As my co-blogger, Aubrey, wrote in our last post, she welcomed an adorable baby girl into the world (well, if you want to be technical, she was writing about her intent to welcome said baby...I can now assure you she did in fact, actually have that baby). As I'm a few hundred miles away from my best girlfriend (and her pink bundle of joy), I missed out on all the fun and excitement of a real life baby shower. So, I figured I'd bring my very favorite part of the fabulous baby shower I couldn't give her to our blog. Ok...second favorite (it's really hard to have a cheesecake and quiche through the internet)...The Birth Stories. You know what I'm talking about. Bring a random group of women together, throw in a pregnant lady with imminent birth approaching and you know that every single one of them is going to relish in telling a birth story (or two...or three... ;).
I don't know why I love birth stories so much, I just do. Maybe it's because my three births were so distinct and different from each other. It could be because I have a penchant for reliving my most painful moments in the knowledge that I did, in fact, live through them. It could be my hope that passing on my experiences could possibly help some bewildered first time mom. I'd like to believe that it has something to do with the joy each of us find in bringing a child into the world in our own unique way, yet still forging a connection to the millions of women that have done it before us.
And this, dear readers, is where you come in. Come on...you know you want to...
To get the ball rolling, I'll start. I figure I'll post my first birth story now and then in a day or two, I'll post the next and so on. That way, you y'all will have three chances to post a story, rather then just the one. Like I said, I REALLY want some participation here.
My oldest was my c-section baby. I'd had an extremely uncomfortable pregnancy, so it came as no surprise that his birth was the same way. Little man turned breech at 36 weeks and was too big to find his way back around. As I was a first time mom, my doctor recommended I do a cesarean, rather then attempt to turn the baby. Looking back now, I don't know if I would've gone that direction if I knew then what I know now...but no use crying over spilled milk. Anyway, I woke up at 7:00am, 6 days before my due date, with light contractions that continued throughout the day. They never became super-regular, so I didn't think I should go into the hospital. Silly, I know, considering I was a c-section mom, but I guess I just had the 4 minutes apart rule so ingrained in me that it's like it never occurred to me to go in. Anyway, I picked up my mom from the airport (she was luckily scheduled to arrive that day), went out to Carraba's with her, my aunts, and our husbands (best. meal. ever.), made a quick trip to Wal-mart, and hit the hospital at 11:30 pm. I was then at 4 cm and was in pain, but nothing too bad. They stopped my labor and scheduled a c-section for the next morning (they would've operated then, but I had had a big meal). Morning came, I was sicker then a dog (they wouldn't let me eat anything, which stirred up my still-present morning sickness) and my contractions were returning. At 8:08 am, my 8 lbs, 8.5 oz baby boy was taken from my body. It was not the happiest moment of my life. I was too busy throwing up into a basin (the pain meds were giving me extreme nausea on top of the aforementioned morning sickness) while having my body strapped down to the table. Sooo not fun. Even more not fun was that my father-in-law was watching the whole thing (so not my idea) and would forever refer to my son's birth as a "slice 'em and dice 'em." I was super-groggy for a while and didn't even get to hold my son for the next few hours. I was desperate for him by the time they brought him to meet me. Recovery was long. and painful. Not to mention the tell-tale trademark c-section perma-belly I have to show for it. The whole thing wasn't exactly something that I was eager to repeat.
That all being said, I'm still so, so grateful that in today's day and age, we have the medical knowledge to bring my baby safely into the world, no matter his position or weight. Truly miraculous. And you know what, despite the fact that the doctor took him from my body instead of me pushing him out myself, it was still a birth in every sense of the word. I had grown my son inside of me for nine months and then I gave him up into the coldness and harshness of the world, protecting him as best as I could with my arms and my heart. And that is, after all, what birth is about.
(ok, ok, if you don't want to type out the whole story, just give me some of the highs and lows, overall feelings about the birth, the basic stats, etc.)