Three years ago today my husband and I welcomed two amazing little people into this world. They are the most remarkable little boys I’ve ever had the privilege to know and I can’t but smile knowing that those smart and adorable boys are mine.
I was only 36 weeks along and had been having a really rough 3rd trimester. My Braxton hicks started at 24 weeks and my ob was positive I’d pop by 28.
Luckily my guys decided to stay in the oven a few extra weeks. Eight extra weeks actually. I was miserable, uncomfortable and my giant elephant ankles hadn’t been seen in months. The day before D-day, I had been in to see one of the ob’s (my office has 6) and all was good. Only 3 cm and 85% effaced, I wasn’t supposed to go for at least another week or 2.
Guess who was completely shocked and surprised at 11 am the next morning.
It started out like any other normal day. Woke up without an appetite…seemed to be the new thing for me. Not wanting to eat anything. My back hurt, my boobs ached and my ankles were so fat and cankled that I couldn’t even fit my elephant foot into a sneaker. I had many a crying fits sitting there with one of my pumps resting on two of my toes. It was depressing not being able to wear anything besides slippers and flip flops…or my grandmas orthopedic shoes. Which, when I was able to fit into those, was a complete mental break down. I was positive my feet would never shrink. I would have these mammoth tootsies that would require orthopedic shoes until I died.
My mother decided it would be a good day to go to Wally world and me not wanting to be stuck in the house was more than willing to go with her. My boys loved walking around. I waddled my extremely pregnant self to the bathroom for a shower, I’d learned my lesson about bathing while pregnant…you WILL get stuck in the tub, and was feeling a little more achy and sore than usual. I chalked it up to my shitty mattress.
After getting out I wrapped my beach towel around my protruding stomach, crying because I had to use a beach towel, and started brushing my teeth. That was when I felt it. I looked at the bathroom rug and was a bit confused. It looked like I had just peed on the floor, but I didn’t have to go and I couldn’t remember pushing within the last 10 seconds. And if I had, why on earth would I do it on the floor?
So I did what any logical and completely calm woman would do. I cried, then screamed for my mom.
She asked why I peed on her floor. I told her I didn’t know and didn’t even remember peeing. It just came out. That was when she had the “OH SHIT” look on her face.
It was time.
I wasn’t ready. I mean I was ready, but I wasn’t ready. I cried.
Mom laughed and had me call Greg to tell him to get his but back to PA (he was stationed in D.C. which was why I was still in PA. High risk pregnancy and a husband who would have 24 hour duties just don’t mix well) then back in the shower to clean up. I was still crying.
The ride to the hospital lasted forever. I didn’t think we’d ever get there. Of course, seeing as how I’m like my mother, I did what she did on the way to have me, had her stop at a gas station so I could eat first. I was actually hungry. So a V8 Splash, BBQ chips and a granola bar later we were on our way to Magee.
I was amazingly still okay. No contractions, no pain. So far labor was awesome. That didn’t last long.
My dad met us at the hospital to be by his precious pumpkins side as I brought his first (and so far only) grandchildren into the world. I was registered and then pushed aside to the waiting room with about 15 other pregnant women. That was when it hit me. It started as a small little pang in my side, traveling to my back. Okay, nothing major.Then it got worse and worse and worse. One woman actually had the nerve to tell me to keep it down, I was disturbing her from reading. I turned into the little girl from poltergeist that spewed pea soup. The nurse quickly got me to my own private room. I begged for the epidural.
I had back labor…which if you’ve never had back labor it is HORRIBLE! It is the most painful thing I’ve ever had to go through. Every time the doctor who was trying to administer the epi would start to shove that 12 foot needle in my back I’d have a contraction, my back would spasm and I’d cry like a little girl. It go to the point where he was crying. I felt bad and started to cry more. It was an endless cycle of tears. My mother, the fierce beast that she is, looked at the doctor, told him to quit being a giant pussy and get the damn epi in. He stopped snivveling and did.
Fast-forward 5 hours, Greg is still on his way to Pittsburgh from Washington, D.C. and I get this urge to just push. I tell one of the 20 nurses taking vitals of every living creature in my room and she says, “Oh no honey, not yet. You’re not ready.” Well, ready or not…here they come. I tell her again. I NEED TO F*ING PUSH! She did listen that time and wouldn’t ya know…there was Brett’s big ol’ head.
They rushed me to the OR in case I needed an emergency C-section. (Which I did not…a shit load of numbing agents, an epi and being out of it helped bring my boys into the world semi-naturally)
Half way through pushing Mr. Brett out I decided I was done. I didn’t want to push anymore. In fact I believe I said, “I quit. I’m not pushing anymore. Do what you have to get them out but I’m not helping.” Apparently when you’re the one who is actually in labor, you don’t have a choice. Those contractions happen whether you want it to or not.
An hour after that…I had two beautiful little boys. Brett was the hardest. He just would not budge. He was the most stubborn little booger. He still is. Eli though, 5 minutes and the kid was out.
Now, we’re celebrating their 3rd birthday. I still have a god-awful baby pooch and excess weight I’m …not really…working on. But, I’m happy. I have my boys.