It's hard to believe it's been over a month since this sweet little man joined our family. The first few weeks postpartum are always such a whirlwind. It's a precious time of soaking in that beautiful, miraculous baby while also trying to adjust to little sleep, changed family dynamics, and a symphony of postpartum body changes. I always feel so connected to my new babies while we both figure out how to live in this new life we've both been thrust into.
I had a miscarriage when I was six weeks along right before becoming pregnant with Mosiah. I was devastated. I would find myself crumpled on our kitchen floor in the middle of the afternoon crying for the baby we would never hold. It was a pain I had imagined many times before when friends and family would suffer their own losses, but all the imagining didn't really help shield me from the sharp pain that would come when I experienced my own. I prayed often during that time period. Angry prayers, sorrowful prayers. One evening while praying, I had an incredible sense of peace wash over me. I could feel both of my Heavenly Parents' love for me and assurance that all would be well. I took a pregnancy test a few days later and was shocked to see two bright pink lines. I immediately thought back to how'd I'd felt praying that week and knew this person growing within me was the comfort and peace I'd pleaded for. When I looked up my estimated due date, it was September 21st International Day of Peace. They ultimately changed my due date at my first OB appointment based on ultrasound measurements but the feeling I felt when I first saw when he was slated to arrive sustained me throughout the pregnancy. It was not an easy pregnancy. Not that any pregnancy is ever really a breeze, but this one came with new aches and pains I hadn't experienced before. I had a dislocated rib that made normal day to day things randomly painful and I couldn't sleep on that side almost the entire pregnancy. I do really love being pregnant. I feel so incredibly grateful to be a woman when I'm pregnant. Despite the uncomfotable bits that come with pregnancy, I'm always in awe of the miracle that creating a person really is. My respect for life in all it's forms becomes heightened. Death becomes so heavy for me knowing all the love, time, energy and prayers that get poured into the creation and sustaining of one human being. I stop being able to watch shows where anyone casually dies (like crime shows) because my heart can't handle it.
This pregnancy also brought a big cross-country move. I was so grateful for the timing of this pregnancy in relation to our move. I was able to do a good amount of the packing, carrying, and lifting that comes with moving without falling apart. Though, this miraculous feat is due mostly to the countless hands, primarily our families, who helped us. We had a good few weeks to help the older kids get adjusted to their new place before baby brother got here which I think has helped them immensley. We had time to make some wonderful new friends who helped with childcare while I went to those frequent last OB appointments. The phrase before and after I have a baby that constantly goes through my heart and mind is "what debt of gratitude is mine". We have been so blessed and have so much to be thankful for.
I have never even remotely gone into labor on my own. Rowan was a three day marathon induction plus he was two weeks overdue. Lyra was a much easier induction, but I was dilated to nothing beforehand and had to do cervadil for twelve hours the night before. I was almost at 1 cm with Rodrick when they induced me so I thankfully didn't have to have cervadil, but I was induced early in the morning and he didn't get here until 11pm at night. This boy gave me something different and I love him for it. I started having contractions on my own Saturday evening that extended all day Sunday. I'd never experienced labor on my own and hadn't been thinking it would ever happen. I spent Sunday doing all sorts of things to see if the contractions would become more consistent. When we were walking around at one point, I felt a trickle of water go down my leg and wasn't sure if my water had broken or I had peed myself a little. Since they had told me at my last ultrasound that I had lower fluid, we decided I should go in the L&D to get checked. Thankfully my mother-in-law was here and able to watch the kids so we could go in. I was already scheduled to be induced on Tuesday as the aforementioned ultrasound was saying Mosiah was already a little over 9 lbs and had lower fluid. I also had been at almost 2cm at my last OB appointment which was huge for me because again, I'd never even been to a solid 1cm before. I was almost at 3cm when we got to L&D and my water had not broken (just peeing myself like a pro). They had me walk the halls for an hour to see if I would progress any further and I had some terrible contractions and I hated it. It was awkward too because we just did laps around the nurses station so we got to make eye contact with them every two minutes. I ended up feeling awful and went back to the traige room to barf. It was fun. Loved it. When they checked me, I hadn't progressed at all. We asked if they could just give me pitocin and get things going since we were already there. After calling my OB's partner (my OB was dropping off her son at college), the partner said she wouldn't want to step on anyone's toes by inducing me. Since you know, my OB was just dying to do it herself. Eye roll. They told me I could walk another hour and they could check me again after that but I was too tired and felt awful so we went home. I'm ultimately really glad they didn't start the induction that night since I get to sleep in my own bed for another two nights, get everything solidly squared away for the baby, and kiss the kids again a few more times.
We had to get to the hospital at 5am on Tuesday which was soooo early feeling. I had contractions the night before and hadn't slept wonderfully (cause who even does at this point in the pregnancy anyway). I got to remember how much I hate hospital births with all the poking, prodding and immediate un-comfyness. I HATE having an IV so hard. Hate it. Ripped it out myself this time the very second they told me I could. They started me on pitocin and told me my OB would be coming around 11 to break my water. I bounced on a ball most of the morning watching shows while Mike went through old pictures on his phone. I had very mild contractions that I hardly noticed for a few hours and they didn't stay particularly consistent. It was a whole lot of nothing from 6am-1pm. The nurses were fantastic and didn't hover, just let us do our own thing while occasionally checking on me. Despite it not being particularly painful during this part, I was so uncomfortable. The IV, as mentioned, sucks. Moving my hand or arm around in any fashion was uncomfortable. Wearing the hospital gown to allow all number of cords to wrap around my body is uncomfortable. The beds are soooo uncomfortable. The most comfortable thing to sit on was the birthing ball and we just kind of bonded for that wasted bulk of hours. I had gone back and forth with Mike and the nurse on whether to have the anesthesiologist give me an epidural before or after they broke my water and I elected for after as I really wasn't in any pain. (In true mother-of-afour fashion, I started this blog post weeks ago and have only added bits of it at a time. The facts of actual timing is a bit fuzzy at this point so I'm not sure the exact timing of any of this) The OB finally appeared around 1:30pm to break my water. It took all of five minutes and she was on her way out of the door. Contractions started to pick up and I decided to ask for the pinnacle of modern medicine; an epidural. I had spent my two first births determined to have a medicine free birth and can tell you I had no intention this time around. I hadn't done any mental preparation and had really enjoyed how epidurals made the births of Rowan and Lyra (and mostly Rocky) enjoyable. Can you imagine telling a woman 200 years ago that she might sit contentedly in a bed and realize with not one inkling of pain that the baby is crowning? I don't know why exactly, but I was not feeling like the anesthesiologist was going to do a good job the minute she came in. I kept making eye contact with Mike while she was trying (and failing) to hook me up and mouthing "is she bad at this?". She had to jab my spine three separate times and it took foooorever for anything to go numb. I was feeling all sorts of things at this point and was very inpatient for the epidural to do it's thing. I had what they call a hot spot, a portion of your body where the epidural doesn't work, that was awful. Mike dutifully kept pushing the button to increase my dosage, but nothing was dulling that pain. Transition started to hit like a runaway freight train and I was not ready for it. We asked if the anesthesiologist could come back and bolus me, but my nurse said "let's just push this baby out without pain medication". Mike was a great defender and insisted I would want that bolus as it wouldn't take long at all and I did NOT want to feel the ring of fire. I was a delirious mess and could hardly think even remotely clearly. Mosiah was crowning and my nurse assured me I could do it. THEN she left the room, told me not to push while she ran to find the OB. I had the very irrational thought to get on my knees and start pushing anyway. I would have done it had one of my legs not been completely and utterly useless. Mosiah came in a quick, furious rush the moment the OB came in. Two painful pushes and this sweet boy was earthside.
He was my biggest baby, 9 lbs 10 oz and 21 inches long. He had poor broken vessels in his eyes from his quick trip down the birth canal and was super jaundiced. He even now, almost 6 weeks later, looks a little yellow. They wouldn't let me take him home the following day because of his bilirubin and I cried in that cold, unfeeling hospital room pretty much the whole night. We had been planning on heading to dinner that evening and my MIL had brought the big kids. I bawled while the nurses told me I couldn't leave and Mike thought of a genius plan for me to still see the kids. He drove around to the back of the hospital and let them all wave from the parking lot up while I tried not to cry behind the window. I kept thinking of all those families with NICU babies and how heart-wrenching it must be to not have all your children together in one place. I know it was only one night, but those hormones after you have a baby are no joke. We busted out the next evening and got to introduce the older three kids to their new baby brother. My recovery took a turn for the worst two days after getting home. I had been feeling really good and done a few chores around the house when I started to feel miserable. I spiked a fever and started to fear that mastitis was visiting me again. I could hardly walk and had horrible pain in my abdomen and lower back. I mostly laid around in a feverish state trying to not fall apart while keeping this new little person alive. My FIL came on Saturday evening and I didn't even see him until he'd been in my home a few hours because I was in such a bad state in our room. I kept trying to take sweltering hot showers (a for sure sign in the past of mastitis for me) to stop shivering and I couldn't stop my teeth from chattering. Mike taught me the trick of sticking my tongue out which helped for a little bit, but oh my goodness, I was so, so cold. I was in a kind of pain I hope to never revisit. We called my OB Saturday night to ask for antibiotics and struggled to finally find a pharmacy open 24 hours. I felt like it wasn't mastitis at this point because it had never been painful to walk or move like what was happening now. My OB said if it was a uterine infection, mastitis or endometriosis that the same antibiotic would be prescribed regardless. I am SO grateful for modern medicine. The ibuprofen and antibiotics helped me recover from an infection that likely would have taken my life 100 years ago. I'm so grateful my in-laws were there to help and for the rock of a man Mike is.
I am so, so grateful for this smiley sweet boy. He is well-loved by his older siblings and is such a gentle, pleasant thing. Mosiah is a perfect baby. His name felt so right when we first considered it. I needed this person to know his name was a tie to strength, peace and faith. While the world seems to spiral out of control, he will always know where to turn to find the same peace and light I did when I was in the depths of despair.
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