I think every pregnant woman reaches a point in the pregnancy where they start to think "Ok, if he/she comes today, that'll be totally fine." This usually happens around 37 weeks, when the baby is officially full term, and the mother has bowling-ball-between-the-legs syndrome, shooting pain in her back, can't sleep or breathe, and just wants to meet the little scoundrel that has been causing this agony for months. For me that came even earlier this time around because of our December due date. The earlier Leila showed up, the farther away from Christmas her birthday would be.
So when my doctor asked if I wanted her to "speed things al- 'YES PLEASE!!' -ong" at my Monday appointment the week of Leila's due date, I did not hesitate. She stripped my membranes (a disgusting term for an equally disgusting procedure: separating the bag of water from the side of the uterus to induce labor), told me to be ready since labor would probably start within 48 hours, and sent me on my way.
I started having painful contractions a mere four hours later, but they were still up to a half hour apart, which is nothing to get excited about. I went for the longest walk of my third trimester, from our house to the bike shop to visit Jon, stopping along the way to catch my breath during the sporadic contractions. That night I hardly slept, due in part to pain, and part to anxiousness over the possibility of Leila coming any time now.
That night and the next day passed, and I was still experiencing painful contractions that refused to get any closer together. (Sidenote: the way my body felt a few hours after the membrane strippage, along with the pain of the contractions, matched the level of pain I felt when I WENT TO THE HOSPITAL with Kealani... so I was hurting for a good 40 hours before I knew she was really coming.) Tuesday night around dinner time, that slowly started changing and I desperately hoped this meant I would not be pregnant by the next day. We ate dinner, followed Kealani's bedtime routine, watched some TV, and Jon dozed off around ten. I didn't go to bed because the contractions were less than ten minutes apart and I knew I would never be able to sleep. Finally, at 2:00 am Wednesday morning, when the contractions were coming every three to five minutes and I'd spent an hour taking laps around our house, I decided to wake Jon up. We took our time, knowing I could still have hours to go. I took a shower, while Jon put the carseat in the car and got our bags together. We waited until the last possible minute to wake Kealani up. She woke up confused and groggy, but quickly became enthusiastic about play time in the middle of the night.
We made our way over the Grade in some of the densest fog I've ever seen, dropped K off at Nana and Poppa's, and headed to Twin Cities. After checking in, getting arranged in the delivery room, and hoping to God that I was somehow already dilated 7 centimeters, I got checked by a nurse and a nurse in training. I was only 3 cm, and supposedly my contractions weren't "all that close together" yet. (A very dangerous suggestion for this cutesy nurse to be making at the time, as I pictured myself clawing her eyes out and snapping her neck with my bare hands.) I took a stroll around the maternity floor for about an hour, just like I did with Kealani, and came back to find I'd only progressed about a 1/2 centimeter.
This is when the bad news came: our nurse said they were debating keeping me. I was on the fence between possibly being in labor for another day (sweet Jesus, please don't let me feel this pain for another day), and possibly having this baby in a few hours since my first labor was so "fast". (Sister, I know girls who barely made it to the hospital in time for someone to catch their baby... 14 hours isn't fast.)
I didn't want to hang out in the hospital if Leila wasn't coming for another 20 hours, but I also didn't want to leave and hang out at home in as much pain as I was in. After consulting the on-call doctor, it was decided that I would stay until my doctor came on call at 8:00 am. It was 5:00 am. Yay for not going home, NOOOOOOOO for waiting three hours before they finally decided if I could be officially admitted.
During the wait time I got to try out the hot tub, take another stroll, and then just sit in my bed as the pain grew more and more intense.
Finally, at about 7:30 am, my nurses came to tell me that I was being admitted and that I was going to have this baby pretty soon.
Now, I should probably mention that just like last time, I'd decided to go "as long as I could" without medication. This time I had more motivation (and was somewhat required to wait, since they wouldn't administer an epidural if I wasn't actually admitted into the hospital yet). I felt that since I'd been through childbirth before, I knew better what to expect, and was hoping that not taking meds would speed things along. I'll never know if it actually helped, but I do know this: back in Kealani's story when I mentioned thinking that my epidural had worn off by the time I had to push her out? No. It. Hadn't.
Back then, the contractions I started to feel, and pushing Kealani out of me was the worst pain I'd ever experienced, leading me to believe I was doing the end part au naturel. This is no exaggeration: that pain was nothing compared to the pain of the contractions I started feeling once Dr. Stanislaus came in and broke my water. (Remember, they broke my water last time, but I didn't feel a thing... this time I felt the crampy discomfort of the breaking, the rush of water that made me feel like I'd lost control of three different bladders, and the body-breaking-in-half, midsection-wracking pain that contractions truly bring on when you're not taking anything to relieve them.) I should have known when she finished sopping up my "water" (more like blood and guts) and said, "things are going to get intense now," before breezing out of the room. Wench.
At this point I lost track of time. Before my water broke, I'd been texting updates to my family and friends, making conversation with Jon, and laughing it up with my nurses in between contractions. Now they were too close together and too excruciating to do anything but grip the side of the bed (or Jon's arms) and try to survive each one. I consider myself to have a high pain tolerance, and I don't enjoy letting others see the pain I do feel, be it physical or emotional. Even my own husband. Leave it to the end stage of labor to take me from gallantly trying to keep my poker face and laugh through the pain, to whimpering into my pillow while tears involuntarily rolled down my burning face. All as my poor, defenseless husband watched on in distress, knowing there was nothing he could do to take me out of the anguish he was witnessing. (I'll refrain from making the tired joke that he's the one who got me in this crisis to being with!!! Nevermind, I just did.)
Leila decided she wanted to "mosey" down the pipes instead of "drop"... the term "drop", to me, connotes speed, since when I drop valuable things, the speed and force with which they hit the ground is often damaging. Leila seemed to think "drop" meant to stop and smell the uterus lining on her apathetic journey out of my lady parts. This led the nurses to suggest I stand up and rock from one foot to the other to allow gravity to help me drop this kid. Any movement infinitely magnified the pain, so I didn't last long doing this. The only "comfortable" (HA!) position I found was sitting straight up in my bed. After sitting back down, it was only minutes before one of my RNs rushed in and told me I needed to immediately switch positions to my side. According to the monitor, she thought my current position was squeezing the umbilical cord, obviously not an ideal situation. Unfortunately my side had proven to be the least comfortable position for me, and it was here that I was reduced to tears. I'm guessing there aren't very many ways to die that are more painful than labor. There are times you truly feel like you could be dying, and even begin to think, wouldn't death be nice?
Finally, Leila got into position and it was time to push. This was similar to my first time, just more painful, as I could feel each one of her movements, as well as the burning that nurses like to call the "ring of fire". (I'll let you imagine what that could mean.) Much like our first time, I could tell how close I was getting to being done by Jon's face. When he could see Leila's fuzzy little head, his eyes lit up and he encouraged me with, "Push, push, push, she's almost here!" With the last push, that familiar, sweet relief washed over me as the team quickly laid my angelic daughter on my chest and she greeted me with her screams. It was 11:35 am. Jon cut the cord, but this time they allowed me to hold Leila, skin-to-skin, for almost two full hours before cleaning her up and taking her measurements. (I got to hold Kealani on my chest, but they took her back after a few minutes to get her spiffed up.)
I will always remember that time. The time I got to spend bonding with my newly born, second beautiful girl as we took each other in, and Leila eventually dozing off peacefully on my contentedly rising and falling chest. I couldn't believe I'd been allowed to feel this joy again. To experience the emotions that come with seeing something I created with my teammate in life, and my love, Jon, for the first time again.
In the months before she came, I'd spent time pondering how I could possibly love another tiny human even half as much as I loved Kealani. I somehow didn't think there would be any room for another little girl soaking up my attention, energy, teaching, love, and joy.
Now, at only ten weeks old, I can't imagine life without Leila. She completes our family in a way I never could have predicted. Kealani is an unbelievably sweet, sensitive, and helpful big sister, and Leila is just as happy and relaxed a baby as K was. Our family feels full now. My girls are my greatest accomplishment, the things I am most proud of in my life.
The best things I have ever done.
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| Leila Jane |
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| Leila & Kealani: 10 weeks and 3 years |
