Flashback Friday!

Once again, another week has hurtled past at lightning speed. And so, I find myself, composing another of these windows into my soul for all the voyeurs (hey, I’m in that group, too) that stop by here.

As I noted yesterday, this week’s rendition of Flashback Friday! is the story of how [Kid 2] got here. (And you should prepare yourself for the story of [Kid 3] coming to a blog near you pretty soon!) Lucky for you, as I noted when I shared the story of [Kid 1] last Mother's Day, none of my deliveries were boring.

Having been through it once, I wasn't the same completely scary experience it had been the first time. Of course, the pregnancies were pretty different, too.

With [Kid 1], I'd had some sciatica and about a month prior to delivery, my feet had swollen to roughly the size of two watermelons. [Kid 2] was kind enough not to do that to me. Though, I will note that with [Kid 2] I had been so sick early in my pregnancy that I went to the hospital to deliver her weighing one pound less than I had weighed before I got pregnant. Not the weightloss program I'd recommend, though.

[Kid 2] had been an unexpected surprise. Baron had just gotten a job where he didn't have to travel and we must have conceived the first week he was home.

I remember starting my new job and calling in sick like the third week. I felt terrible and assumed it must be flu. When I went to the doctor, they ran test after test and couldn't find anything. Finally, he asked when my last period had been. I told him I had missed the last one, but that I was on the pill and that wasn't uncommon. "I'd just like to rule out everything," he said. The foreshadowing was subtle. Or maybe I missed it because I was feeling so crappy.

In any event, when he came back in, he said, "Well, I think we figured out what's making you so sick. You're pregnant." I've often wished I could have seen the playback of that moment, so that I could see the look on my own face. It must have been priceless. Because, without me uttering a word, the next words out of his mouth were, "Now, if you need to talk about an abortion, we don't do those here, but I can refer you." So, I'm thinking the shock and horror on my face, as I processed the information that I had an 11 month old at home and I was pregnant must have been a sight to behold.

Obviously, I didn't take his referral and after a long and fairly uneventful pregnancy, I finally came to my due date. November 15th. You may have noted that [Kid 2]'s birthday is not November 15th. She was a little stubborn and willful, even back then.

So as the days rolled by after that due date, I began to wonder if she'd ever come out. At this point, I was going to my OB on a daily basis, and it was getting old.

Finally, as the first week of December started, and I wasn't remotely dilated and showing absolutely no signs of being ready to deliver (other than emotionally), the doctor sent me for an ultrasound. The technician indicated to me that my baby looked healthy. Great. Good. She's how big? Twelve pounds?

Did you say "TWELVE POUNDS"? Is this one of those metric conversion errors or something? No, huh. Okay, well can you get her out of there? Maybe that gel stuff could help. You're not even trying. Work with me here, will ya?


So she sent me back to my doctor with a note that said everything was okay, but that I had a giant mutant baby cooking in my upper ribcage. That was on a Monday.

I met with the doctor on Tuesday, and I point blank asked him how big he intended to let this baby get before he did something about it. I mean, I gotta tell you, the thought of delivering a 12 pound baby was not filling me with glee. So, he scheduled me for a non-stress test. This was to make sure the baby could withstand the stress of being delivered.

Okay, the 'baby' could have walked out and dressed herself by this point. But, hey, for legality-sake, and in a collaborative effort with the insurance companies, they HAVE to do this stuff.

Wednesday morning, I trotted back down for my test and as I lay on the examination table, I passed right out. Zoop...out cold. After I was revived, I was told the baby was cleared for delivery, but I was kinda curious what was going on with me.

See, apparently, the baby was so heavy, that when I laid on my back, she was applying pressure to a major blood vessel and cutting off the flow to my brain, thus rendering me unconscious. Cool trick, huh?

At this point, I told the doctor that either he could schedule an induction (at this point we were 20 days past my due date. TWENTY DAYS. Those of you who have never been pregnant may not grasp the magnitude of that statement, but trust me. It's huge), or he could put me on payroll. I'd been showing up at his office daily for three weeks. It was getting old. REAL old. So, we scheduled the induction for Friday (at 5AM) and I went home.

It wasn't that I was anxious to have the baby under these circumstances, but enough was DEFINITELY enough.

Early that Friday morning, we dropped the 18 month old version of [Kid 1] off at my grandparents' house (they lived closest to us), and headed to the hospital. Because every pregnant woman within a twenty mile radius of the hospital had gone into labor overnight, we got to sit in the waiting room until 9AM.

Finally, though, they escorted me to one of their new LDR (Labor/Delivery/Recovery) rooms where I would be staying for the next many hours. It was a huge, comfortable room, complete with a big screen tv. Know what was playing on that big screen tv the day [Kid 2] was born? Some people might not remember such a detail. Honestly, I probably wouldn't either, except that I remember looking at the screen and seeing this image...










just before I passed out. I remember telling Baron I didn't feel right and to please go get the nurse. He was in a daze. I looked at him imploringly, but his eyes were transfixed. He was so enthralled with TURNER AND HOOCH, that he didn't get the nurse until I was out cold.

Once revived, I learned I was going to have to do the remainder (which, since I was just getting started and hadn't technically HAD a contraction yet, was going to be a while) of my labor on my side. Yes. It was entirely as uncomfortable as you think. Especially three weeks overdue, with my gargantuan offspring still stubbornly clinging to my ribs.

The pitocin drip was started and, instead of the steadily increasing contractions I'd experienced the last time, I "went from 0 to 60" in no time. And doing it while 'sliding into second' didn't help either.

Roughly thirteen hours later, and (happily for me) weighing in at 9 lbs. even, [Kid 2] FINALLY made her debut. In the nick of time, too, as she made a mess on the doctor as she was coming out.

But as I lay there recovering, I watched as the nurses cleaned her up, wrapped her in a warm blanket and handed her to Baron...who promptly rocked her for the very first time. And it's a visual I shall never forget.

I hadn't really considered that the baby had been born on Pearl Harbor Day, but the nurses were so helpful in reminding me. All night long, as I tried to sleep, they'd come in to take my blood pressure and/or temperature every hour. And every time, they'd say, "Hey, did you know your baby was born on Pearl Harbor Day?" It was almost like a dream. Only without the sleep.

The next day, Baron's parents came to the hospital to visit us and my ex father-in-law (who'd fought in the pacific during WWII) said, "Hey, did you know the baby was born on Pearl Harbor Day?" I just rolled my eyes, smiled at the humor in the situation, and said, "Yeah, I heard that."

Many Christmas-y plans this weekend. I hope all of you have a good one, too!