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Greetings, fellow Woodlands parents! I am the new mother to a beautiful, two month old little boy. From the moment he was born, I realized a new adventure would unfold every day. Some days the memories are funny; others I feel defeated and frustrated. All in all, being a parent is the most rewarding, satisfying job I have ever had. It isn't easy, but it's definitely worth it.
With Mother's Day upon us, I thought it would be fitting to share the story, sans the graphic details, of the birth of my son. That is, after all, how I entered into the sacred realm of being able to be honored on this special day.
I heard some real horror stories about labor and delivery. Strangers shared stories about 40 plus hours of labor, sprinkled in with a few complications here and there. Close friends and family also had their share of stories, warning me of every possible scenario. With all of this swirling in my head as my due date crept closer, I couldn't help but wonder what my experience would be like.
Two days prior to my son being born, I woke up with some cramping that didn't feel quite normal. My Braxton Hicks contractions were a little more intense than they had ever been, but I didn't say anything to my husband. I went about the work day as normal until that evening when I could barely stand due to the intensity of the contractions. My husband kept telling me if they didn't get better, we would go to the hospital, but if I could bear it, my appointment with my doctor was first thing in the morning. I felt like my entire stomach was dropping slowly to the ground, but I kept my composure, climbed into bed and told myself to wait it out.
While waiting at the doctor's office the next morning, I continued to have contractions. I had no weight gain, which I thought was strange, and I asked the nurse to check to see if I was at all dilated, despite the fact my due date wasn't for another three and a half weeks. My husband joked that perhaps I was already dilated to 3 centimeters, but I told him not to get excited and the chances of that were slim. Well, what do you know, my husband couldn't have hit the nail more on the head - I was 3 centimeters and well on my way through the stages of early labor. We were instructed to go home, pack the car and just rest. Rest?! As big as I am on preparation, there were still things at home I didn't have ready for the baby. And there were still things we didn't have that we would need. I looked up at my doctor and assured him I would take it easy, all the while knowing we were about to head home and do some major baby preparation.
We jumped in the car, headed to Wendy's for lunch (don't ask why I chose there of all places, being the health nut I was during pregnancy), and went to Babies R' Us to stock up on everything we didn't have that we would need. I'm sure I was quite the sight to see, walking up and down the aisles as fast as my waddle would take me, throwing things into the cart and yelling, "Do you think we'll need this?", "What about this?" and "More diapers!" The employees looked at me as if I was crazy, but I didn't care. When we got home, I did some laundry, cleaned, and did the dishes while my husband vacuumed and built the baby swing. We took our dog on a walk to get her as tired as possible and to hopefully get my labor moving along. The first walk didn't do much, but the second walk a few hours later was what really set me off. We got half way down the street when I started yelling out the craziest, most incomprehensible things. My husband, of course, laughed hysterically at my reaction to the contractions and announced it was time to head to the hospital.
But it wasn't time - yet. During our childbirth class we learned a few little "tips" about delivery at a hospital. The first is, you won't be admitted until you are at least 4 centimeters dilated; the second, you aren't allowed to eat until after the delivery, starting from the moment you are admitted. Well, I couldn't do much to control the 4 centimeters, but I could control the eating part. I suggested a hearty meal at Freebirds, something my husband and I cringe and laugh about now. Being such a fantastic, obedient man, my husband drove to Freebirds. While in line, the contractions really started coming. The girl building our burritos looked horrified as I called out what I wanted on my burrito. I was ordering my meal through contractions, trying to eat through contractions, and making noises only other pregnant women in labor can appreciate. The stares from those around us were priceless. My husband must have been incredibly embarrassed because I wasn't half way through my dinner when he said, "It's time to go."
When we got to the hospital, I suddenly became overwhelmed. All those movies and T.V. shows that show labor made it look so scary. Could I do this? How bad was this really going to hurt? Was I ready for a full night of contractions and then weeks after weeks of no sleep? Could I be a Mom? What would happen to my relationship with my husband?
I broke down in tears in the car and my husband grabbed my hand and did the only thing in this world that could have calmed me down enough to get me inside - prayed. We prayed for awhile about all the things we were about to experience and just asked for strength, patience, and God's almighty love. God sent a huge wave of peace over me and I was officially ready. Bring it on, labor, bring it on.
Once inside I found out I was between 4 and 5 centimeters dilated and officially would be admitted. My nurse was incredible and once all my family arrived I felt much more at ease. And the epidural wasn't even that bad. It was over before I even had time to get nervous about it, and the pain relief was everything I had dreamed of and more. My husband and I slept a few hours as my body continued to progress through labor. At about 1 a.m. I decided to move to my side to sleep, and forgot to let the nurse know I was doing this and to come turn me. Whoops. About an hour and a half later my right side was dead weight and my left was starting to regain feeling. Every contraction that came shot down my entire left side and had me gasping for breath. My husband came to the rescue and turned me to my left side to try and get the medicine to run down that side of my body. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to fully get the epidural back in full swing on the left before it was time to push. I couldn't believe I paid so much for pain management that would only cover one half of my body, but I kept telling myself something was definitely better than nothing.
The room quickly filled with smiling, encouraging nurses, my doctor, as well as a proud Dad-to-be. When a contraction hit, I pushed. In between pushes I somehow found the energy to joke about how if I could have a cheeseburger I could do a much better job at pushing. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no Super Woman. I cried and looked up at my husband a few times to tell him I wasn't sure I could go on. But there were definitely moments when I was joking and laughing between pushing. I figured if I couldn't enjoy the time that would change my life forever, then what was the point? The final pushes were the most intense as I changed things up a bit and took control of the orders. "Keep going! Keep going! AGAIN!", were my exact words to everyone in the room. I meant business.
After just 30 minutes of pushing and some serious hunger pains, my son arrived. And he was perfect. His first act was to grab my finger and hold on tight. You never would have been able to tell he was premature by his size. It was truly a miracle. The icing on the cake: I finally got that cheeseburger I had so longingly pleaded for during delivery.
He's perfect in every way. His cry is perfect, his feet are perfect, the way he looks up at us is perfect. And he's ours. We are learning new things about him every minute and learning new things about being parents, but we love him so much. Our dog loves him because she thinks he is a toy and she will be awarded the opportunity to play with him if she barks loudly at him. Poor kid just looks at her. One day, those two will be best buds.
And that's my story. So, next time you come home and your wife is a little snappy, the house is a mess, dinner is burned and the kids are screaming, remember what she went through. Every story is different, but the end result is the same. No matter how long she labored or how easy or difficult it may have been, she did it nonetheless. That alone deserves an entire day of appreciation.
With Mother's Day upon us, I thought it would be fitting to share the story, sans the graphic details, of the birth of my son. That is, after all, how I entered into the sacred realm of being able to be honored on this special day.
I heard some real horror stories about labor and delivery. Strangers shared stories about 40 plus hours of labor, sprinkled in with a few complications here and there. Close friends and family also had their share of stories, warning me of every possible scenario. With all of this swirling in my head as my due date crept closer, I couldn't help but wonder what my experience would be like.
Two days prior to my son being born, I woke up with some cramping that didn't feel quite normal. My Braxton Hicks contractions were a little more intense than they had ever been, but I didn't say anything to my husband. I went about the work day as normal until that evening when I could barely stand due to the intensity of the contractions. My husband kept telling me if they didn't get better, we would go to the hospital, but if I could bear it, my appointment with my doctor was first thing in the morning. I felt like my entire stomach was dropping slowly to the ground, but I kept my composure, climbed into bed and told myself to wait it out.
While waiting at the doctor's office the next morning, I continued to have contractions. I had no weight gain, which I thought was strange, and I asked the nurse to check to see if I was at all dilated, despite the fact my due date wasn't for another three and a half weeks. My husband joked that perhaps I was already dilated to 3 centimeters, but I told him not to get excited and the chances of that were slim. Well, what do you know, my husband couldn't have hit the nail more on the head - I was 3 centimeters and well on my way through the stages of early labor. We were instructed to go home, pack the car and just rest. Rest?! As big as I am on preparation, there were still things at home I didn't have ready for the baby. And there were still things we didn't have that we would need. I looked up at my doctor and assured him I would take it easy, all the while knowing we were about to head home and do some major baby preparation.
We jumped in the car, headed to Wendy's for lunch (don't ask why I chose there of all places, being the health nut I was during pregnancy), and went to Babies R' Us to stock up on everything we didn't have that we would need. I'm sure I was quite the sight to see, walking up and down the aisles as fast as my waddle would take me, throwing things into the cart and yelling, "Do you think we'll need this?", "What about this?" and "More diapers!" The employees looked at me as if I was crazy, but I didn't care. When we got home, I did some laundry, cleaned, and did the dishes while my husband vacuumed and built the baby swing. We took our dog on a walk to get her as tired as possible and to hopefully get my labor moving along. The first walk didn't do much, but the second walk a few hours later was what really set me off. We got half way down the street when I started yelling out the craziest, most incomprehensible things. My husband, of course, laughed hysterically at my reaction to the contractions and announced it was time to head to the hospital.
But it wasn't time - yet. During our childbirth class we learned a few little "tips" about delivery at a hospital. The first is, you won't be admitted until you are at least 4 centimeters dilated; the second, you aren't allowed to eat until after the delivery, starting from the moment you are admitted. Well, I couldn't do much to control the 4 centimeters, but I could control the eating part. I suggested a hearty meal at Freebirds, something my husband and I cringe and laugh about now. Being such a fantastic, obedient man, my husband drove to Freebirds. While in line, the contractions really started coming. The girl building our burritos looked horrified as I called out what I wanted on my burrito. I was ordering my meal through contractions, trying to eat through contractions, and making noises only other pregnant women in labor can appreciate. The stares from those around us were priceless. My husband must have been incredibly embarrassed because I wasn't half way through my dinner when he said, "It's time to go."
When we got to the hospital, I suddenly became overwhelmed. All those movies and T.V. shows that show labor made it look so scary. Could I do this? How bad was this really going to hurt? Was I ready for a full night of contractions and then weeks after weeks of no sleep? Could I be a Mom? What would happen to my relationship with my husband?
I broke down in tears in the car and my husband grabbed my hand and did the only thing in this world that could have calmed me down enough to get me inside - prayed. We prayed for awhile about all the things we were about to experience and just asked for strength, patience, and God's almighty love. God sent a huge wave of peace over me and I was officially ready. Bring it on, labor, bring it on.
Once inside I found out I was between 4 and 5 centimeters dilated and officially would be admitted. My nurse was incredible and once all my family arrived I felt much more at ease. And the epidural wasn't even that bad. It was over before I even had time to get nervous about it, and the pain relief was everything I had dreamed of and more. My husband and I slept a few hours as my body continued to progress through labor. At about 1 a.m. I decided to move to my side to sleep, and forgot to let the nurse know I was doing this and to come turn me. Whoops. About an hour and a half later my right side was dead weight and my left was starting to regain feeling. Every contraction that came shot down my entire left side and had me gasping for breath. My husband came to the rescue and turned me to my left side to try and get the medicine to run down that side of my body. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to fully get the epidural back in full swing on the left before it was time to push. I couldn't believe I paid so much for pain management that would only cover one half of my body, but I kept telling myself something was definitely better than nothing.
The room quickly filled with smiling, encouraging nurses, my doctor, as well as a proud Dad-to-be. When a contraction hit, I pushed. In between pushes I somehow found the energy to joke about how if I could have a cheeseburger I could do a much better job at pushing. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no Super Woman. I cried and looked up at my husband a few times to tell him I wasn't sure I could go on. But there were definitely moments when I was joking and laughing between pushing. I figured if I couldn't enjoy the time that would change my life forever, then what was the point? The final pushes were the most intense as I changed things up a bit and took control of the orders. "Keep going! Keep going! AGAIN!", were my exact words to everyone in the room. I meant business.
After just 30 minutes of pushing and some serious hunger pains, my son arrived. And he was perfect. His first act was to grab my finger and hold on tight. You never would have been able to tell he was premature by his size. It was truly a miracle. The icing on the cake: I finally got that cheeseburger I had so longingly pleaded for during delivery.
He's perfect in every way. His cry is perfect, his feet are perfect, the way he looks up at us is perfect. And he's ours. We are learning new things about him every minute and learning new things about being parents, but we love him so much. Our dog loves him because she thinks he is a toy and she will be awarded the opportunity to play with him if she barks loudly at him. Poor kid just looks at her. One day, those two will be best buds.
And that's my story. So, next time you come home and your wife is a little snappy, the house is a mess, dinner is burned and the kids are screaming, remember what she went through. Every story is different, but the end result is the same. No matter how long she labored or how easy or difficult it may have been, she did it nonetheless. That alone deserves an entire day of appreciation.
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