August 13. 3:28 p.m. 8 pounds 7 ounces. 20.5 inches.

And here, for the sake of my degenerating sanity/memory, is the whole story:

I had a doctor's appointment on my due date, August 12th. My mom had been staying with us for a good 2 weeks already - she was an angel. She dusted and vacuumed and cleaned and cooked AND she drove me to and from work every day so that I wouldn't have to whilst 9 months pregnant. We were running late for the doctor's appointment, and we ended up waiting an extra 45 minutes just to be seen! I was uncomfortable in those waiting room chairs, but we were kept entertained by Riley's in-womb hiccups.



When we were finally seen, we found out that I was holding out at a "good" one centimeter dilated. Of course, before the doctor shoved his entire arm up inside me to figure that out I was once again given the speech of "This means absolutely nothing. The baby could be born now or weeks from now."

Awesome. There's nothing I like better than recreational vaginal spelunking with absolutely no point or purpose.

When we left I was more uncomfortable, courtesy of the spelunking, and hungry. We grabbed dinner from Panera and went home to catch the finale of So You Think You Can Dance. When the show was over, we went to bed. Greg offered a back massage, which I eagerly took him up on and he kept that up for a good hour. In e last 15 minutes or so, I kept urging him to rub my lower back because I was feeling annoying period-like back cramps in waves.

Eventually he fell asleep, mid-rub.

I, however, stayed awake... fascinated by the regularity of my somewhat uncomfortable back cramps.

Three hours later, at about 3:00 a.m. I decided I should probably wake Greg up and let him know I was in labor... especially seeing as how the cramps were getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

The first time I woke him up and asked for tennis balls (because rubbing those into my lower back seemed like a brilliant idea) he mumbled something, rolled over and fell back asleep. The second time I woke him up was a little more violent and a little more desperate. He started timing the contractions... by which I mean he timed one and then figured that the next several would probably be the same so he didn't need to time those. One strongly worded explanation later, and he was timing every single contraction. He also broke out the tennis balls and started rubbing and less than 3 minutes later, my water broke.

There was a small gush and I leapt 6 feet into the air, off the bed, and rushed into the bathroom. Amazingly, I avoided getting anything on our bed. I had been wearing a pad in preparation for this moment, but because I've never gone into labor before I wasn't sure how to prove to the doctor that my water had actually broken - so we mutually agreed to take a few photos of the sullied pad. I won't post those photos. You're welcome.

I called the doctor and he said "Come on in!" in the style of an uncle who's in the pool telling you, with a big shit-eating grin on his face, that the water's FINE and will not give you the ability to identify with an ice cube upon submergence.

I called our doula who said she was leaving right that second and would meet us at the hospital.

I woke my mom up and told her I was in labor.

We gathered all of our luggage (two small rolling suitacases, a large pink birthing ball, 3 pillows with waterproof covers, and the camera bag), and by the time I hit the first floor I was throwing up dinner.

The hospital is 5 minutes from our house and getting there was very much a blur. Greg dropped me off at the Emergency entrance (because it was 4:00 a.m.) and left to park the car. I was wheeled up to triage where I needed to sign in and fill out paperwork. When they finally admitted me to a room in Triage - where they check to make sure you're not faking - Greg got out the tennis balls again, and I got changed into a hospital gown. They asked for a urine sample - which would have been a lot easier if I hadn't peed about 20 times before we left the house. I'm not possessive of my urine, and I would have saved some for them if they had warned me - but nobody said anything!

They checked my blood pressure and inserted an IV catheter in my wrist (on the side - annoying!), and then I met a friendly resident who performed the most painful speculum exam I've ever had. Seriously? I wasn't faking.

The verdict was that I was four centimeters dilated.

About that time Rene, our doula, arrived. And she started pushing for us to be moved to a labor and delivery suite.

What seemed like HOURS later, I was finally moved and we fetched my mom with our 8 million bags to go with us. The put us in a lovely large room with a couch and a chair and a bed and a hot tub. They immediately strapped monitors to me and said the baby's vitals looked great!

The next 5 hours were a blur. I tried the hot tub and that worked well for a while until the nurse, who seemed a little personally offended that I wanted to try going without an epidural, complained that the monitors kept moving and could I please GET OUT OF THE TUB and HOLD STILL FOR A WHILE. I tried walking around. I tried laying down. I tried being on my hands and knees. I tried using the birthing ball. The use of the tennis balls - as hard as he could press and roll them - was constant. All of these different positions brought to you by Rene, the doula. Without her, I would have stayed in one position the entire time and probably been 150% miserable. Greg could not persuade me to try different things, at all. Everything he suggested sounded like an awful idea. Move? Roll over? Stand up? Walk around? Are you kidding? I'm still alive while laying right here, thank you very much. Rene pushed me to try other things and each time, it was good for a while, and then she'd suggest something else and I'd have the same visceral reaction ... but she got me to try something else. Without her, I might have merged as one with the hospital bed, because up until she started to get me to move, The only thing I was doing was pressing my face as hard as possible into bed rail.

At around 8 a.m. my mom left to go back to our house. You see, the counter top was being installed in our kitchen and someone had to be there. See, I know i haven't written over the last many weeks - but life has been anything but dull and one of the highlights has been the kitchen counter top. To make a long story medium length,we placed a counter top order with a local company for a solid surface counter top made by another local company. The Local-ness was a bonus because they could install it much sooner than other companies. They said they could get a guy out to do a template and then install it the following week. It took them a week to get a guy out to do the template, and then two weeks to fabricate the countertop and when they finally installed it... It was wrong. Don't misunderstand me - I was just about ready to say "Fine. Whatever. We have a COUNTER TOP, I won't be picky." But there were just wayy too many things wrong. So. Very. Wrong. One side of the counter extended 8 inches beyond the lower cabinets. It had a bump on one surface. They mis-cut one area. They fused a piece in to cover it up and you could see the fused area. You could see the seams, you could FEEL the seams. There were 2 unfinished edges. The sink had 8 dents in it. They said it would take them a couple of hours to install it, when - in fact - it took them about 9 hours. We refused to sign the paperwork that said it was fine, so they called in their boss who took one look at it and told them to rip it out. He said it was unacceptable and they would fix it - and throw in plumbing AND a windowsill. So we gratefully accepted that they would fix what was wrong, and mournfully waved goodbye to our temporary countertop. If you just squinted and let it blur in your vision - it had looked great! They weren't able to set up another install date until August 13th at 8 a.m. And it just so happened I was 8 hours into labor at that point so Mom went home and babysat the install guys.

Finally, after not being checked all that time, the doctor made an appearance to check me. I figured I was at least 8 centimeters and if that was the case, I could make it without drugs.

I was 6. 6 Centimeters. It had taken me 6 hours to dilate 2 more centimeters. And then they told me I not only had to hold perfectly still for 15 minutes because they needed a better read on the baby, but I wasn't allowed to get up at all from now on because they found meconium. With the ability to move around while laboring completely taken away from me anyway, I no longer saw the point of forgoing an epidural so I asked for one. Within 10 minutes the head of anesthesiology was in the room administering one. They did a beautiful job and I felt almost immediate relief. I'd like to say I felt complete relief, but that would be a lie because I could still feel contractions.

I pressed the button for "extra" medication every 10 minutes or so for the next several hours... Which, at first, was completely ineffective seeing as how the brilliant anesthesiologist had handed me the button, proudly told me I could press it any time I wanted with no risk of overdosing myself... and then forgot to hook the button up to the machine. When it was finally hooked up, it still did not relieve the regular waves of feeling like I needed to poop.

By 2:30 p.m. I was officially uncomfortable again... The need to push was somewhat intense. The doctor made another appearance and declared that I was very near 10 centimeters and that he would be back at 3:00 p.m. and I could start pushing then.

The next half-hour was the slowest half hour of my life. By the end I was sucking in air to keep from pushing. At 2:58 p.m. my mom walked in with news that the counter top was finished and looked beautiful.



At 3:01 p.m. the Doctor walked in and a few nurses started buzzing around like bees... and then he told me I could push.

I pushed for 20 minutes.


And then the baby's heart rate plummeted.

I was told to stop pushing, and they waited three minutes for it to rebound.

It did not rebound.

So I was rushed to the operating room for an emergency c-section.

About 30 people swarmed into the room, they put an oxygen mask on me and rushed me out of the labor and delivery suite. Greg wasn't allowed to go with me. I later learned that my Doula stayed behind because my Mom was a mess. I can't tell you how grateful I am that Rene was there to hold my Mom while she cried.

They practically ran me down the halls and into the OR. The room was full of people in blue. They immediately strapped me down and strung up the curtain. And here's where I learn how lucky I am that I opted for an epidural - because if I hadn't, they would have put me out completely. I would not have been awake for the birth of my son.

I was a little out of it, but I remember asking about where Greg was and being told that they needed to get the baby out, but that he might be able to come in a little later. I also remember trying to tell the two young doctors at my head that they had a very good bedside manner - very reassuring.

I wasn't scared. All I can tell you is that I knew it would be okay, so it was just sort of an interesting situation.

The worst part was that I wasn't completely numb when they started cutting me open... But that was over very quickly and soon, all I could feel was pressure. I did specifically feel them reach down low inside me and pull the baby towards my ribcage and then up out of my body.

And then I held my breath until I heard him cry.

And then I couldn't stop smiling.

Greg was finally allowed into the room and he came in, wearing what looked like a haz mat suit, crying. I beamed at him and said "Everything's okay honey! I'm okay, I'm fine! And the baby ... Can you hear him crying? He's crying!"

And Greg laughed at me through his tears.

They took Riley to the NICU because they thought he might have inhaled some meconium, and I was confined to my bed for the next day. I barely saw Riley as they wheeled him out of the room and I didn't get to touch him until many hours later when my nurse decided to stay past her shift just to roll me, bed and all, down to the NICU so that I could see and touch my baby.


I didn't get to hold him until about 24 hours after he was born. But it was worth the wait.


Our firsts were spread thin over the next few days - First time Greg got to hold Riley, first time I breastfed him, first time he came to be with us in my hospital room...

Everything after the c-section went swimmingly. The nurses in the NICU are rockstars, and they were thrilled to have a full-term baby that they could pick up and cuddle. All tests came back negative for any kind of infection. Everything turned out to be best case scenario and we ended up coming home from the hospital on Monday.

I've had help from my mom and now my mother-in-law for the first three weeks of Riley's life. This Tuesday I'll start to be on my own completely - no one to tag team him when he's fussy with the gassiness he seems to have inherited from his father, or has peed out of his diaper. No one to hold him while I try to nap for 15 minutes here and there.

I'm tired, but not as tired as I could be. I'm sore, but healing well. I'm occasionally overly emotional and tetchy, but mostly just happy. I'm terrified of being completely alone with Riley, but hopefully I can handle it. We'll see.


:)