The Second Time Around

(This is the story of my labor, so if you don't want to know, don't read it--you can safely look at the pics at the end and move on with life.)

The contractions started earlier this time, Friday night. Thirty-six weeks and six days, just one day shy of "full-term." Unfortunately, contractions only came when I was lying down trying to sleep. As soon as I'd get up to time them, they went away. Still, I spent most of the night getting work done, washing dishes (because I just couldn't come home from the hospital to a pile of dirty dishes--aren't you proud, Mom?) and thinking that maybe this time they would stick and it would be labor. Nope. Sometime around six I gave it up and decided to get what rest I could, sleeping most of the morning.

I was pretty exhausted, but we really wanted to take one last trip to the Farmer's Market so we did that. And, of course, we couldn't skip our dear friend Alex's birthday party. So, we went bowling. Yep, bowling. All week long people kept asking me if I could. I didn't see why not. I mean, my balance wasn't great and neither was my score, but I don't exactly consider bowling strenuous activity. For the record, two of the people on my lane (ahem, James, ahem) were complaining of bowling aches and pains before I was.

I know, this photo is terrible, but it's the only one I have and I do think you need the visual here. It's also the latest pregnant pic I have, so it gives you an idea of my final size (let's just say, considerably larger than with Scout).

Saturday night, same routine. This time I was a little wiser. I knew the contractions weren't going to do anything for me, so I relieved whatever bodily complaint may accompany the contraction (it was a night of several trips to both the bathroom and the kitchen), and went back to sleep.

Sunday morning, I dragged myself out of bed and off to church. Of course all this contracting doesn't make for much rest, so I did take plenty of opportunity to complain of being really tired. And I may or may not have slept through the entire primary program rehearsal. It isn't my fault they gave me a seat on the back row with a very convenient wall to lean my head against. I talked with several people who had weeks of Braxton Hicks (warm-up) contractions before actual labor set in with their second children. So, I resigned myself to several more weeks of pregnancy, and made plans for nearly every day of the following week. Sitting around, clearing your schedule and waiting for a baby can make a person crazy!

Sunday afternoon we had a tour of the hospital's maternity ward. It was nice to visualize the process once again and remember how things were going to go. Plus, we got a preview of the super-deluxe suites they've installed since Scout was born. And when we told Virginia that Mommy was going to the hospital, she knew what that meant.

Sunday night, same story, more sleep. I had one really painful contraction that reminded me why labor isn't such a walk in the park. Other than that, I pretty much turned over and went back to sleep. It's important to sleep while you can, right?

Monday I went to the doctor, who gave me the standard spiel (I could check you, but it wouldn't tell us anything, but if you want me to I will). I opted to save myself the personal intrusion. After that I went in to work for most of the day (a delivery was supposed to come in to the office, though it never did). Monday night, more contractions.

Tuesday was life as usual, working, playing with Scout, etc. I have several hours of work meetings on Tuesday afternoon, so I ate my lunch and sat down for the usual line-up. I chose the exercise ball for my desk chair since I'd spent most of Monday in a really uncomfortable office chair and wasn't liking chairs generally at this point.

My last meeting (with my boss) ended just before 3pm. We'd talked through several things that I was going to get done before having the baby. However, when I stood up from the meeting, my water broke. It always seems to happen when I'm really in the mindset of having several weeks yet to go. So I was genuinely quite surprised. I was also a little relieved, as I'd wondered how I would know when I was really in labor if my water didn't break again like it did with Virginia. Apparently my body functions in a rather particular way. My water breaks long before labor really gets going and my children are born at approximately 37.5 weeks. In terms of gestational age, Thomas was born a day earlier than Scout.

So, I told James, gave my boss the fun news, and called my mom so she could start looking a plane tickets. A brief period of total chaos then followed. Having resigned myself to waiting several more weeks, I had nothing packed. I'd written a birth plan, which was nicely saved on my computer but not printed out. I had to dig out the hospital registration I'd procrastinated sending in and fill that out. James went to our storage room to get a suitcase and started hauling up all the baby furniture he could find--the bassinet, the bouncer, the swing. Meanwhile, Virginia was running around trying to tell everyone what to do and not knowing quite how to react to the obvious frenzy going on around her. Amidst all of this, of course, we had to put childcare plans into play. And, most randomly, James's distant relative called for some family history information. She wanted to know whether we'd had any more children since she lasted checked in with us. We told her to call back tomorrow for an update.

After about an hour, I thought I probably ought to call the doctor (I hear they appreciate that kind of thing). I still wasn't having any pain and, in fact, the contractions had stopped entirely. She said I could wait up to four hours before showing up at the hospital. So, we made plans to have dinner together before departing. However, I realized that I wasn't supposed to eat anything, so I changed my mind on dinner participation. I was actually hungry, but after last time, I have no desire to eat while in labor ever again. Scout knew we were going somewhere in the car and she desperately wanted to come, so we decided to drop me at the hospital (which just had to be calmer than home) and have James bring Scout back home, give her dinner, and get everything else together.

When I walked in, I'm sure the person at the desk thought I was crazy. First, I was alone (who labors alone?) and second I clearly wasn't in any pain. Nevertheless, they believed me on the water breaking story (unlike last time) and even let me skip triage (why create more laundry?). I changed into a hospital gown, broke out my iPod, and settled in for what I hoped would be a nice nap before things got started. By this time, it was approximately 6pm and I figured I was in for a long night. I was a little concerned about my energy level, so I figured a nap was the best thing for me.

My nurse came in before too long and started monitoring me. Everything was fine and I was only feeling every fourth or fifth contraction. As it turns out, the nurse had no other patients (apparently lots of people had babies that day, but they all finished shortly before I got there).  James got there about 6:30 and we settled in. I wanted to start walking and moving more now that James had arrived and I could safely progress. Somewhere around then, the nurse decided to check me and I was at a 5. Halfway done!

Around 7:00, my doctor came by. She had told me she'd be along in a few hours since she had another patient in labor as well. She wanted to check whether she could go home and put her son to bed before I would deliver. I felt great, so I confidently told her to take her time. Anyway, my doctor wasn't present at Virginia's delivery, so I'm none too attached to having a certain person catch the baby. So, the doctor headed home and the nurse promised to call if my demeanor changed before she got back. Once she left, I got up and started walking around the room. I was having almost continual contractions, though they weren't too bad. The nice thing about contractions (as opposed to appendicitis) is that the pain comes, and more importantly goes, in waves. You can also move around to make them less painful, which I appreciate. If you can just breathe for thirty seconds and keep moving, it subsides.

At 7:30, things settled down a bit and the nurse checked me again. Seven centimeters. I couldn't really remember, but apparently two centimeters in an hour is fast (or so said James). At this point, the nurse decided to call the doctor. She also said I couldn't get in the bathtub if I wanted the doctor there for my delivery. Moreover, the squatting bar was right out until the doctor walked through the door. So, I kept walking, and leaning, and rocking on the ball, and all those lovely things that help, but not really enough.

I think it was around 8:00 that the doctor came back (I wasn't really focused on the clock). She said it was now or never on the medication. I decided to try to bear one more contraction. And from there she kept telling me to do one more and one more. Sadly, they don't let you decide to have medication in the middle of a contraction. It's not really that sad, and I understand why they do it, but that doesn't mean I have to love it.

The next thirty minutes of this story are painful and ugly and I don't particularly care to relive them. So we'll just say that I finally made it to 10 centimeters (that's when they let you start pushing) at 8:25pm. And Thomas was born at 8:29. I could not believe it when they told me to feel his head already. He was screaming before his feet were even out, but he calmed down well once I got to hold him.

Lots of people have asked why his hands are purple. It's normal for new babies and results from the body switching over from relying on the umbilical cord to total independence. The extremities don't get priority when the heart is working on closing off valves and making the whole circulation thing happen.

I'm still quite amazed that things went so quickly. In fact, the nurses warned me to come in with a little more haste next time, lest I have a baby at home. When my water broke, I thought for certain that I'd be up all night and his birthday would be October 19. Not so. Not that I'm complaining. I also think it's cool that his birthday, 10-18-11 and my birthday, 01-11-81, have all the same numbers just in a different order. It's not as cool as being born on 11-11-11, but it's pretty nifty to me anyway.

Here we are together. I think this picture was actually taken before the last one because his hands aren't purple yet.

See? He's pretty much only happy when I'm holding him. Okay, that's not true, but he is much happier when being held close, even now.

So, the official information, for those interested, is:

Thomas Gunn McKay

Born: Tuesday, October 18, 2011 at 8:29 p.m.

Weight: 6 lbs. 13 oz.

Length: 18 inches

Here's a nice family picture for you.

Scout is adjusting fairly well to having a brother. She was very excited to come see him at the hospital and spent a lot of time talking about the baby coming out of mommy's tummy. Of course it's a big adjustment, but that's to be expected. One of my nurses in the hospital told me two is the worst age at which to add a new sibling. Great advice when it's too late for me to do anything about it, huh? I do think we nearly blew Scout's mind the day we explained that I am her mommy AND Tommy Gunn's mommy, but she's doing better with that now. She doesn't like sharing my time and attention, but at least she understands it.

She likes to pat him on the head and on the knee and foot whenever she wakes up. It's very sweet. Today she decided it would be a good idea to pick him up. Fortunately, she announces everything she's about to do before she does it, so I was able to relieve her of that notion before anything bad happened.

I think this is the closest she has come to giving him a kiss.

While we're mentioning Scout, for those of you interested in comparisons, she was born one day later in my pregnancy. She was half an inch long and weigh 2 oz more. And her labor lasted quite a bit longer, 10.5 hours with 45 minutes of pushing. Not that I'm complaining. The other woman my doctor had at the hospital had been there since the night before, and I still delivered before her. I don't know how those women do it!

And now, the thing you really want, gratuitous pictures of our little Tommy Gunn, because I can.

If you don't know, Tommy is named after our fathers. We think it's a good, strong name and hope he won't hate the nickname too much. Guys tend to think it's awesome, women tend to think we're crazy. Go figure.

All bundled up in his bed. This bed has been used by both of our children and a few friends' babies as well.

Getting inspected by the big sister.

Having a nap with Dad.

His fist time in real clothes. We won't say how many days old he was at this point. We've both had a lot of all-day pajama days since he was born.

With his Monga, who helped us all survive his first week at home. She's been gone more than 48 hours now and we've managed to avoid disaster thus far.

Looking a little more like himself rather than just a squishy, generic newborn.

These I took yesterday. I'm not overly enamored with any of them, but they give you an idea of what he looks like at two weeks. I have yet to truly "capture" Thomas, so I have to share my attempts.

So, after two weeks, we're all doing quite well, especially Thomas. He's up to 7 lbs. 4 oz. today, which is the 14th percentile. I guess that's good considering he wasn't supposed to be born until Saturday. His head circumference is in the 14th percentile as well, so it's really just his length that is off in 45th percentile land. He's already grown two and a half inches. I'm happy that I won't need to birth a bigger baby this weekend. Okay, let's be honest, I'm mostly just happy that I won't be birthing any babies at all! Nighttime feedings may be rough, but sleeping on my stomach is pretty great.