Welcome To The World Little One (Also Known As The Day I Screamed At Everyone)

Wow. These last few weeks have been quite the frenzy of activity, but what is life with a newborn if not a little bit hectic?

In the event that you missed my Facebook announcement, The Littlest joined our family on March 2nd. Tipping the scales at 7lbs 6oz, he was my biggest baby yet, but not at all the ginormous baby that the doctor had said I might expect.

Thank you Jesus.

Especially, because the labor and delivery was hard enough as it was.

P.S. I would like to speak to whomever conjured up the theory that so many have tossed my way in the last several months, when they said “being your third, this labor should be easy!” because that person lied.

LIES.

Seriously, lies.

With The Girl Child, I went from 1cm to having her in my arms, in nine minutes. Yes, truth. With The Boy Child, labor was six hours long, going from 6cm to in my arms, in less than 30 minutes.

With The Littlest?

FOURTEEN FREAKING HOURS.

And yes, I realize that many women labor much, much, longer than that, and while they have my utmost respect, I’m still going to whine, because it was a long fourteen hours.

Plus, I was hungry. Whomever also decided that laboring women should be allowed nothing but ice chips, is just mean.

MEAN.

I understand that it’s to protect you in the event that you suddenly need a c-section (of which I’m thankful for the protection), but still, MEAN.

I was hungry.

Going into this, the doctor and nurses had asked me what my birth plan was, and I had said it was simple; I only wanted two things.

– An epidural

– To not die

Guess what I didn’t get?

An epidural.

Guess what almost happened?

Death.

Well, technically I did get the epidural, but my heart didn’t like it and my blood pressure immediately dropped to 60/20, which is where the “almost death” came into play. And I’m going to brag here for a minute, because according to all the people rushing into my room and pumping ridiculous amounts of ephedrine into my veins, that was the lowest they had ever seen anyone’s pressure drop, who didn’t at minimum end up in the ICU and at worst, die.

Bitches, I didn’t even pass out! (booya!)

I did however, not feel well at all, just like I didn’t feel well each time they tried to pull and place the epidural again, which would without a doubt cause another pressure drop, and eventually they said “enough, no epidural, no pain meds of any kind.”

I cried.

A lot.

Then they pumped me full of so many fluids to try and raise my pressure, that I literally gained 20lbs just sitting there with my ice chips. Even my arms swelled up, my feet looked like someone had blown up a surgical glove to the point that they were basically balloons with nubs at the end, and not long after The Guy snapped this picture, my eyes swelled shut.

The hospital placed a nurse in the room to literally sit there all day and make sure I didn’t die, and she kept apologizing to my husband, saying “I’m so sorry that this is your first birthing experience, this really isn’t normal.” In response, the hubby laughed and told her that nothing with me ever is, and I sat there wondering when someone would apologize to me, the one not eating graham crackers in the hallway… the one almost dying.

Anyway, I bragged a minute ago, because I wanted to look good before I made myself look bad. Because unlike another blogger that I follow who had a baby just a few weeks ago, and described her birth as the baby coming “silently in the night,” I am not that cool.

I was a raging psycho.

Seriously you guys, I lost my ever loving mind.

After fourteen hours of being stuck at 3cm, within five minutes I progressed to 10cm and started pushing. Except that I was exhausted, on the verge of passing out, hungry, and in an immense amount of pain. I had a nurse from hell who kept screaming at me like a drill sergeant, and I wasn’t allowed to push in any position other than flat on my back, which was really hurting my back, and oh yea, EVERYTHING REALLY FUCKING HURT.

At some point, I snapped. Being held down on my back, the pain, the feeling of being out of control, the area where the doctor was obviously working… it reared up a lot of my PTSD issues from being sexually assaulted.

So I lost my mind.

The room was filled with people; much more than a typical birth. The doctor, multiple nurses, the anesthesiologist who was monitoring my blood pressure, a NICU team to check the baby’s heart (a precaution due to the genetic disorder the baby may have inherited from me), and several other people that appeared to be doing nothing but watching.

Watching me, lose my mind.

My doctor was telling me to push, and I was screaming “I HATE YOU! I HATE ALL OF YOU!” which is not at all my typical personality. And just like a more intense and not at all funny version of some cliche comical movie, I was also screaming at my husband that I hated him because he did this to me.

Basically it was not a pretty scene.

I’m not proud of it, but you know what, it is what it is.

Sorry folks, childbirth just really isn’t the way to bring out the best in me.

I was absolutely mortified, but in the end I delivered a healthy baby (who does not appear to have inherited my genetic disorder), but did have the cord wrapped tightly around his neck twice. And even though he didn’t come “silently in the night,” he was safe. He’s healthy, I survived, and this is real life. It’s not always pretty and perfect, although I wish that I could come on here and claim that it was (I really would have preferred to be a birthing goddess, or at least, gotten an epidural).

It was scary, ugly, there were a lot of tears, and even more screaming, but I did it.

My son was born, and instantly I couldn’t stop watching my husband, watch his new son. My husband’s face… it was indescribable.

Running back and forth between the baby and me, he couldn’t decide who to tend to first. After deciding that the baby was fine in the hands of the doctor, he came and held my hand, while I continued to sob through everything that had just happened.

“I love you, I love you,” he kept saying to me. “Thank you for this, for all of this. I love you even more now than I did yesterday. He’s perfect. All three of our kids are. You gave me an entire family, I love you.”

Then, when I finally pried my eyes away from him and laid them upon my son… I loved him. I loved him even more than I thought I was going to, and I love my older two even more, now that I’ve seen them fall in love with their sibling.

I love all of it, even if it came to me by way of screaming and yelling, I love everything.

So here I sit, a baby peacefully sleeping on my lap, the sweet smell of his newness drawing me in to kiss his fuzzy little head, and I’m happy. He’s perfect, even if the chaos swirling around his birth wasn’t.

Life doesn’t promise perfect, and it’s important to remember that. Otherwise, you may wait your entire lifetime for the perfect moment, the perfect situation, the perfect set up, and you may do just that; spend your whole life waiting.

Push through it. Through the ugly, the scary, the painful. Push through it even when you don’t want to. Scream if you need to, but keep going.

Don’t miss life, waiting for perfect.

Since I shared with you, the letter I wrote to The Littlest on the Eve of his birth, I thought I might also share with you the letter I wrote to him, right after I met him.

Dear Littlest,

Today you are one week old. As I sit here looking at you in your bouncer, snuggled under a blanket and sucking on your paci, it’s almost hard to imagine that it was only a week ago that you were inside my belly, and I was laboring away at the hospital.

It was a rough labor; my most difficult yet. 14 long hours, and an epidural that caused my blood pressure to crash so low, that none of the medical team tending to me had ever seen anything like it. 60/20, multiple rounds of ephedrine, and yet you were fine.

You were never in distress.

This was a difficult pregnancy for me, and it’s the reason why I didn’t start writing to you much sooner. Hyperemesis in the first and second trimester left me nearly bedbound, a bout with the flu that landed me in the hospital, preterm labor at 21 weeks, followed by a painful umbilical hernia, an iron deficiency so severe that I needed to receive infusions at the chemo center, and B12 injections each time. You pushed up into my stomach so hard that you gave me a hiatal hernia, which caused me to vomit nearly everything I ate, and kept me up around the clock for days on end. High risk doctor appointments, weekly nonstress tests and ultrasounds, multiple infections, and a visit to a fetal cardiologist, filled my days.

If I’m being honest here, there were many, many times that I didn’t think I would make it.

I wasn’t sure that I would survive, you.

I made plans for the care of your siblings, and I told your daddy all of my fears. I bought everything that I would need for your arrival, but I couldn’t bring myself to open any of it. So, it sat, all in its original packages, piled high in the crib that your daddy so proudly put together, as a silent ode to the fact that you were coming, and yet I wasn’t sure that either of us were actually going to be coming home.

Your siblings loved you, even before I let myself do the same.

But through it all, you stayed strong. Each appointment showed you growing bigger, and stronger, and I couldn’t help but begin to fall in love with you. We went to Build-A-Bear and made a teddy bear for you. We took a little cloth heart, and we each held it, prayed upon it, and sent it off with a wish before sewing it up inside.

And your daddy, well he’s something special. Tending to my every need, he loved you something fierce. Kissing my belly, talking to you, and gently scolding you when you kicked me too much, he’d often lay his face down on my stomach and whisper “I just can’t wait to hold you.”

Then suddenly, you were here. Crashing into our world albeit me screaming for my life, you came silently, and in wide-eyed wonder. Daddy cut the cord, and marveled at your existence.

You were here, and we both had made it.

Now, a week old, I can’t imagine my life without you. When your siblings met you, your brother walked into the room, gasped, ran over to look at your “little hair” and see what color your eyes were. Your sister wanted to hold you, kiss you, and snuggle you. When you stir or fuss, they each run to get whatever it is that they think you might need, lean over, and promise you the world.

You are quiet, sleepy, tiny, and loved. You don’t cry very often, and it’s funny, because I can see how you hung on all these months; taking all the struggles in stride.

You are a good baby.

You sleep most of the day and stay up most of the night, but even during those late night hours, you simply look around the room, coo, and take in the world around you. Arms and hands tucked up under your chin, eyes closed, you make gentle, happy, baby sounds, as we take in the wonder that is you.

We love you.

I wrote a week ago, that my life was going to change because yours was about to begin, and suddenly here we are, well on our way.

My life has changed, because now you’re here.

Thank you, for being here.

My gosh, it was difficult to get this little guy here, but he was worth never giving up.

Each of you, are worth never giving up.