The Birth Story!

Here's the fun stuff! Molly's birth story!

39 weeks, 5 days, still Pregnant!

I had been having contractions about every 5 minutes the day before my due date, and TR and I went into labor and delivery. Of course, as soon as I was in a bed, the contractions all but stopped. Less. Than. Pleased! I was still a 1, so they sent me home. We decided to do all our Christmas shopping that day to try and move things along. I w still having contractions that night, but they weren't as bad so I figured I would go to work the next day anyway. Apparently the office was all very disappointed that I was sent home.

Work was painfully slow on the 22nd due to Christmas and all, and there wasn't much to be done. My contractions were still about 7 minutes apart, but they were becoming increasingly painful. I only worked a half day and asked to go home since there wasn't much to do and I was mildly miserable. I tried to sleep when I got home to no avail. I wrapped presents to put under the tree and tried to keep my mind off my contractions. They still weren't close together and I didn't want to be sent home from L&D again. My visiting teaching companion and I had made plans to visit our sisters that day, and since my water hadn't broken and I could still move I kept the appointments. We walked from one end of the ward to the other, which isn't hard when you're ward is only 4 blocks squared, but for a 40 week pregnant woman, it was much harder than it looked. I'm glad I went though. I love my sisters so much.

On the way home, I stopped at Nate and Jessica's house because Mom was there watching Milo while the rest of the family went to a movie. I dropped by to chat and my contractions were very hard at this point. They were still pretty far apart so I didn't think I was going to the hospital that night. I went home, ate dinner, and TR and I started playing a computer game with each other. I had to stop every few minutes to breathe through a contraction. Around 11:00 pm TR told me that he was going to take me to the hospital because my contractions were hurting me so much.

We got there and checked in, and around 1:00 am, after no progress and a shot of Morphine and phenegren in the hip, I was sent home again to wait it out. Around 4:00 am I was awoken by contractions again and decided to go to the bathroom and get a cold drink of water as that had helped me in the past. I went to the bathroom and found I was bleeding pretty heavily and had passed a couple large blood clots. I started freaking out. I woke TR from his very deep sleep exclaiming that we needed to go to the hospital RIGHT NOW. He asked me if my water had broken and when I told him it hadn't but I was bleeding he was still too dazed to really get the urgency of it. Three contractions later we were in the car

on our way BACK to the hospital.

This time when they checked me I was a three and my contractions were extremely hard, but still five to seven minutes apart. I was worried they were going to send me home a third time, but after monitoring both me and the baby for an hour they decided to admit me. Shortly after that I got an epidural and life was grand.

Shortly after getting the epidural I progressed to a five and stayed there for the next 15 hours or so. I slept a lot during this time, waking to request tiger's blood ice chips and talk to the nurses. The doctor came in around 11:00 am to break my water to see if that would speed things up a bit. She couldn't break it all the way so I was trickling for a while which was a really strange feeling when you know you have a catheter. Molly kept moving, making it hard to track her heart so the doctor changed to the internal heart and contraction monitor which gave me a little more mobility.

After a while, when they noticed my labor wasn't really progressing they decided to put me on pitocin to get the ball rolling. Once the pitocin was started the nurse noticed that the baby's heart rate was dropping with each contraction. Baby girl did not like the hard contractions. While my contractions were getting closer together, I still wasn't progressing. They gave me oxygen to help the baby's heart rate come back up after the contraction had ended.

Molly wasn't bouncing back from those contractions like she should have which concerned the doctor and they took me off the pitocin to see if that helped. The baby responded better, but that slowed my contractions back to five to seven minutes apart instead of two to five minutes apart. The doctor said she wanted to try the pitocin again, starting with the lowest dose and working up to see if it would help the baby get used to it and respond better. Almost immediately her heart rate dropped again and it was clear the pitocin wasn't going to work. At this point I was still a five and 80% effaced. The nurse prepared me for the possibility of a C-section. I didn't want to have a C-section as I knew the recovery was long and hard. At least longer and harder than a normal, vaginal delivery. I prayed for comfort and help in this time.

The nurse wanted to wait another hour to see if I would progress and if the pitocin had jump started my labor just enough that I could do it on my own, but everything was prepped in both the OR and my delivery room in either case. Then a miracle, or what I felt was a miracle, happened. An hour later, after 15 hours of sitting at five centimeters dilated, I had progressed to an eight and was 90% effaced! We waited another hour. I had progressed to a nine and it looked like I didn't need to do a C-section after all. I quietly rejoiced and said a prayer of gratitude.

The next hour was a roller coaster of emotion. The baby was having an even harder time with the contractions, and my contractions were still five minutes apart. A C-section might still be necessary. I was told to be prepared for anything since no one was sure as to what was going to happen. At about 9:00 pm the nurse checked me and I was complete and ready to push. By this time, I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours, I was exhausted both emotionally and physically, and I didn't know what to expect. When the nurse asked me if I thought I would be able to push for the next hour I nearly cried, but I nodded my head. I just wanted to see my baby girl.

I pushed once, and waited the 5 minutes until my next contraction. Then pushed again, and waited. One more time and the doctor could see my baby's full head of hair. TR couldn't yet, but the doctor could. Between two contractions the doctor got ready to deliver. Over the next three or four contractions it became a waiting game since they were still about five minutes apart. Push and wait, push and wait. When Molly finally came out her head was three different levels of coned because of the waiting period.

Finally, at 9:38 pm, after pushing through 6 contractions I heard that sweet baby cry. I never understood why women cried after the birth of their babies. I always wondered why they weren't crying DURING the birth. Once I heard that angel voice, I couldn't help myself. The most exhausting, scary, and rewarding event of my lifetime was at an end and it was totally and completely worth it.

She was finally here. She was beautiful. She was 7 lbs 12 ounces, and 20 and half inches of pure perfection. At first I had a hard time recognizing her. She didn't look like I had imagined her to look and I just couldn't figure out who she was. I cuddled her, I looked at her, counted toes and fingers, and I loved her, but she was a complete stranger to me. It wasn't until after TR brought her back to me after she had been to the nursery that I recognized her so completely and felt a love so deep and radiating that it was almost tangible.

It's only been three weeks, but I can't imagine my life without this sweet spirit! We love her so much as are looking forward to watching her grow and learn and we just feel so lucky to be her parents!

Friday, January 13, 2012

The Pre-Birth Story

I know, I know. I promised the birth story next. This is part of the birth story. I don't think I can justify recording the birth of my child without recording the events that brought her to me. No, not THAT. Silly people. Be aware that this may be TMI for some. I've been needing to record it for a while now, but didn't feel right about it until now. Bare with me.

TR and I started trying for a baby in October of 2007. That's right. Just two short months after we were married. I was ready for a baby. I was so in love with this wonderful man I had married that I was extremely anxious to start our life and family together. We talked about it and prayed about it, and felt ready to get moving with our salvation train. I was prepared for the process to take a while, but I was thinking a year tops.

Months and months passed. I think I spent $300 dollars on pregnancy tests alone that year. I cried every time the test came out negative. TR gave me blessing after blessing. Promises of children filled my soul. Promises that I didn't realize would not come to pass right away. Or even when I wanted them to. Friend after friend and family member after family member announced their effortless pregnancies. Taped smiles and swallowed tears filled the empty void in my heart. I cried in the celestial room of the temple for hours. I was broken. I was broken for a long time. I stopped praying. I stopped asking for blessings that only felt like a hammer to my heart again and again. I stopped going to the temple. Church held no appeal for me. I felt abandoned not only by my Heavenly Father, but by those who loved me most. I wasn't angry at God. No, that's not something you do. I was hurt. I talked with people, but didn't tell the whole story. I cried myself to sleep the days when I got advice and condolences.

I have never been to a darker place in my life. I shut out a lot of people who loved me. In retrospect, I am so thankful for my husband. It wasn't easy for him either, and I knew that. I didn't care. I was numb to anything other than my own pain and heartache. It consumed me. TR would try to comfort me. More plastic masks and fake smiles to him. Looking back, I probably hurt him worse than anything could have hurt me. I shut him out a lot of the time, yet he kept trying to reach me. He talked to me, comforted me when I broke down, loved me just because it was the only thing he knew how to do to help me.

This process lasted over three years.

During this time I had three fibroid miscarriages. A baby that wasn't enough of a baby to show up as pregnant on a stick or requiring an D&C, but that was enough to cause a lot of pain, days in bed, dizzy head, and a crazy amount of bleeding with large clots, not to mention complete devastation and depression on my part.

Please don't think I didn't have any joy in these three years. I enjoyed myself. I did have joy. I loved my husband more deeply than I ever had. I loved my family. I enjoyed the time we spent with friends. My nieces and nephews brought light into my very dark place. There was joy. There was happiness. Sometimes there was enough joy and happiness to make me forget how very broken I was and I could carry on. I was blessed in this time. I had turned my back on my Heavenly Father, but he had not abandoned me like I felt. He blessed me at every turn, I was just too consumed in myself and my grief to realize it. I didn't want to hear it from those who were removed enough to see it.

Near the end of the third year TR and I got insurance. For the first time in our marriage we had real insurance. We had had COBRA and we had other forms of temporary insurance, but nothing that would let us go to the doctor for real. After the insurance kicked in we both went to the doctor just to get checked out. I expressed my concerns to my doctor, feeling void of hope that there was anything we could do that was affordable for two mid-20s. I wasn't regular. I never have been. That makes it hard to plan a pregnancy. The nurse practitioner in my OBGYN office was wonderful. She was the first person to give me a glimmer of hope in three long years. All I had to do was take a regiment of pills, and get some blood work done. Simple enough right? There was the possibility of it just not working, and that was made clear to me, but if after 4 rounds of the clomed (the pill that would make me ovulate) I still wasn't pregnant there was a fertility specialist right in the office. One of the best I was told.

I started right away. I had to take a weeks worth of pills to get the ball rolling before starting the clomed. I was hopeful, I was almost happy. I was scared that it wouldn't work and that dark pit that I had struggled to climb out of would consume me again, but I was on my way up and that was a light in the darkness.

Month one came and went. Not pregnant. No biggie. I still had three more months. It doesn't ever work on the first try. Climb a little higher in the hole.

Month two, not pregnant. There was still hope. No need to worry. Climb a little higher.

Month three, not pregnant. Despair. I was almost out of months. Then what would I do? Slipped a little down the pit. The doctor ordered some tests on TR as well as me. Everything checked out. All was normal and well. It just wasn't happening for us. Doubt crept into my mind. What if I wasn't supposed to be a Mother? What if I never had children? Could I learn to be okay with that?

Month Four. The light of hope that had burned so brightly just three months ago was flickering and nearly completely extinguished. Once again, I was numb. I was late, but I had been the last two months too. I waited almost a week this time. I finally convinced myself to take a pregnancy test just to start my period. That's how it worked. I was late, I'd test, negative, hours later I would start.

TR had gotten the test for me and gave me some "privacy" which meant he was going to go wait in the kitchen until I was ready to tell him the results of the test. Like I said, I hurt him more through this process than anyone else and he was extremely understanding and caring through the whole thing. I peed on the stick and sat in the bathroom by myself, my glimmer of hope growing dimmer by the second. I watched one line appear. Negative. Sigh. But wait, faintly a second line showed. I kept a cap on the light of hope that threatened to blaze again in my heart. It couldn't be real. It wasn't possible. Minutes passed. The second line didn't go away. It didn't get darker, but it didn't go away. TR patiently waited in the kitchen for me to bring him the results. In a haze I walked to the kitchen clutching my little plastic stick.

"Honey, I think I'm pregnant."

I had to repeat myself for TR. I was quiet and unbelieving. He grabbed the instructions for the test. Sure enough, there were two lines. I was quickly scooped up in a tender, strong, caring embrace. I felt. For the first time in months I felt what was in my heart. The flame roared to life warming every aspect of me. A rope was extended to me and I easily sprang from my pit. All those months and years of trial washed away. I cried like I had never cried before. I was still skeptical. We got another brand of test, a digital, clear indicator. No guess work. There it was in beautiful black print: Pregnant.

I didn't realize how much happiness I had been denying myself. I took three more tests waiting for one of them to show me that I was crazy. That night for the first time in many many months I knelt by my bed and prayed. I said a prayer of gratitude. I opened myself back up to my loving Father in Heaven. He touched my soul and showed me that I had not been alone. He had never left me. I was being tried and tested. I hadn't handled it well. I knew that. I had done very poorly. I was full of sorrow for my actions. Not for long. Peace, love, and mercy spilled over me. I was not to feel the pain of this experience any longer.

My pregnancy was blessed beyond belief. I didn't have any morning sickness. I wasn't even really that tired. I was able to work right up until the day she was born. Doctor's visits were easy, no complications, perfect blood pressure. She grew on schedule and everything was perfect. Blessings were given in abundance. So much love was shown to us. I was happy, I was healthy, I was forgiven, and I was turning myself back to the Lord.

Sorry for the deep, dark, depressing post. The next one is better! I promise!

Humbled

I promise, I'll post my birth story soon, just for a record.

I am just having some middle of the night musings that I feel I need to record.

Being a new mother is the most humbling thing I have ever experienced. Over the last three weeks I've spent more time on my knees, asleep on the couch and rocking chair, asking for help, filled with a joy I could never even begin to comprehend, and the deepest sorrow I've ever felt. I've been peed on, pooped on, and puked on. I've also been slept on, loved on, focused on, and smiled on.

My thoughts, actions, and every word are turned heavenward. I have constantly had a prayer on my lips. I prayer that my precious baby would come soon. A prayer that she would be healthy. A prayer that there would be no complications, and when it seemed there would be, a prayer that I would cope no matter what. My prayers then turned to ones of sleep. I prayed that by baby would sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time because I was so exhausted. There were prayers that no harm would come to pass while we were sleeping. That I would be able to sleep through the anxiety of something going wrong, and I prayed that I would be able to hear that little cry in the night. Those prayers were, and still are, answered. Three wonderful hours at a time. Yes, it's been extremely hard. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I often find myself thanking my Heavenly Father that my baby is healthy and sleeping three hours at a time, and asking him to grant me the strength to roll out of bed and take care of her. The prayers have turned to ones of comfort. Both for me and for Molly. Every moment I utter a prayer. When the baby spits up, I pray that she's alright. When she's sleeping I offer a prayer of thanks. When she's getting bounced by her daddy and is just content as can be, I offer a prayer of gratitude for the life I have been given. I have been blessed. I've learned the power of the "every day" prayer. Those tender moments where you raise your eyes to heaven and cry out for help and a gentle peace washes over you. The prayers that are like a small child asking their father for help with the simple things in life are answered with blessings poured upon me and I am loved.

I have felt the deepest love over the last three weeks. Love that I didn't know existed. I've felt love. I've loved. What I feel for this little angel child can scarcely be called love. It's so much more powerful than that. I loved her before she was born. My heart swelled when I found out I was expecting and I instantly found myself with stronger feelings than I had ever had before. I loved my husband more. I loved my family more. I loved my friends more. All that love must have been making room in my heart for Molly. I couldn't imagine how love could grow so strong, but every time I look at her, or see TR holding her or watch her sleep, my love for her only grows stronger and penetrates my very core.

Along with that love comes the joy and sorrow I feel. Molly has a terrible rash right now. Every time I change her diaper it breaks my heart. I feel like I could just die when I hear her cry so hard she can barely breathe. I can't just wave my hand and make it better and that is a sorrow I never imagined. I know there will be many more times like that for me through her life and the thought of it just makes my heart ache. On the other side of that, the joy I feel while snuggling my daughter, rocking her while she's sleeping, snoring softly, is incomprehensible. A feeling I couldn't even begin to describe if I wanted to. It's a very sacred, soft feeling, but a powerful one. A feeling that brings tears to my eyes.

Over the last three weeks I've had to learn to ask for help. There is a reason why they say it takes a village to raise a child. I can't do it all on my own. I don't like to ask for help. I never have. My stubborn nature fights against it with everything I am. But, when you're running on a night where your newborn baby has woken up every hour to eat or be changed or just to be cuddled, it's hard to focus and do the dishes or make yourself some lunch even though you're starving. I'm lucky. I have lots of family nearby that help me. I have a wonderful husband that does everything he can for me. My pride prevented me from asking for help. I have been humbled. I have asked for help with every aspect of my life. Laundry, dishes, even getting in and out of the bathtub. The first few days, I found it horribly degrading. I should be able to do these simple things for myself. This is silly. I would try to do them myself before help would come in the morning. I found it wore me out and impaired my ability to care for not only myself, but Molly as well. It wore me out and made nursing, holding Molly, changing her, and even sleeping a hassle. A few days after coming home from the hospital I fell terribly ill. I had a fever and the shakes. I could barely lift my head. It was miserable. I know now that this was a lesson for me. I had to ask for help. I couldn't hold Molly without feeling like I was going to drop her. I couldn't feed her. I couldn't do anything. Again, I am blessed with amazing family. I asked for help that day. I spent the day sleeping on the couch. Dishes and laundry got done. Molly was taken care of. When my fever broke later that evening I realized how much I needed the help of those around me. Even now as I'm feeling better and able to do more, I have found myself constantly being humbled by a loving Heavenly Father and in need of help from others. This is by far my hardest lesson. I'm a slow learner, but I think I'm catching on.

I know my Father in Heaven loves me. If he didn't, he wouldn't have sent me this perfect angel of a daughter. I needed to grow and learn much more before she could come into my life, and I continue to grow and learn as I earn my "Mommy" title. We never stop growing, and I am more humbled by being a Mother than I have been in my entire life. My life has been blessed. It will continue to be blessed because I know I am loved. He will never leave me alone.

Next up- The birth story!