Throughout my pregnancy people kept telling me how huge I was. At four weeks until my due date, I was already "progressing" and our little one was positioned very low. My doctor asked me how large my first child was. When he heard the answer 8 pounds, 2 ounces he responded, "Would you be open to having the baby a week early. She's probably going to be bigger than your first and you are a good candidate for induction". At that point, I didn't have an answer for him. Ethan and I discussed it and decided we would let nature take its course.
After having a week of flashbacks from my recovery with Little Ethan, I became increasingly worried about having a giant baby. "Little" Ethan was not so little and made his entry into the world in only two pushes, which left me with a third degree tear and a lot of healing to do. If you don't know what a third degree tear is, feel free to google it. However, I would not "google image" it...the results are probably terrifying.
So before my two week appointment, Ethan and I both created independent lists of pros and cons for inducing. Our lists matched exactly. One of the major pros was the fact that our doctor would be the one delivering our baby. One of the cons was that there is some research that suggests it is 1% more likely that your birth will end in a c-section. Since my mother had four children and no c-sections, I felt pretty confident that it was not going to happen to me.
In our opinion the pros outweighed the cons and we decided to induce. We headed into the hospital on the morning of June 29th to meet our baby girl.
We should have known it was not going to be a smooth day when he got on the elevator. The elevator randomly stopped between floors and violently pitched up and down for minutes as Ethan and I frantically searched for the emergency button, which was no where to be found. Finally, as I yelled for Ethan to call 911, the elevator stopped. We stumbled out of the doors and told a nurse, who did not seem concerned. We wanted to take the stairs up to the maternity ward, but there were no non-emergency stairs (a security measure in case people try and steal a baby...creepy). Shaking, Ethan and I climbed back on the elevator with a nurse escort (to protect us from the elevator?) and reached the maternity floor safely.
We checked in and I put on my backless robe and settled into bed. My doctor came in and commented on how small my baby bump was and said he thought she'd be about 7.5 pounds. The nurse agreed. This was pretty much opposite of what I had been told my whole pregnancy. I was expecting at least an 8 pounder.
My doctor broke my water and my contractions began. My "birth plan" was the same as last time - try and enjoy the situation as much as possible and get my epidural early. My plan worked like a charm last time. Besides being insanely nervous, I had a very easy and painless labor.
After having contractions and making small talk with the nurse, I got my epidural. We were on our way! My doctor told me labor would probablybe quicker this time since it was my second baby and she was positioned so low. I was contracting well and we all thought we'd have a baby by early afternoon.
At about 2 pm, we were all getting aggravated. My nurse was confused as to why I wasn't progressing faster. She could literally feel the baby's hair (yuck...but exciting...bows!). My doctor came in to check me and was also surprised at the lack of progress.
My family had been in the waiting room for hours and I was sure they were blaming me for the slow labor. I just knew they were all thinking, "She never should have induced". During all of this, I should have concentrated on the positive. Instead, I wanted to take my mom and husband's iPhones and stomp on them and send everyone in the waiting room home so I could stop imagining them judging me.
At 5 pm, my doctor let us know that he had dinner plans with another couple and would be leaving within the next hour to go get Thai food. So much for that pro!
By 6:45, my doctor was enjoying his dinner and I was in tears because of the pain and frustration. At that point, I realized that my epidural was not nearly as effective as it was last time. I should have known something wasn't quite right when the nurse seemed confused when I was announcing my contractions earlier in the day and commenting on their strength. At this point, it was time for Eliza to be born and there was no amount of pain meds that would get in my system quick enough to get me any relief.
The doctor on-call came to my room and told me it was time to push. I was in a blinding amount of pain and tears were streaming down my face. I looked over at my husband and mother and saw that they weren't doing much better than I was. My mom was in tears and Ethan didn't know what to do.
After a few pushes, the doctor (who, by the way, was very young and pregnant) told me that my baby was positioned correctly...with the exception of her head. Her head was tilted back (as if she was looking up). This is a bad position because it is literally the largest a baby can make their head. The hugely pregnant doctor tried to reposition our little girls head while I pushed in an attempt to get her out. When our little girl repeatedly tilted her head back after being repositioned the doctor called for nurse back up. They ended up have to use a suction machine and the doctor to keep her head in place so she would be able to come out. All of this occurred in a 15 or 20 minute span.
Finally, Eliza was born. It was the most emotional moment of my life. I finally met my daughter and the excruciating pain ended. I was almost too shaky to hold her, but managed to keep it together enough to give her her very first hugs.
The consensus from the hospital staff was that she would have been born in the early afternoon had her head been positioned correctly. Instead, she spent the afternoon and evening contracting against my pelvis. I made it through with a level two tear and some pretty extreme bruising. The doctor realized my epidural was not working correctly when I could feel her stitching me up. A shot of Novocain gave me the most relief I had felt in at least an hour.
My family met our olive-skinned brunette (surprise!) in shifts when she was about 30 minutes old. I was too overwhelmed to see everyone at one time. Grandparents, then siblings, then cousins and great aunts and uncles. I have never wanted to hug my father so much. It was the best hug of my life and a moment I will never forget.
There were a million other amazing moments that occurred in the days to follow.
Eliza is now six weeks old. I am not completely healed and am fighting an infection caused by breastfeeding. All that said, she and Little Ethan are completely worth it. I would go through an infinite amount more for them. Our family feels even more complete with her in it. Even though days can be hard, I don't know if I have ever felt so happy with my life.
