The Boy was due on Monday. By Wednesday, I was getting grumpy. I spent most of Wednesday being Mamasaurus Rex, and the girls (wisely) steered clear for the better part of the day. Sad but true. 'Cause you remember how miserable this is, right? Right.
Richard got home from work really late, and we stayed up until 11:30 that night just talking. He went to sleep, but I stayed up
reading for a while. Shortly before midnight, I suddenly started having strong contractions. Within a few minutes, they were strong enough that needed to get up and pace. I woke Richard and asked him to sleep on the couch downstairs so that I wouldn't have to try to get back upstairs in the middle of a contraction.
He never did go back to sleep. In another few minutes, I couldn't talk much (the sure sign for me that things are getting serious), so he called our neighbor Amie to come sleep on the couch. By 12:45, we were on the road to the hospital. At check-in, I was dilated to a 6. The nurse wanted to do the IV and monitoring thing, and all I said was, "No." Then she said, "But--" and Richard said, "She said no." Incredibly, it worked. For most of the time they used a handheld doppler device to monitor the baby's heartbeat; later on, a nurse removed the heartbeat-sensing device from the monitor belt and held it up to my belly (did you know they could do that?! neither did I).
Soon after, my friend Saralyn arrived for labor support. I labored in the hospital room for a while longer, holding onto Richard or on my hands and knees on the bed. I got in the hot shower, where I hung onto the curtain rod and rocked from side to side for a while. After I got out, I asked the nurse to check me again, and I heard the amazement in her voice as, in rising tones, she said, "eight...nine...she's complete!"
Around 2:10 or so I started pushing. The baby's heartbeat started dropping without going back up again, and after a few unsuccessful pushes, Saralyn told me authoritatively, "Amanda, it's time. You need to push this baby out now." Later she told me that a big group of hospital staff had appeared at the door and they appeared to be discussing an emergency C-section. Although I wasn't aware of that event, I did feel prompted at that time that a C-section might happen -- and that if it did, it would be ok.
At 2:32, a few more agonizing pushes later and two and a half hours from that first contraction, he was out -- the relief! -- and he did have the cord around his neck, but pinked right up and scored 9 on both Apgar tests. I realize that slimy, vernix-covered babies are not the cutest things in the world, but to me he was beautiful. I'll tell you the truth, I was nervous about having a boy. I just couldn't emotionally imagine having a boy. But I tell you what -- precious little love in this world has come more easily.
The girls came to meet him the next afternoon, and I'm telling you, they are both textbook-perfect big sisters. They love that kid. We all agreed on his name (Lizzy and Maren got a vote, too; after Clifford [as in the big red dog] was struck down, they got behind Max with little quibble), so Max it is.
I tore. I needed stitches. Hospital food is nasty (but I would have eaten twice as much of it; holy cow someone tell those people to feed the new mamas
more food, please). And the afterpains after that third baby are every bit as horrible as your girlfriends told you. But I think I got the better end of the deal, after all.
