There Were Tears in That Labor and Delivery Room

Surely it was the chips and salsa at On The Border that kicked the contractions to a whole new level on that Tuesday night in early October. This being my first child I had Caleb look at his watch and begin timing the contractions, not strong enough to take my breath away, ten minutes apart.

She told us that would be the sign that the baby would be here any time now. Contractions, lasting more than 60 seconds, ten minutes apart. That's what our childbirth educator told us. So we grabbed the bag that had been packed for weeks and headed to the hospital.

By the time we got there, the contractions had subsided, so we headed back home and I continued to wake Caleb up every ten minutes throughout the night. And the next day. And the next night. And the next day.

Really, those stinkin' contractions were ten minutes apart and consistent for 48 hours.

Since I had already been sent home from the hospital once, I decided that I would wait until the contractions were 3 minutes apart before I hauled my big belly back there. On Thursday night, we showed up, once again, bag in hand, not having slept a wink since Monday night. And when they hooked me up to the monitor, they confirmed that indeed my contractions were three minutes apart. But I had yet to progress to one centimeter. So they sent me back home and told me to come back later.

We returned home and I continued to dig my fingernails into Caleb's arm every three minutes for the next 24 hours.

I was scheduled for an induction on Saturday morning, and in between three minute timings, we made a call to the Labor and Delivery floor at the hospital. Imagine my gut-wrenching, contraction-induced fury, when they told us there were no beds available and to call back in the morning.

Completely exhausted and weeping, I convinced Caleb to take me to the hospital anyway. When we arrived and they gently reminded me that there were no beds available, I broke down and told them I would NOT go home again. Where is the STABLE? The nurses checked me again- still no progress, still contractions every 3 minutes. They suggested that we go home, but I kindly declined and took to walking the halls of the hospital. All. Night. Long. Every three minutes, nearly falling to the ground from the pain and exhaustion.

When they finally paged us to tell us there was an L&D room available, I got in that gown so freakin' fast and told them to bring on the Stadol. You see, I had it in my delirious brain that I would not get an epidural.

The Stadol did not take the edge off, rather it made me feel like a drunk getting kicked in the gut multiple times every few minutes. At this point in time, I had progressed from a zero to a one. Big deal. After 40 hours of labor, I was reluctantly convinced by Caleb to take the Big Needle that Saturday morning, October the Ninth.

Enter Anesthesiologist.

My new best friend for this delivery and the future deliveries of all of my other children. And within minutes of that Epidural being set, I was in a deep slumber, and so was Caleb, for the first time in five days.

I woke to the Oklahoma and Texas football game. Under normal circumstances I would growl, but alas, I was nearly ready to meet my daughter, Nine blessed centimeters. At this point in time, I was totally elated.

So when a young male paramedic in training came in the room and asked if he could witness the delivery for training, I said, "SURE!"

And when my mother-in-law and mom asked if we wanted them to leave, I replied, "No! Please stay!"

And when my brother came in the room to ask Caleb for my dad's phone number, the doctor proclaimed the time had come to start pushing, and no one could come or go from the room, my brother went and hid in the corner, away from any views that would permanently scar his brain.
In less than six minutes, and two contractions later, Avery Clair was born.

There were tears in that Labor and Delivery Room. I'm not kidding you, my mom was crying, my mother-in law was crying, Caleb was crying, I was crying, the nurse was crying, the doc was crying, the paramedic was crying (well, maybe not, I didn't really look), and I am most certain, my brother was crying because he got caught in the Labor and Delivery room with his sister.

Holding that brand new baby in your arms makes a mother forget all the woes of the week before. At least until she recalls it all to wish that baby a happy fifth birthday.

Avery, you are a joy in our lives,

and we love you so much!

Happy Birthday Little Miss Five Year Old!