I Remember You

I remember the chill in the air when we went on a double date in the last days before you were born. We had dessert, watched a movie, and then drove home to a quiet house, just me and your dad, with you in my belly.

I remember waking up on the downstairs couch at 4 a.m. on the day before you were born. That was one of the spots I had taken to sleeping in during those last few weeks.  I headed upstairs to try to get some more sleep on the half-deflated air mattress - the other surface for semi-comfortable sleep in my very pregnant state - next to our actual bed. I remember settling in, rolling over, and feeling the warm sensation that let me know my water had unexpectedly broken. 

I remember thinking, "This isn't how I wanted this to start." 

I remember descending the stairs in the quiet dark, knowing that while the rest of the world was still asleep, our lives were about to change. 

.....

I remember the next 12 hours at the hospital. I remember starting out slightly annoyed at your dad for being distracted by his phone in the hospital room while I was trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. Turns out he was letting everyone who loves us know that you were on your way, and giving them updates about how you and I were doing. He loves us so, so much.

I remember:

- Feeling gratitude that I got one of the only wireless fetal heart monitors on the floor - an unexpected blessing! 

No regular contractions. 

- Walking up and down the hallways trying to get labor started, thanks to that wireless monitor. 

No regular contractions. 

- Walking up and down the hallways and trying to block out the sounds of another birth taking place in that wing. It didn't sound like fun. For anyone. 

No regular contractions. 

- Nurses changing shifts. Our doula, Tauna, arriving and getting set up. My doctor coming in, advising that I was in a serious situation and should induce to get contractions going.  My doctor coming back in several hours later to let me know she was leaving, that the on-call doctor would be taking over, and encouraging me again to induce. We tried anything and everything to avoid that becoming necessary...including your dad playing the dumbest, saddest music video about a girl and a dog to help get my emotions and hormones flowing. It worked for one of those things, at least. 😓

I remember breaking down in frustration because it felt like my body was letting me down and not giving me the chance to try giving birth the way I wanted to, with as little outside intervention as possible. 

No regular contractions. 

Finally, we agreed to start a low level of Pitocin, about 12 hours in. 

Hour 14: No regular contractions. Increase Pitocin.

Hour 15: No regular contractions. 1 cm dilated. Increase Pitocin.

Hour 16: Slightly more regular contractions. Increase Pitocin. 

.....

I remember not knowing exactly what to expect labor pains to feel like, but once contractions finally got going, it was a LOT harder than I was expecting. I remember a thought running through my head over and over again before I finally got the courage to say it out loud to your dad: 

"What if I can't do it?"

"Should I get the epidural?"

I didn't want to get into a situation where trying to muscle through the pain was actually slowing things down, my stubbornness causing me to end up needing the type of interventions I was hoping to avoid.* 

I remember that neither he nor Tauna gave me an actual answer to my question, but I could tell they were having a quiet (possibly silent?) conversation between them. 

And then I remember...very little about the next few hours as labor intensified. I learned later that I was actually falling asleep between contractions, but I do remember standing up between Tauna and your dad, with each of them encouraging and supporting me. Until another contraction came and I would immediately crawl into the bed and curl into a ball. I even lost my cool at one point and pounded on the side of the bed, until Tauna reminded me that tensing up instead of putting energy into focusing and relaxing wasn't going to help accomplish our goal.

Your dad reminded me of all the affirmations I had printed out and posted in the room. That I was strong, that I could do it, that I would see you soon. Baby Girl...he loves us so, so much.

Hour 19: I asked to be checked so I would know whether or not the end was in sight. I remember contractions being so strong and so frequent that it was difficult to get me into position to be checked.  Finally, after all that- 

4 cm.

I remember being so befuddled and frustrated by 4 measly centimeters, but I was quickly back into the rhythm of contractions and sleeping between them. Until about an hour later when I realized my body was telling me it was time to push. Like I said before, I hadn't known exactly what to expect or if I would even recognize what "pushing" felt like, but...let's just say it was impossible to ignore. 

I whispered to Tauna: "Can you have them check me again? I feel like my body is trying to push, but I want to make sure it's okay for me to do that."

Hour 20: Full and complete!

The room came alive with bright lights, activity, and several more nurses. They said: "Great, we'll call the doctor! He doesn't live far, so he'll be here soon." I thought: "HE'S NOT EVEN IN THE HOSPITAL??" but said, "How soon can he get here?" It felt like you were coming soon, and I wasn't sure he would get there in time. 

I remember doing everything Tauna recommended to slow down the pushing, and the second I heard them say the doctor was there, I got onto my hands and knees, blocked everything out, and let my body get to work. Your dad was still there, standing by my head and encouraging me. I remember feeling for some reason that I needed to make this quick because I didn't want you to get stuck. Whether or not that's rational, I was definitely motivated to get you out quickly. 

Just about 15 minutes later, you were here. 

None of us were quite ready for it because of how fast it happened, but thankfully our nurse was positioned near enough to catch you. 

I remember the second or two that passed between realizing you came out and hearing your first cry. It felt like an eternity, and I was holding my breath until I heard it. I know this sounds cliche, but it was the most beautiful sound to me.

I remember your dad and I, stunned, saying over and over again, "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! She's here! Oh my gosh!"

It took a few moments to get me from my birthing position back into a reclining position so I could hold you. I'm sure it would have been a little funny to watch them pass you forward underneath me while trying to maneuver me and the tangle of IV cords out of the way. I held you for a minute, and then the doctor said, "You're bleeding more than we'd like to see right now. We're going to give her to dad for skin-to-skin right now so we can take care of that."

Even though the doctor did a good job of maintaining control and calm in the room, it was clear that this was not a situation to take lightly. I was in a fog, but I remember being keenly aware that it wasn't a given I would stay alive.

I remember thinking, "She just got here, I can't go now!" And that I couldn't burst the bubble your dad was in with you. He was (and still is) so in love with you. I remember him getting my attention and saying, "Emily...she's so awesome." I didn't know it at the time, but it turns out he wasn't in the bubble with just you. He was very aware of what was happening with me, and he was thinking to himself while I was being fixed up, "I can't do this on my own."

The doctor told me once they got the bleeding to stop, and went to work repairing the pretty significant laceration that resulted from your speedy exit. I remember him talking about the new Mumford and Sons album while he worked, like it was another day at the office for him despite my life having completely changed. 

.....

Once I was all fixed up, I remember telling your dad: "That's the hardest thing I've ever done." And then I remember a few days later, thinking "Nope, I was wrong. This is the hardest thing I've ever done." Learning to care for a completely helpless and vulnerable person who depends completely on me, another helpless and vulnerable person, was a little terrifying. But we had so much help and support for which I will forever be grateful for. You are so loved, little girl!

I remember a lot of things about the year between that November 22nd and this November 22nd. Good, bad, hard, fun, amazing, scary, challenging things. Those will continue to happen in the years of your life that unfold, but every November 22nd, I'll remember the first time I met you with gratitude and wonder. 

Happy 1st birthday, Sweet Pea.

*I am not anti-epidural or anti-intervention, but it was important to me to at least give it a college try without those things first.