after birth. Brad assured me that he'd stay with her while they took her to the NICU and got her all set up, and then they said I could come down in about 45 minutes. My mom helped me get a little put together while we awaited the call that I could come down and see my baby.

Brad called and said that I could come down. My parents went with me and helped me walk. I was still very weak, and I had decided that I didn't want to take the pain medication that had been prescribed to me for pain from labor (advil) because I didn't want anything getting into my breast milk, so I was in a lot of pain, too. A little side note on pain medication, I prefer to feel the pain because then I know when it's really gone away, as opposed to taking pain medication and thinking that it's really gone when it isn't. Then, I overdo things because I'm feeling better and the pain ends up coming back worse. Plus, I'm not a fan of medication. My parents left me at the entrance of the NICU (only two family members could be in at a time) and Brad met me. Upon entrance, I started sobbing again. There were so many babies in there and they were all so sick. I was still in shock that my baby was in there in the first place.

I had to wash my hands and arms up to my elbows for 60 seconds, put on a hospital gown, and put a plastic cover over my cell phone before I could go over to see Baby A. Those 60 seconds seemed like an eternity. My heart pounded, my anxiety at it's peak. Brad walked me over to our daughter. I wanted to run, but I didn't have the strength. She was in the cubicle at the end of the NICU where the healthier, older babies were. She was in a box next to a window, which I was grateful for. The minute I saw her, I started crying uncontrollably. She had an IV in her small, tiny hand and cords stuck to her chest monitoring her oxygen and heartbeat. She was crying and swaddled up in a little blanket. I started thinking about how much pain she must have been in when they put the IV in her hand. It looked horrible! Her hand was taped up, too, so she didn't pull on the cord. The nurse taking care of Baby A must have been watching my reaction because I ended up getting taken to the side with Brad, and being told that I needed to calm down. She asked me how much pain I was in (physical or emotional? I was experiencing both). I didn't realize my physical pain was noticeable. I told her that I was in pain, but I was okay. She asked me if I was taking my pain medication and I told her I wasn't. She asked me why and after hearing me, she assured me that the advil wouldn't hurt Baby A. She pretty much ordered me to go back up to my hospital room, which I had until 11:59 p.m. that night, take my medication and take a nap before I could come back to the NICU. She said that my face was pale and gray and that I wouldn't be able to help Baby A if I kept on going the way I was. She also told me that I my milk supply would be negatively impacted by my emotional state, which only added to my anxiety.

Brad called my parents (they were waiting in my hospital room) and told them what the nurse had said. They came and got me. I felt helpless and completely out of it. I didn't want to talk. My parents got me some food, had me take my medication, and then stayed with me for an hour while I attempted to take a nap. My baby was supposed to be with me. She was supposed to be skin to skin in my arms nursing on demand. My baby was supposed to feel safe, secure, and loved wrapped in my arms. My baby was supposed to hear my voice and feel my hand stroking her chubby little cheeks. My baby was supposed to be calmed and soothed by me (although Brad was much better at that than me - he was a natural with her!). But instead of all those things, she was in the NICU with nurses. Yes, Brad was there with her, but I wasn't. I had to pull it together for her.

After a little rest, Brad called and said that I should come down and feed Baby A. My parents walked me down again and Brad met me at the door. Again, I went through the same washing/cleaning procedure before walking over to Baby A. I heard crying and wanted to shout out to her from the sink telling her that mama was there and coming, but I knew I couldn't do that. I walked as quickly as I could over to her. Brad helped me pick her up. The cords were difficult to maneuver. There was one leather reclining chair next to her bed container. It was really painful for me to sit because of the stitches, but I hid the pain from showing up on my face. The nurse said my skin color looked better. I held in the tears the best that I could. I held Baby A and whispered into her ear. "Mama's here, mama's here."

Breastfeeding was difficult for me sitting in a chair (and because of all the anxiety/emotions I was feeling). Baby A was picking up on my accelerated heart rate and was having a hard time latching, which made me cry. My body would contract during feedings because I knew that it was going to be hard to get her to latch. Our nurse helped me a ton! It's crazy having someone grab your boob and stick it in your baby's mouth, but I was so grateful for her doing that. Brad ended up getting the hang of how to help me, and he took over with the set-up each time I fed her. I had to pump during my time in the NICU in order to have some bottles for Baby A while we were gone at night. It was nice having experts train me in how to pump. I was told that I needed to pump at home at 3:00 a.m. before we came back to see Baby A at 5:00 a.m.

We stayed with Baby A until around 11:00 p.m. Our nurse asked if they should use formula or donor breast milk in case Baby A drank all the milk I had pumped throughout the night. I couldn't believe I was facing another tough decision again. Formula or donor milk?? Neither is what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that I'd stay there the whole 48 hours that Baby A was in the NICU, so I could feed her, but that wouldn't have been good. I needed to lay down (my feet were swelling from sitting up and not recovering in bed with my feet raised) and shut my eyes for a couple hours in order to keep my milk supply up. And Brad needed to sleep in order to take care of both his girls. I was also extremely scared that Baby A would have nipple confusion from being offered a bottle so early. I had so much fear. We decided on donor milk, which we later found out isn't something most hospitals offer because of the expense, so I was grateful for that.

We left the NICU around 11:30 p.m. Before we left, Brad held Baby A and told her we'd be back soon. Then I held her and whispered to her that she was brave and safe. Brad swaddled her up and placed her in her box bed. He became a master swaddler, which didn't surprise me (he's pretty much good at everything he does). I immediately started sobbing upon exiting the NICU and waiting for the elevator to take us down to the lobby. Brad comforted me the best he could. I will never forget that feeling of walking out of the hospital together not being pregnant any longer and not actually having our baby in our arms. We were supposed to be leaving together as a family. We were supposed to be putting her car seat in the back of the car and driving home together as a family of three, but instead, we were leaving our angel with strangers (yes, I know they were nurses, but still, they didn't love Baby A like we did). I couldn't stop thinking about what Baby A must be thinking and feeling. "Where is my mommy? Why am I here?" Was she scared? Did she think we abandoned her? Did she think the nurses were her family?

I longed to be able to stay another night in the hospital, so I could have fed her whenever she was hungry, but we weren't allowed to. I understand that the room was for me and since I was cleared to go home, insurance would no longer cover it, but it just didn't seem right to kick a new mom and dad out while their baby was still in the hospital. I even asked the hospital staff if I could pay to keep the room one more night.

The drive home was so sad. I remember looking out the window wondering how life could still be going on while my sweet angel was in the NICU. It didn't seem real. I wondered if I would suddenly wake up and realize that all this was a nightmare. At home, our sweet doggies met us at the door. They brought me comfort. I took a shower, which was much needed. Brad set up my breast pump for me on my side of the bed so I wouldn't have to do it at 3:00 a.m., which was only a few hours away. We went to bed and I tried to fall asleep but I could think about was my angel. What was she thinking right now? Was she crying? Was she being held? Did she have to drink the donor milk? I must have fallen asleep because I awoke to my alarm going off at 3:00 a.m. I pumped listening to the little pump machine. I swore it was saying, "Bring me home, bring me home, bring me home," over and over again. I was heartbroken and exhausted. The alarm went off again at 4:45 a.m. and we quickly dressed and left to go see Baby A. I didn't brush my hair. In fact, I don't think I brushed for four days. The last thing I wanted to do was waste valuable seconds on my presentation when I could have been with my angel instead.

When we got to the NICU, we washed up and walked as quickly as possible to see Baby A. We grabbed her out the box she was in and held her not ever wanting to put her down. I took off my top so we could be skin to skin, which Brad did as well, and I fed her. When she wasn't skin to skin with me, she was skin to skin with Brad. I couldn't have done it without him. I asked if they used donor milk, and they said they had to use 1 ounce of it. They said that she had a good night - no breathing problems.

We had to leave at 6:30 a.m. and couldn't return until 8:00 a.m., because all the nurses change shifts and talk about their patients (HIPPA laws). The same happened from 6:30-8:00 p.m. Brad and I went back home and Brad made me breakfast while I tried to get a little rest. Brad talked me into staying at home until 9:00 a.m. to get some sleep. I was in poor condition for sure. My mom picked me up from home and took me back to the NICU. When I got there, Brad was holding her and she was hungry. I fed her. The day passed slowly as we watched the monitors and took turns holding our angel. Luckily,
the NICU nurses were okay with continuing to use the cloth diapers we had sent down with her and the water wipes. We got to change her diaper and I loved seeing her in those cute cloth diapers. The only thing I didn't like about diaper changes was smelling the antibiotics in her pee. It was such a strong smell.

The day passed and night came. I almost didn't leave because I didn't get a good vibe about the nighttime nurse. She was in charge of Baby A and of the baby next to her. We got a chance to know all the nurses that took care of Baby A since we were in there so much, and this nurse wasn't very nurturing. I didn't like the way she took care of the baby next to us, nor did I like the way she responded to me when I had questions about the antibiotics. In my opinion, I think the nurses that work in the NICU should be the sweetest, most nurturing beings. I also think they should have patience for the parents because of what they're going through. Most of the nurses were, but this particular nurse made me nervous. I begged Brad to stay the night in the NICU. He said he would. However, after talking more, we realized that us not getting any sleep at all wouldn't benefit Baby A the next day, the day we should be able to take her home. We left closer to midnight that night and returned the following morning at 5:00 a.m.

The next day we waited anxiously to hear if Baby A could come home. The pediatrician on duty had to make that call, and he was in charge of looking at the charts of all the babies in the NICU starting with the sickest babies first. We found out around 1:00 p.m. that we'd finally get to take her home. I can't describe the relief and joy I felt! I cried, but this time it was because I was so overwhelmed and happy. I think my favorite part of that day was getting to hold her without any cords attached. It felt like an eternity since I'd been able to do that. We had to watch a CPR video and sign some papers before we could leave. My dad was so sweet and met us at the exit of the NICU. He took pictures of us leaving the NICU and coming outside with our sweet angel for the first time together as a family.

When we got home, our sweet neighbors were there to take a video of us walking into our house for the first time (my dad had called them and asked them to do that) and my mom was cleaning the inside of our house. And our new chapter of a family of three plus two dogs began then.

The NICU experience messed me up mentally. I still can't drive by the hospital on my way to the farmer's market on Saturdays without tearing up and thinking about that ordeal. I have talked to Baby A many times and told her why she was in the NICU, but I still can't shake the experience and the feelings of what she must have gone through without her mommy and daddy there with her. She was supposed to be under my protective care from the minute she was born. I struggled with feeling like I had failed her and let her down, but I've overcome those feelings. I know that Brad and I did what we thought was the best for her at that time. I learned so much from the experience. And I learned that my sweet baby is so very brave and strong. The NICU experience was obviously not part of my plan, but we survived it and it's all okay. Honestly, it has taken me four months to come to terms with most of it, but if I let my thoughts get away from me, I can easily go back to that time and all the worry, sadness, fearfulness, vulnerability, and sorrow come flooding back. Once again, I've been given an experience that has given me more compassion for others. I can truly say that I know how moms and dads feel that have experienced the NICU. It is scary. It is heartbreaking. And it is something that stays with you. Looking back, I can hardly believe all the decisions Brad and I made from the time labor started to the time we took Baby A home. A ton was thrown at us and we did what we had to. I'm so grateful that the NICU is in the past. Having our family of three at home brings me so much happiness, joy, and love. I am a mom. I have a daughter. And my dream has come true. This is the end of Baby A's IVF story. Now we are enjoying the story of our new family and what a story it has already been.

My Birthing Story - Part One

Our little miracle, Baby A, was born on Friday, March 9th at 10:54 a.m., a day after her actual due date. She weighed in at 9 pounds 11.5 ounces and 19.5 inches long! I couldn't believe how big she was when I first heard, especially since I had pushed her out of me. Labor lasted for 19 1/2 hours, about 7 hours of it being at home and the rest at the hospital. The last 3 hours of labor were spent pushing my angel out.

The week of Baby A's due date, I had a check-up with my OBGYN's office on Monday, a prenatal massage and acupuncture appointment on Tuesday, and saw the chiropractor on Wednesday to help get labor moving along. I elected to not have my OBGYN doctor do any vaginal checks during my 3rd trimester to see if I was dilated or not, so I don't know when I actually started dilating. I didn't want to take the chance of a membrane being stripped or my water being accidentally broken during a check. I also knew that knowing how far dilated I was wasn't necessarily an indication of when I'd be going into labor and could psych me out mentally if I wasn't making progress throughout the passing weeks. I used the weekly OBGYN checks solely to check Baby A's movements and heart rate - they were quick five minute appointments. Honestly, the appointments stressed me out more than anything else, and I only saw my actual OBGYN doctor two times throughout all my check-ups. I normally saw his NP. For delivery, my OBGYN doctor wasn't there either. I ended up going to see a midwife two weeks before my due date because the NP said she thought that Baby A was sunny side up and told me that delivery was going to be very painful and hard, which got me all worked up. The midwife I saw spent a full hour with me answering all my questions and putting my mind at ease. She also said that Baby A wasn't sunny side up. I'll never know if she was or not, but at the time of delivery, she was not sunny side up. I did have some back pain during labor, so my doula had me do some labor positions to help change Baby A's position if she was sunny side up at that time.

On Tuesday, my prenatal massage was amazing! I met my massage therapist through my next door neighbor that had been given a prenatal massage as a gift from her mom the previous year. I started going to see her during my 2nd trimester (or maybe towards the end of my 1st trimester) and I owe her so much! She was/is so much more than a massage therapist! She is going to school to become a midwife, so she knows everything I could have needed to know for an unmedicated birth. She also gave me the name of the amazing doula we chose. While I received a wonderful massage, we would chat it up about all things baby like vaccines, baby wearing, breast feeding, home schooling, pregnancy symptoms, birth, etc. She is a fountain of knowledge and I know that the Universe put her in my path for a reason. I had an acupuncture treatment the hour before my massage. My massage therapist recommended both the acupuncturist and chiropractor I went to see (fountain of knowledge for sure!). I've always enjoyed acupuncture, but I didn't know I could have it throughout pregnancy. This acupuncturist was wonderful! I had acupuncture two times in my 3rd trimester.

On Wednesday, the chiropractor rubbed sage oil on my ears and did a little ear massage, along with making sure my pelvic bones were in alignment so Baby A could pass through easier. I saw him three times during my 3rd trimester, the last time being the day before I went into labor. He specializes in chiropractic services for pregnant women and babies/children. Baby A has already had a visit with him. Towards the end of the day on Wednesday, I lost my mucus plug and had some spotting. I texted my doula and she said to go out to a nice dinner with Brad and to get ready for labor to come soon (she knew what she was talking about).

I went into labor on Baby A's due date, Thursday, March 8th, at 3:30 p.m. That day was Brad's first day of vacation for maternity leave. He used 3 weeks of vacation time to be home with us. Brad and I were in our room laying on the bed talking about how we should try and rest while we could before the baby arrived. I started feeling some reoccurring cramping that I hadn't felt before while we were talking, so I decided to keep track of how far apart they were using a contraction app I had downloaded. The contractions ended up being about nine minutes apart. Once we decided that I was indeed having contractions, we started doing the things on our "once contractions start" list. Brad was rushing around getting dressed and grabbing things like we were going to be heading to the hospital within five minutes. It was cute. I told him that we probably wouldn't be going to the hospital for a couple of hours at least because I wanted to labor at home for awhile. Regardless, we got ready. He made peanut butter and honey sandwiches, packed the labor aide and red raspberry leaf tea ice cubes that I had made earlier in the week, filled up our water bottles, packed one of the labor balls, put our bags in the car, and grabbed some last minute things. I made the cloth diaper wipe concoction (tea tree oil, lavender oil, and water), so they'd be ready when we came home with our baby, and grabbed some last minute things. We texted our doula and she said to get into the bathtub to help with contractions. The plan was that she'd come over to our house once my contractions started getting closer together.

The bathtub was a lifesaver for contractions! Brad ran the water and I sat in the bathtub while he pushed start and stop on my phone for each contraction. He sat in the bathroom with me for hours bringing me whatever I needed. He made me oatmeal and tea. I ate a couple labor aide ice cubes. We tried once to have me get into the shower instead of the tub to see if that would feel good, but as soon as we let the water out of the tub and I lost the feeling of weightlessness from the water, I knew that the tub was the way to go. I wish I could have brought it with me to the hospital because it helped that much! I think the intensity of the contractions were cut in half with the tub. I remember calling my parents and talking to them while I was in the tub telling them I was having contractions. While in the tub, I looked at the birthing laboryth I had made, recited some birthing affirmations, talked to Brad, and listened to some music. Around 9 p.m., my contractions got to around 2-3 minutes apart and I was experiencing a lot of pain. My doula face timed me and saw my face during one of the contractions and said she was coming over. Before she arrived, she called to check in and she heard me cry out in pain during a contraction and said that she'd meet me at the hospital instead. Brad helped me get dressed and we got into the car and headed to the hospital, which was a little before 10 p.m. I had a couple contractions in the car. I'm so grateful that the hospital is only about six minutes away from our house.

Our doula met us at the hospital. She walked me up to the labor and delivery floor while Brad parked and grabbed our things. I got checked in and then Brad traded places with our doula. I had to be checked to see how far dilated I was. The check was pretty painful, so painful that I screamed out with pain. I was told that I was five centimeters dilated qualifying me to be admitted to a room. It wasn't a busy night, so I didn't have to wait long. I was given a room that had wireless monitoring, which was wonderful. Our doula and my mom met us in the labor and delivery room. A nurse got me set up - a heplock in my arm, in case I needed fluids from an IV. Unfortunately, it took three times before a nurse was able to successfully put the heplock into my arm - ouch! I ended up having some pretty bad bruising from the attempts. After the heplock was in, I changed into a nightgown I had bought for delivering in and the wireless monitoring was hooked up. Having the wireless monitoring allowed me to walk around the room during labor and not be confined to my bed. The nurse asked for my birthing wish list.

The lights were shut off, expect for the entrance light and we were left to labor. A few nurses came in from time to time to check in and help out with what they could, but it was pretty much just our doula, Brad, my mom, and I. My dad even popped in for a bit, but he didn't stay long. He was uncomfortable seeing me in so much pain. I asked him to take care of my girls (my dogs) because I was worried about them. Knowing that they were taken care of, brought me a huge sense of relief. He also went and got the labor team much needed food/nourishment. My doula coached me giving different birthing positions to get into throughout the night and early morning. I remember being on all fours, sitting on my birthing ball, leaning over my birthing ball, sitting on the toilet, standing up and hanging on to Brad, sitting on the bed, and laying down on my side. Every time I switched to a new laboring position, the next three contractions would be more intense, which was always in the back of my mind when changing. My doula had many tricks up her sleeve to help get my mind off of the pain of labor. I remember her asking me about each bracelet I was wearing and it's significance. She had different essential oils for me to smell, and yummy candies to suck on. She knew how to talk to me and who to get me to listen. My mom kept me hydrated by giving me water or whatever else I needed like my labor aide and raspberry leaf tea ice cubes. She rubbed my back and consoled me whispering words of encouragement in my ear. Brad was my rock and was there every step of the way. He gave me strength by merely being next to me. He was always so calm and collected ready to help out in any way. Just seeing him calmed me down.

My mind was aware of everything that was going on in the room, but I wasn't focused on my surroundings - only riding the wave of each contraction. If someone asked me a question, I remember answering in my head, but I'm not sure if the actual words came out or if they were just my thoughts. I was stuck at 8 centimeters for quite some time. We were all so exhausted. We would try and steal a couple minutes of shut eye between each contraction - me slumping over in exhaustion onto whomever and whatever was next to me. There was one point when all of us were surrounding my bed after one of my contractions ended that we all shut our eyes and fell asleep, only to wake three minutes later to get through the next contraction. It is difficult for me to describe how the contractions felt. I asked what contractions would feel like, so I knew what to expect before I went into labor, but people said I would just know. They said they'd feel like really bad period cramps. Yes, they felt like cramps, but it was a surge of feeling that started off with a dull discomfort that increased with intensity until it reached a peak and then would die down until the pain went away. With each centimeter more that I dilated, the intensity increased.

A nurse checked me and said that I was still at 8 centimeters. My water had not broken yet, so it was suggested that they break my water. That was against my birth wish list, but I was exhausted physically and mentally, and I honestly didn't want the labor to go on longer because of my water, so I agreed to have it broken. I had read that if your water had not broken when you went into labor, your contractions would not be as intense, which was true. The water sack provided a cushion. I was a little nervous about the pain increasing once my water was broken. A nurse broke my water and I immediately felt a warm liquid rush out and soak the bed. I don't know when my water was broken, or how long after my water was broken that I was given the clear to push, but I do remember having soaked sheets up until Baby A was born. It was a little uncomfortable.

I started pushing a little earlier than I should have, which caused my cervix to swell a little. Before labor had started, I thought that I'd be pushing the entire time. It wasn't until everything started that I learned that I wasn't allowed to push until I was ten centimeters dilated. A nurse checked me early in the morning and said that I was ten centimeters, but because I my cervix had swelled, I'd have to hold off onto pushing until it went down.

Once the swelling had decreased, I was finally given the clear to push. I pushed for three hours. It felt the best to push laying down and pulling a scarf during each contraction. I pulled one end while Brad or my doula pulled the other end. My arms were spent by the end. My legs kept cramping throughout the three hours. My dad went to Clark's and bought magnesium spray to put on my legs to help with the cramping, which it did. A nurse put coconut oil on my perineal to help with stretching, so I didn't tear as much. I had a difficult time getting the whole pushing thing down. It was quite painful. I knew that once a contraction started, I was supposed to hold my breath and push for ten seconds, but I couldn't quite hold my breath without yelling out in pain. My doula was amazing and counted to ten for me each time telling me not let any breath out by yelling. The yelling was taking away the force from my pushing. The pushing took everything out of me. I remember saying some choice words and begging to have Baby A taken out of me. I asked why did I do this (not unmedicated part) and said I couldn't keep going. I had reached my limit, but some how, I found the strength to keep going. Brad, my mom, and my doula were my cheerleaders and encouraged me the entire time.

After pushing for quite some time, everyone got excited and said they could see Baby A's head. They were all so excited. A nurse put a mirror down there for me to see her head, which helped me know where to direct my pushing. I could feel her coming out a little with each push, but then go back up again. I felt discouraged, but kept going. Once I was getting close, a nurse went and got the doctor. I kept pushing. I felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. Once I got the whole pushing thing down and realized that I would have to hold my screams in, Baby A started making nice progress. I knew I was close when I felt her head stuck even after the contraction was over. I kept pushing. The doctor said that there was maconium, so the NICU team would need to come in and be on stand by if they needed to take fluid out of her lungs. There were a total of eight people in the room. I did end up needing some IV fluids after about an hour and a half of pushing because I was getting dehydrated. I also needed some oxygen.

After a big push, Baby A's head came out and then her shoulders. I honestly thought that I'd be pushing much longer to get her shoulder's out, but they came out right after her head did. She was immediately put onto my chest. Baby A was warm, wet, and wiggling around just like she had been when she was in my belly. I could barely believe she was out. I was overjoyed with emotion and couldn't stop crying. Shortly after, the NICU team took her (they were right next to me) and removed some liquid from her lungs. Brad was with her the whole time. I kept saying, "that's my baby, that's my baby." My mom stayed by my side while Brad was with Baby A. I told her that I was a mom, and I wept. I was finally a mom. After I passed the placenta, which wasn't bad at all, the doctor said I had a lot of bleeding and needed some pitocin. I agreed to the shot of it in my leg.

Baby A was given back to me and put onto my chest. I ended up having second degree tearing and needed eleven stitches. They stitched me up while I was holding her. It was painful, but nothing like labor and I was too excited about Baby A to focus on what going on down there. It all seemed to go so quickly after she was born. I'm sure that some of the events I just described were out of order, but that's not important.

Baby A had some bruising from the experience of birth, so I agreed to a shot of Vitamin K. I asked the nurses to make sure that it was the preservative free version, and it was. They even showed me the box. I said no to the eye ointment and Hep shot, which was part of my birth wish list. Baby A was weighed and I was told that she weighed 9 pounds 11 1/2 ounces! Wow! I could hardly believe it! I had given birth to a huge, healthy baby girl! I was overjoyed!

Brad and I had our Golden Hour. During that time, my doula helped me with breastfeeding, and Brad and I marveled at how wonderful our little girl was. It felt like reaching a finish line and getting first place. Brad often told me that this pregnancy and labor were like my Ironman, and I couldn't agree more. I had carefully "trained" for months for my big "race", and once race day had finally come, I was ready for it (as ready as I could be).

I didn't know what labor was going to be like. I only knew from what people and books told me. After actually going through it, I can honestly say that it was nothing like I thought it would be. I thought I'd be able to look at my birthing affirmations banner, trace the birthing laboryth I had made, meditate, etc., but I didn't. I focused on one contraction at a time, listening to my doula, Brad, and my mom. They were my birthing affirmations and laboryth. They told me the things I needed to hear and they created the perfect birthing environment for me, so that I could have the perfect birth for Adeline and I. It was a beautiful birth, one that I have no regrets about. I felt safe and well taken care of.

Having an unmedicated birth was important to me because I wanted to feel every part of birth. I wanted to experience what my body was made to experience. It was not easy and it was painful, but unlike any pain I've ever experienced before. I was pushed to the max mentally, physically, and spiritually, but I survived and I'm so grateful for my story. It is my own story and I can't wait to share it with Baby A. I am a mom. I am strong. I am brave. Everything unfolded perfectly and beautifully. Brad and I have a daughter!

(Baby A ended up needing to go to the NICU for a couple days, which I will write a post about next. She's completely fine and we are all adjusting to our new life).

Almost Time

Infertility changed me. IVF changed me. Experiencing pregnancy has and is changing me. And once our Sweet Baby A arrives, she will most definitely change me. My life is ever changing from day to day, from experience to experience. Experiencing the infertility journey for so many years left bruises  and scars on my heart and soul that are slowly fading away, although I know that some of the larger scars will remain for an eternity, tattooed permanently onto my heart as if saying, "don't ever forget how much you wanted this baby, and don't ever take being a mom for granted." Those permanent scars are the ones that consumed my daily thoughts while going through infertility, cutting into me like a knife. What if I never have a baby? What if I never become a mom to a human? What if IVF doesn't work? What if I'm not meant to be a mom? What did I do wrong? Why can't I be normal? Becoming pregnant didn't instantly erase any of the feelings that I experienced during infertility, but that positive pregnancy test did give me hope that I could achieve my life long dream of becoming a mom after all.

Just like many young girls do, I started dream building about being a mom from a very young age. Mothering/nurturing came naturally to me. I enjoyed taking care of my younger brother and cousins (they may say otherwise :)). I enjoyed taking care of our family pets. I enjoyed playing with my Barbies and playing mom and daughter with them. It was never a question in my mind that I wouldn't be a mom when I grew up. It was part of my plan - becoming a teacher, a bride, a wife, and mother. So saying that I've been waiting for Sweet Baby A for over six years isn't completely correct...I've been waiting for her for over thirty.

There's something to be said about dreaming about something (becoming a mom), finding out/mourning the loss of that dream (infertility), and then actually achieving that dream (becoming pregnant after all). I watched my becoming-a-mom dream slowly slip through my fingers as Brad and I tried each month to become pregnant without success. I watched what it did to me. I watched what it did to Brad. And I watched what it did to us as a couple. It ate away at me until I grew numb. Then, we met Dr. Norion, and were finally given a reason for our infertility, and were given hope of achieving our dream after all. What an exciting, nerve-wrecking time that was! Now, I have about two weeks until Sweet Baby A's due date, and all the past pain seems like something that was so long ago.

I can honestly say that there have been some months throughout my third trimester where I haven't thought about IVF. Getting to experience the things that I didn't think I would and had blocked from my mind, like going to breakfast with other moms, talking to other moms about being pregnant and about labor, having a baby shower, buying baby clothes, etc. took up my thoughts and pushed IVF aside. I actually get to do those things now! And don't even get me started on how I feel every time I look in my rear view mirror and see an infant car seat in my car, or how I feel when I hear John Mayer's "Daughters" song on the radio. Things that used to bring me to tears of great sadness and loss, now bring me to tears of overwhelming disbelief, gratitude, and joy. It is hard to believe that not so long ago, I was having daily injections, multiple medical procedures, and frequent trips to an infertility clinic.

It all came back to me last week when I put together a little IVF scrapbook for Baby A including the injection calendars, pictures, and ultrasounds from our time at HRC. I want her to be proud of her creation and to not feel different, rather, to feel special about the process. No, her mom and dad can't tell her a story about how she was created by mom and dad having an intimate night together (that's probably not something that is shared until kids are adults anyway, ha!), but we can tell her a story of two people that were deeply in love that wanted more than anything to have a child, but couldn't without a little help from science. I actually just finished writing Baby A a letter that I'm going to give her when she turns 18, which includes that story. Seeing all of the IVF memorabilia brought back all the feelings I had during that time.

I never thought that I would forget any part/detail of IVF. It was so much a part of my identity and life. It consumed my daily thoughts and was an intimate part of my life and marriage. Now that IVF is over and I'm not having daily injections, I feel like a "normal" pregnant woman. It feels strange to identify with infertility and pregnancy, two polar opposites, though. If I'm not careful or mindful, those infertility thoughts/emotions about things like baby showers and pregnancy announcements can make me wince in pain from remembering what it was like not so long ago. Those feelings of not wanting to go to showers because they were a time of joy for everyone attending, but for me, they were a time of sorrow and pity for myself; those feelings of they got pregnant so fast, while I can't pregnant at all upon the arrival of a pregnancy announcement - they can come back so quickly.  In fact, those are the first feelings I automatically feel until I snap back to reality and say that's not my story any more. I will never forget the feelings of infertility, and will always be sensitive to other peoples' stories of infertility. We all have our own stories. No story is exactly the same. I am in awe of the process I have gone through, and will be forever grateful for every experience - my experiences have made me who I am today.

And today, I'm super, super, super excited about things like cloth diapers and how cute Baby A's little booty is going to be in them. I'm excited (and nervous) about laboring at home for as long as possible with Brad and my doula and then delivering at the hospital. I'm excited about feeling all the labor feelings that so many women before me have experienced. I'm excited about seeing Brad look into Sweet Baby A's eyes for the first time. I'm excited about the Golden Hour with Baby A and Brad right after she's born. I'm excited about getting to breast feed. I'm excited about learning how to be a parent with Brad. I'm excited about reading Baby A her first story out of my womb. I'm excited to have Baby A sleeping next to me in the bassinet that Brad made for her. I'm excited about going for walks as a family and getting to wear Baby A. I'm excited about the future. I know that many of the things I'm excited about may not go the exact way I have imagined them, but that's okay. Everything will work out. And as I always say, everything is unfolding perfectly.

And how crazy is it that my first post about our infertility journey was almost exactly one year ago?!? I just not noticed that. It was on 2/20/17 and today is 2/23/18...wow!!!!!!! A lot has happened in one year....

co-sleeper bassinet Brad made