I've neglected my poor blog for nearly a year. You poor readers, all one of you must have been desperately wondering what's been going on in my life for the last year. How did having a kid turn out? Did he arrive on time? How's he doing? These are all valid questions.
Yes, my due date was June 22, 2013. I never expected to either go into labor on that date or have my son be born on that date. In fact, I was hoping he'd come a little early, you know, like maybe a week or a few days, give a big, fat, pregnant bitch a break, you know?
Since he did not show up on his due date, I hoofed it back to the doctor on June 24th, only for her to tell me there was no change, there was no way in hell I was having a baby any time soon... but that didn't mean that he couldn't come any day now. At that point she also tentatively scheduled me for induction on July 2 since she didn't want me going two weeks past my due date. Believe you me, I was not looking forward to being induced, however, I felt a twinge of relief knowing there was now an actual end date. Every day I waited with baited breath wondering if I'd drop that kid like it was hot. I'd be thinking, oh God, don't let my water break at work, everyone will think I pissed myself, or I sure hope I don't go into labor when J is at work, I don't want to tell his boss I'm popping out a baby. Every day that he did not show up, I grew bigger, and more pissed off. I was like, what the hell, kid? Show up already! We're all anxiously awaiting your arrival. I went to work every day, waddled around and completed my tasks and wondered when I'd be telling my boss I wasn't coming since the kid was coming.
My last day of work was July 1. Early in the morning on July 2nd, the day I was supposed to be induced, I went into labor, at 1:30 in the morning exactly. J joked around that if I went into labor in the middle of the night that I better not wake him up. It didn't occur to me to wake him up when the contractions started, because, what was he going to do, really? Watch me waddle around, huffing and puffing until it was time to go to the hospital? Besides, I figured since I was holding him captive for the whole birth, he was going to need his rest. He woke up around 10:30 and found me hunched over on the couch panting like our dog. He made me a quick breakfast and goaded me into the bathtub because I was insistent upon trying to be clean for the hospital since I knew I wasn't going to get to shower for a day or two.
My last day of work was July 1. Early in the morning on July 2nd, the day I was supposed to be induced, I went into labor, at 1:30 in the morning exactly. J joked around that if I went into labor in the middle of the night that I better not wake him up. It didn't occur to me to wake him up when the contractions started, because, what was he going to do, really? Watch me waddle around, huffing and puffing until it was time to go to the hospital? Besides, I figured since I was holding him captive for the whole birth, he was going to need his rest. He woke up around 10:30 and found me hunched over on the couch panting like our dog. He made me a quick breakfast and goaded me into the bathtub because I was insistent upon trying to be clean for the hospital since I knew I wasn't going to get to shower for a day or two.
Around noon he decided it was time to head for the hospital. Contracts were under five minutes apart and I could barely walk because it felt like I was going to drop a watermelon, okay. So we get there, check in, whatever. They put us in a pre-screen room, just to make sure I'm actually in labor... yeah, I was. Then they put us in a room where I seemed to be progressing fairly quickly. My actual doctor was there when we arrived at the hospital, but she was like "good luck with your labor, I'm leaving at 5:00 today." Shit! I decided to go with an epidural because, for me, the contractions were worse than kidney stones, there you have it. I had to wait an inordinate amount of time for the epidural because there was a girl ahead of me that had to go in for an emergency C-section. So, while I was like, where the hell is my %&^%@% epidural? I understood that the girl ahead of me took precedence.
Finally, I got the epidural, and let me tell you, it was heaven. I did not like that they sent J out of the room while they literally stabbed me in the back, and that stab hurt! Once it was hooked up and running, it was marvelous though. However, allegedly the epidural was slowing down the process. It was getting closer to midnight, they had broken my water a few hours before, and I had no inclination to start pushing. Gradually they started easing off on the epidural, so I could start "feeling" the contractions more, and maybe start pushing. Well, I still had no inclination to push, but I was definitely feeling those damn contractions.
Over three hours of pushing went by, and nothing was happening. We saw the top of his head, and that was it. This kid was stuck! Never mind that my doctor had mentioned that part of my pelvic bone jutted out in a manner that would make it nearly impossible for a kid to pass through. You think this information would be on my chart? No!
27 hours of labor went by. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept since Sunday night. It was now early Wednesday morning. Around 4:00am they decided I could either keep pushing... if I wanted to, or they would do a C-section. Really? Keep pushing, when they and I knew the kid was stuck and he hadn't moved in three hours! Believe me, a C-section was literally the last thing I wanted, but I also knew that if I kept going at this rate, the kid might be in danger of infection, so I decided to let them gut me like a fish.
4:20am, high off my ass, and having to stop the surgeons in the middle of the operation because I feel them working on me, our son was finally born! 8lbs., 10oz., 20 1/4". I was so out of it, I could barely see him when they put him in front of my face for a millisecond. After they cleaned him up and checked him over, they gave him to J to hold while they sewed me back up. So he had a baby in one hand, and my cold, clammy hand clamped on his other hand.
True to form, the first thing our boy did was take a big dump on his old man. Hey dad, I'm finally here, I gotta shit!
The next few hours were a blur. I shook violently from the meds in the IV. I couldn't hold our boy for over an hour after the surgery. He got poked and prodded while we all had to watch. Finally, it calmed down for a short while, and the three of us got to pass out.
Being in the hospital sucked. Someone was always coming in just as the baby fell asleep. Which, hey, I'm glad they were checking in on the two of us, but shit, that baby was pissed, and I was too. Recovering from major abdominal surgery was rough, and nursing a baby while being split open was no field day.
We got to go home on July 5. Living in a Bungalow at the time and our bedroom being upstairs, we had to camp out in the living room for 2 weeks as I was ordered not to climb stairs for said amount of time. As I gradually healed, J and I got more used to being parents.
Now, our little boy is about to celebrate his first birthday. I cannot believe how fast this year has flown by. He's already taken a few trips and passed several milestones. He's been sitting up independently since he was four months old, started walking at nine months, he's got eight teeth, he eats full man meals, as of his nine month check up he weighed 21lbs., and was 29" tall. I'm confident he's over 30"+ by now. He's incredibly bright, and he's pretty much a whirlwind.
So, being a parent is exhausting. There is no more free time, no more "me" time, and working full time cuts down on that even more. It's tough to juggle work and a little one, but he seems to be adjusting, even though I think he's secretly pissed when his dad and I go to work.
When he's older, I look forward to harassing him about how it took 27 hours of labor and being gutted like a fish for me to bring him into this world.
Finally, I got the epidural, and let me tell you, it was heaven. I did not like that they sent J out of the room while they literally stabbed me in the back, and that stab hurt! Once it was hooked up and running, it was marvelous though. However, allegedly the epidural was slowing down the process. It was getting closer to midnight, they had broken my water a few hours before, and I had no inclination to start pushing. Gradually they started easing off on the epidural, so I could start "feeling" the contractions more, and maybe start pushing. Well, I still had no inclination to push, but I was definitely feeling those damn contractions.
Over three hours of pushing went by, and nothing was happening. We saw the top of his head, and that was it. This kid was stuck! Never mind that my doctor had mentioned that part of my pelvic bone jutted out in a manner that would make it nearly impossible for a kid to pass through. You think this information would be on my chart? No!
27 hours of labor went by. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept since Sunday night. It was now early Wednesday morning. Around 4:00am they decided I could either keep pushing... if I wanted to, or they would do a C-section. Really? Keep pushing, when they and I knew the kid was stuck and he hadn't moved in three hours! Believe me, a C-section was literally the last thing I wanted, but I also knew that if I kept going at this rate, the kid might be in danger of infection, so I decided to let them gut me like a fish.
4:20am, high off my ass, and having to stop the surgeons in the middle of the operation because I feel them working on me, our son was finally born! 8lbs., 10oz., 20 1/4". I was so out of it, I could barely see him when they put him in front of my face for a millisecond. After they cleaned him up and checked him over, they gave him to J to hold while they sewed me back up. So he had a baby in one hand, and my cold, clammy hand clamped on his other hand.
True to form, the first thing our boy did was take a big dump on his old man. Hey dad, I'm finally here, I gotta shit!
The next few hours were a blur. I shook violently from the meds in the IV. I couldn't hold our boy for over an hour after the surgery. He got poked and prodded while we all had to watch. Finally, it calmed down for a short while, and the three of us got to pass out.
Being in the hospital sucked. Someone was always coming in just as the baby fell asleep. Which, hey, I'm glad they were checking in on the two of us, but shit, that baby was pissed, and I was too. Recovering from major abdominal surgery was rough, and nursing a baby while being split open was no field day.
We got to go home on July 5. Living in a Bungalow at the time and our bedroom being upstairs, we had to camp out in the living room for 2 weeks as I was ordered not to climb stairs for said amount of time. As I gradually healed, J and I got more used to being parents.
Now, our little boy is about to celebrate his first birthday. I cannot believe how fast this year has flown by. He's already taken a few trips and passed several milestones. He's been sitting up independently since he was four months old, started walking at nine months, he's got eight teeth, he eats full man meals, as of his nine month check up he weighed 21lbs., and was 29" tall. I'm confident he's over 30"+ by now. He's incredibly bright, and he's pretty much a whirlwind.
So, being a parent is exhausting. There is no more free time, no more "me" time, and working full time cuts down on that even more. It's tough to juggle work and a little one, but he seems to be adjusting, even though I think he's secretly pissed when his dad and I go to work.
When he's older, I look forward to harassing him about how it took 27 hours of labor and being gutted like a fish for me to bring him into this world.
