Lucy's Birth

Where to begin with this?  (It's probably going to be long and most likely a bit boring, so feel free to skip ahead to the pictures.  This is for my record, and will probably seem pretty ridiculous to anyone else.)

Let's start a few weeks before her birth, and I'll preface that by telling you a bit about Benjamin and Rhett's births.  Benjamin was due on October 10, 2006.  On Sunday, September 24, Paul and I had dinner at our bishop's house with his family (not that it's relevant, just part of the memory) and that night I remember sitting on the floor of our DT apartment talking with Paul and having some mild, painless Braxton Hicks contractions.  I woke up on the morning of September 25, around 3:00 am, feeling weird.  I won't spend time on the details now (we're here to talk about Lucy, after all), but at 3:30 I woke Paul up and at 4:30ish we left for the hospital because my contractions were 3 minutes apart.  Before waking up that morning I had felt nothing that indicated labor was beginning, but within an hour of waking I had strong, consistent contractions about 3-5 minutes apart.  We got to the hospital about 5:00 am, I was dilated to a 6 (if my memory is correct) and Benjamin was born at 9:00 on the dot.  Seven pounds, 9 ounces.  He was 15 days early.

Almost two years later I was pregnant with Rhett, who was due on July 17.  You can read the story in detail here, but this is the summary:  On June 26 Paul moved to Washington with Benjamin while I was left in Provo to finish out time at my job.  I was supposed to fly to WA myself on July 2 and was terrified of giving birth on an airplane with no epidural.  (The airplane part didn't bug me so much as the no epidural part.)  The day Paul left I started having contractions, and based on my experience with Benjamin's birth I was sure that delivery was hours away.  Instead I had contractions (painful ones) that lasted for two days.  On Saturday, June 28, I couldn't take it anymore and drove myself to the hospital at 5 am, arrived dilated 6.5 cm, and Rhett was born two hours later, at 7:07 am.  Seven pounds, 14 ounces.  He was 20 days early.

After having two rather different labor experiences I knew that this time around could be different as well.  However, Paul and I both had some expectations.  We both felt quite confident in assuming that this baby girl would arrive early, just like her brothers.  We thought Rhett's birth was brought on mostly by stress, so we assumed that my labor would be more similar to the one I had with Benjamin.  And I felt that, having given birth twice, I would know without a doubt just when I needed to go to the hospital.

Since Lucy was born, I have learned not to expect or assume anything.

I went to the doctor on Wednesday, March 2 for a checkup (almost 3 weeks before the due date).  I was curious if I was dilated at all since I had never been checked before the boys made their unexpected arrivals.  (I had been checked the Wednesday before but was not dilated at all.)  Dr. Mallory told me I was dilated to almost 4 cm, and said he'd see me in the hospital on Friday to have the baby (just his guess, and he was delivering that Friday).  Several people reacted with surprise when I reported the dilation, and I was pretty sure the doctor was right in thinking the baby would be born before the end of the week

She wasn't.  We were disappointed.

The following Wednesday, March 9, I had another appointment with Dr. Mallory.  I felt certain that I'd be dilated to a 5 or 6 and that surely this baby would be born within days.  Maybe you can imagine my disappointment when he told me I was barely dilated 2 cm.  Paul had asked me several times during the days before if dilation could go backwards, and I answered confidently that it could not.  How could it?  Now I know (and so do you) that it can!  I went home a little depressed and starting to wonder if the baby was going to be late (which it almost felt like she was).  The "two weeks early" benchmark had been missed.  But I was still hopeful enough that she'd be born before the week's end that I passed off my YW lesson for the following Sunday to someone else.  That night Paul and I toured the Childbirth Center at the hospital.

Another week later I was at the doctor's office yet again, less than a week before the baby's due date.  Paul came with me this time.  Dr. Rose said I was dilated 5 cm.  Hooray!  But where were those contractions?  I had already decided to ask her to strip my membranes, which she did.  If anything was going to happen because of it, it would happen in 12-24 hours supposedly, and she told me we'd probably want to hurry to the hospital.  The stripping of membranes wasn't uncomfortable at all like I had expected it would be, but later that afternoon I started feeling really sore.  I went to my Young Women's activity at church that evening, and afterward we went as a family to the mall where we took a brisk walk around the perimeter.  We went to bed that night, Paul expecting for the first time in at least a week that he would be going into work in the morning because I would not be in labor.  (A man can only take so many days of disappointment, I guess.)

On the morning of March 17 I woke up a little before 5:00 am to go to the bathroom (as usual).  I couldn't get back to sleep, though, because I had started having some contractions.  At first they seemed similar to contractions I had had in the past--a little uncomfortable, but meaningless.  I made a half-hearted attempt to time them in my head, assuming they were probably at least 10 minutes apart.  It didn't take long though for my sleepy brain to key in to the fact that the contractions were not as far apart as I thought.  I was still too tired to want to turn on the light to see the clock, but they seemed more like 5 minutes apart.  Paul was awake by then, very attuned to what was apparently going on.  He made a comment about the contractions like, "Woah, those were really close together," then jumped up and started getting dressed.  My response was, "Hang on.  Just chill out.  It's okay.  We don't need to rush."  I was trying to think of what I needed to do to get ready, knowing that I probably had a couple of hours before we had to go anywhere.  I wanted to shower, do my hair and make up, finish packing, print out my birth plan, get the boys ready to go to our friends' house, etc.

It quickly became apparent that we needed to hurry more quickly than I wanted to.  The contractions were coming in rapid succession, and they hurt.  You know how after you have a baby you remember that it hurt, but that sort of goes to the background of your mind after a while?  You sort of forget exactly what it felt like?  It was that way for me both times, and with Rhett I remember thinking, as the contractions started picking up steam, "Oh yeah, now I remember what this feels like!"  But when I went into labor this time, it hurt way worse that it did with the others.  No joke.  And the contractions were probably a minute apart.  So I hurried... as much as I could, having to pause every minute for another contraction.    I called the childbirth center to let them know I was coming in soon.

We loaded our sleeping boys into the back of the car and drove around the block to our friends, Nate and Cassie, whose kids are friends with ours.  I stayed in the car while Paul and Nate took the boys inside.  Then we drove to the hospital, about 15 minutes away.

Longest 15 minutes of my life.

Other than the pain, the memory is a bit blurry.  Along the way there was plenty of yelling and "I can't do this!" coming from me, and a lot of "Yes you can.  We're almost there," coming from Paul.  Of course, there were way more cars on the road than I anticipated, and they all went slower than I think they should have.  And we probably hit every red light.  Of course.  But we made it.  We parked the car at 6:40.

I managed to limp my way into the childbirth center to the reception desk.  The guy was on the phone.  When he got off and finally turned to us, he started handing me papers to sign and asking me for my ID and insurance card.  Having preregistered, I didn't think that was at all necessary, especially because I was clearly in advanced labor.  During this time he asked me if I was okay or did I need a wheelchair, and I simply replied, trying not to cry, that no, I was not okay, and needed to get in there, pointing to the locked doors of the labor and delivery area.  He had to call twice for a nurse to come get me.  Someone finally did, and I left Paul do deal with the paperwork.

As I walked into the childbirth center with the nurse, she directed me toward the triage area, supposedly to check if I was actually in labor.  As we approached the door to triage, she asked if I had been checked recently.  Yes.  Yesterday.  5 cm.  I managed to communicate that between clenched teeth and hand gestures.  The nurse replied, "Okaaaay, let's get you to a delivery room."  We skipped triage.

Getting undressed and into a hospital gown was a painful ordeal.  Every move hurt.  The nurse's kind words were appreciated, but mildly annoying since no one seemed to appreciate how much it hurt.  (I'm sure they did, but what could they do?)  I kept telling her over and over, "I want an epidural.  I need an epidural!"  The reply was, "We'll try.  We'll see what we can do."  I have no idea if they even called the anesthesiologist.  I suspect not.  When the nursed checked my progress and announced with enthusiasm, "You're dilated 10 cm!" my heart sank and I got scared.  I think my exact words were "Oh crap."  Fully dilated = no epidural.  Despite that, as we waited for the doctor to arrive, I kept insisting that I wanted one.  The nurse kept telling me they would do what they could, they'd get me something, that I would be okay.  I didn't feel the least bit okay.  I was terrified!  The contractions were monstrous, and delivering a baby without an epidural was sure to be ten times worse.

They did give me something for pain, but I don't know what it was.  It made me dizzy, but didn't really touch the pain.  Paul arrived sometime during all this, before the doctor did.  The nurse, who I think was named Judy, told me to do whatever felt right.  If my doctor didn't make it there was someone on hand who could step in.  Or she could deliver the baby if need be and it would be fine.  Just do whatever I needed to do.  I did feel some pressure and urge to push, but I held back, not read for that yet.  Dr. Mallory came in a few minutes after 7:00 (7:05 maybe?).  He broke my water and the rest is a bit of a blur (surely in part because I've waited over three weeks to document the memory).  I remember the nurse encouraging me to try to push, saying something along the lines of it all being done if I could just give one big push.  So I did.  I felt two distinct "bumps" passing through and it was done!  She was born.  I remember emitting a yell at each "bump"; it did hurt, but not nearly as much as I had feared.  I think all the years of hearing how painful childbirth is compounded to make me think it would be the most excruciating thing imaginable.  But in truth, the contractions leading up to the delivery were worse than the delivery itself.  Probably because it happened so quickly.  She practically flew right out.  They immediately put her in on a towel and laid her on my chest.  She was crying.  And purple.  And beautiful.

The quick delivery had it's pros and cons.  I'll take a fast delivery any day, except that I could do without the huge tear in my body that had to be stitched up.  I didn't get a clear idea from the doctor how bad it was or how many stitches I would need, but I heard him tell the nurse it was probably a second degree tear.  Whatever that means.  I just know it hurt for a long time!  I still wouldn't choose a drug-free delivery for myself in the future, but this one turned out okay.  The contractions were the worst part.

While the doctor stitched me up I just sat back and held Lucy.  Paul cut the cord.  Unlike at Utah Valley hospital, they didn't whisk her away to be weighted and APGARed.  I held her for quite a long time and it was perfect.  I wish I had had the same opportunity with the boys.  When I finally did give her up to be measured, everyone was submitting guesses for how much she would weigh.  Prior to her birth, Dr. Mallory had asked me if I had a guess.  I thought she would be somewhere in the 8 lb. range, 8.5 lb. tops.  I was quite surprised when this is what I heard:

9 lb. 15 oz., 22 inches long.

 

 

 Look at those cheeks!  It wasn't until a few days after her birth when I looked at these pictures that I appreciated just how huge she is!  Mostly, she still seems tiny to me.

Lucy was perfectly healthy, with only the small problem of having low blood sugar.  They told us that's common with large babies.  All she needed was to be warmed up and her blood sugar came up to where it should be.  She loved bathing in the warm light.

Paul and I gave Lucy her first bath, and watched as a nurse washed Lucy's hair and Lucy became so calm and content with the warm water flowing over her head.

There were several other new babies in the childbirth center at that time, so all the postpartum rooms were full and we had to hang out in the delivery room for a while, which was fine.  We spent the time calling and texting family and friends, and loving our new little baby. 

That evening Paul brought Benjamin and Rhett to meet their baby sister.  It was instant love, more than I expected.  Ever since they met her, the boys have been so enthralled with baby Lucy, especially Rhett.  They think she is something great, and they're right.  We just have to be careful that she doesn't get loved to death by a well-intentioned two-year-old.

Before they went home to bed, I read the boys the bedtime stories they had each picked out and brought to the hospital.
 

 That night we were also visited by Paul's sister Heidi, who happened to be in Seattle and on her way to Vancouver, B.C. with her sisters-in-law for their annual Girls Getaway.  We are so happy that she could make it over to see Lucy!

 This time around we actually managed to take family pictures after the baby was born.  Maybe sometime before we have another child we'll actually have a family portrait taken (since the last one was when Benjamin was 7 months old).

 

Lucy and I came home from the hospital the next day.

So now we are five.  And life is good.  I don't know how it's possible to love a little baby so completely from the minute she is born, but I did  She is a total joy.  I love every bit of her.  And there is something about having a baby, and seeing Paul hold his daughter in his arms, that makes me love him even more than I did before.

Lucy is calm and quiet most of the time.  I have a feeling she'll continue to be pretty mellow.  She sleeps a lot, does pretty well at night (I think... I'm too tired to really remember what happens at night), and is pretty tolerant of her brothers' hugs and kisses (and snorts and roars and zerberts).

Paul thinks she looks like a little Native American baby when she's wrapped in this brown blanket, perhaps taking after one of the ancestors who helped inspire her name, my great-great grandmother's mother.  I'll talk about her name in a future post.  (At her 2 week checkup, the doctor asked if she had any Asian or Hispanic blood in her, seeing that her hair is so abundant.  I'm not sure if being 1/64 Seminole counts for anything.)

Finally, as much as I was dreading it, the pink is not so bad.  It actually makes me smile a little to see her little pink things in the laundry pile.  Somehow it fits right in, as if it was meant to be there all along.

I love you, Lucy Lu.