Friday, June 8, 2012

The Day My Son Was Born


10th March 2011

I was uncomfortable.


Being heavily pregnant was exhausting; especially with a little almost 2yr old to run around after. I was in the final stage of pregnancy, that every mother knows is called the JUSTGETTHISDAMNBABYOUTOFMEALREADY stage. The one where you are ready to try anything just to get this belly gone, and your little blessing in your arms.


It was a Thursday night, and we needed to head up to the local shopping centre for a few last minute supplies. Toilet paper, the boring necessities. So we headed up with our little bundle of energy (you can read her birth story here).
We walked, we talked, we chased the naughty rascal. Or should I say, I watched my husband chase the rascal while all I could think of was the braxton hicks contractions that were starting up slowly again. 


We dropped in to my aunt who was working, had a quick chat, and grabbed some dinner.
The braxton hicks' were not going away... I was calm, I had my hospital bag mostly packed, it was lying on our bedroom floor with the contents spilling out (courtesy of that cheeky girl). 
We headed home and I began to think that this could possibly be it.
As we drove home I reminded my husband (for the billionth time) that he really needed to get that car seat in ASAP. He assured me that he would get to it...

We got home, tucked the little one into bed, and settled in for the night. 
I couldn't sleep, my darling husband was on the computer, and I was bored. I packed my bag, and paced. 
I cleaned the kitchen, and made sure Eve's daily routine was printed and stuck to the pantry door, for reference for whoever would be looking after her (mother in law and hubby).
Hubby went to bed and I tried too. I could not get comfortable.
I had flash backs of my first labour, being told to go home and come back later, so I wanted to stay home as long as possible.
I tossed and turned, I was in pain.
I had a nice warm shower and paced the long hallway in only my underwear. My thoughts at the time were definitely not of the neighbours directly opposite me having a full view of my late night activities. 
I was concentrating on my breathing, walking, not stopping. I was determined to do this the natural way. 
It was getting late, the pain was getting stronger, 5mins apart, then 4, sometimes 3.
I called the hospital. Where are you coming from? Is this your first baby?
They listened to my answers and told me to come straight away.
I woke my husband, and slowly dressed as he called his mum to come over to look after Eve.
She and her daughter arrived, they wanted to chat, I wanted to run out the door. I was in pain, not really feeling sociable!
We finally made it to the car and then my husband remembered; the car seat!
We had turned the corner to find the street lined with bins. Perfect!
I paced outside the car and watched my husband pull the big box from the boot of the car, throw the wrapping in the nearby bins, and struggle to get it fitted in the car. It was a little different to the other seat, but he figured it out fast enough.
We were on our way again, it was 1am and the streets were quiet.
We arrived at the hospital and were greeted by what looked like a very bored midwife. She led us through to the labour ward where I was put in a room and examined.
I jumped in the shower, but I couldn't stay in there. I needed to walk. If I walked,and breathed, the pain was easier to manage.
I jumped out, got dressed and got back to pacing. 
The midwife popped her head in and asked how far apart my contractions were. I had no idea.
I asked hubby to time them using my iPad and an app I had downloaded and was using at home.
I fell into a trance of telling him when they started, when they had died down. It felt like time had slowed down.
Then I got to that stage.


The stage that is right before it all happens.
The stage where you throw your hands up in the air and say "No! I can't do this!" and usually that is followed by "GIVE ME THE DRUGS!!".
I asked about pain relief. I did not want an epidural. I had planned on giving birth on my knees, holding onto the raised bed head for support. I was determined, but collapsing under the pain.
"There is pethidine" The midwife told me. "You won't feel any pain, and you will be able to have a good rest, maybe a little sleep"
Sleep?
I was so tired, the prospect of having a rest sounded amazing.
The midwife rushed off and returned with a shot for me. 
I had to bend over the bed as she jabbed me; hard.
I waited for the relief that was sure to follow.
There was none.
I still felt pain, a lot of pain.
My body was tired, it made me feel even more tired, and sick. 
I vomited my guts up; regretting my decision.
I felt weak, I couldn't stand, I couldn't pace anymore. 
I lay on the bed, writhing in pain, wanting it to stop, wanting this stupid thing to wear off already, I was better off without it!
My prayers were answered, the pethidine barely lasted 20mins, my body was rejecting it. Soon enough I was back up, pacing around the room, breathing hard and still telling hubby of every contraction, when to start it and when to stop it.
The midwife would pop her head in every so often, asking how I was. I told her I was getting the urge to push. Without examining me, she said "No, you aren't ready yet. Just don't go to the toilet."
This urge was not going away, I could feel the head lowering, getting heavy. 
We had kept the sex of this baby a surprise, and I was so eager to meet him or her, I wanted to hurry up and start pushing!
The midwife rushed past my room and I called out to her. "I really need to push soon, I can feel it!"
She brushed me off again. "No. Just don't go to the toilet! One lady went to the toilet and pushed, and her baby landed in the toilet. Don't go to the toilet!"
She ran off to help another patient, and we were left alone again.
My husband was tired, he sat back down in the over-sized armchair in our room and looked like he was ready to pass out. We didn't usually pull all nighters, we like our sleep.
I asked if he could help me to the toilet, I really needed to go. He held my hand as I waddled over and sat down. 
Oh.
Nope, I don't need to go to the toilet!
I got up and resumed my pacing, more furious than before.
"Um, honey" I said, as I made my way over to the bed, pushing the buttons to raise the head. "You need to get the midwife. NOW!"
He yelled out the door for help and came back to me. I was getting angry. Where was the midwife! 
I told him to get her, now! Where is she?? 
He called out again.
I desperately tried getting my pants down, this was happening NOW!
My hubby helped me up onto the bed and ran out to find our midwife.
In the moment alone I positioned myself on the bed, breathed, and felt my baby pushing down. There was no more waiting, it was time.

The midwife and my husband made it back just in time. My body told me to push, so I did.
The midwife rushed around, trying to get the bed ready.
Everything was perfect in this moment. I had everything the way I had hoped. I was in the right position, I had no drugs in my system, I could feel everything.
I pushed...
And pushed...
And with one final push, I could feel the most amazing, and completely indescribable feeling. I could feel my baby coming out. A wave of relief followed. 
Then I was asking.
Is it a boy?
Is it a boy?
IS IT A BOY????


Yes, it was a boy.


My beautiful little boy. 
Elijah.
He was perfect.

I swung around and the midwife handed him up to me. My husband cut the cord and we gazed at our little darling.


A boy.
I was so happy, I felt so grateful, so blessed.
We soaked up that moment, the love and happiness taking over.
I held him as I was stitched up and listened as the midwife told me I had interrupted her breakfast, and she couldn't wait to get back out there and finish her toast. Oh, sorry!

My hospital stay was short, I was eager to get back home to my little family.




We struggled with him as a newborn, he had reflux. Not silent reflux, like Eve, he had the kind of reflux where he would spew all over everything, every time he had the tiniest bit of milk.

He didn't sleep fantastically, but we managed.

I managed to function with two kids under two.
(Six weeks after Eli was born, Eve turned 2)

All the things I were afraid of weren't there.
I was worried that Eve would feel left out, not get enough time with me.
When Eli napped, we had time, time to bake, play, draw, paint.



When Eli was awake we all cuddled, played, pulled silly faces at each other.



And of course the time flew, Eli started to grow.

He crawled...


Instead of walking (he is working on that one) he tries to talk, and sing...


And every single day I look at my kids and feel happy...


Grateful...


So blessed...




4 comments:

  1. That is such a gorgeous photo of 2yo Eve kissing her baby brother! Those are the best photos, I have a few myself!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. They are the loveliest photos! It reminds me that even though they kick,hit,slap,punch,pull hair,push & shove they do really love each other. :)

      Delete
  2. Oh that is such a beautiful story, you made me cry! I'm so glad you got to have the labour you wanted :) It's funny how no matter the disturbed sleep or cleaning up or crying, all we will remember brightest are those amazing moments of cuddles, playing, kisses and joy.

    ReplyDelete
  3. What a joyous story! He is beautiful. You did well:)

    ReplyDelete