Baby

ba·by

    

ba·by [bey-bee]  plural ba·bies, adjective, verb, ba·bied, ba·by·ing

1. an infant or very young child.

2. a newborn

I'm not really sure how to start this post. All of my previous posts the subjects were so easily approachable compared to this one. So I guess I will start by recording the moments leading up to my precious little Rosalie's birth and go from there.

Rosalie Catherine Conner was due on November 21st, as the day came and went I didn't bat an eyelash. The way I see it was she had her own date and it just wasn't that one. 

I was five days overdue at my doctor's appointment the following week, and my doctor suggested setting up an induction date. It was fine to be overdue but doctors do not recommend going past 10 days of the due date as the placenta begins to crystallize and die, the baby's weight will start to drop, and the stillborn rate rises. As much as I wanted her to come on her own time, I did not want her health at risk so we scheduled the induction for exactly 10 days after her due date. My doctor was sure little Rosalie would come before then. This was Tuesday.

 After researching induction Friday night and sleeping on it, I awoke second guessing my decision Sunday morning, the day of the induction. I tried to cancel and set up tests to see how Rosalie was doing instead. After all, if she's healthy why rush her coming?

My doctor was against backing out of the induction. So I decided come what may from the risks of induction I would go to the hospital that night at 11:45pm to get things going. My wonderful Husband and Mom accompanied me to be my support, and very supportive they were!

   
I was nervous but I knew if I focused on the fact that I would be holding my baby soon that no matter what I was about to face it would all be worth it.
 The nurse came in and hooked up my IV for the pitocin. There was no turning back now!

9 hours of 3 to 5 minute apart pitocin-induced contractions. You might think I'm crazy, but I didn't want any pain medication. Most women are screaming for an epidural on the way to the hospital! Not me though. I'm going to be honest with you right now, I've never had more faith in myself and in God then those 9 hours and the next hour that followed. Yes, the contractions hurt. Really. Bad. I can't describe the pain to you because I've not had anywhere near that amount of pain in my life before. I almost lost it a few times. I almost cried a few times. I never asked for the epidural though. I knew in the depth of my soul that I would not forgive myself if I did just for some relief. I didn't want something that would not only make me unable to feel and control my body but that would enter the umbilical cord and enter my newborn baby. I was not about to drug my new baby! So I stuck it out and boy was it worth it.

When the nurses came in after I had reached the desired 10 cm and told me my doctor was here so they were going to break my water, I wasn't sure what to think. After they did, boy did the flood gates flow and the desire to push became the most overwhelming thing I've ever felt in my life. I remember trying to talk through a contraction saying "I'm sorry, I think I just pee'd. I'm so sorry." Apparently that was just my water breaking. It was totally weird, but anyways...They didn't want me to push quite yet because my doctor wasn't in the room yet and they were still setting up their instruments and getting everything ready. 

Well, oh well for them. but I couldn't NOT push. It just wasn't happening. So they ran and grabbed my doctor and got everything in place a little faster then they thought. 

At this point, I had been awake for 36 hours and hadn't eaten for 18 hours. I have never been so tired in all my life, the contractions had taken so much out of me, but hey, that's childbirth for you!

I was so tired, pushing out little Rosalie was really, really hard for me. Contraction after contraction passed with me pushing to no avail and I knew I was so close and the frustration of struggling and failing was weighing on me so much, even more-so than the fatigue. They put an oxygen mask on me to help Rosalie and myself get some air.

Time froze for me when my doctor looked at me from under her face mask and hospital cap and said "Candice, the baby's heart-rate is dropping more than we'd like to see. You need to get her out in these next couple of pushes, okay?"

Well, yeah, duh. I want to push her out. I wanted her out 7 pushes ago. I was giving it all I had, but hearing that was the kick-start of my real adrenaline rush. I got her out in those next few pushes.

Words. There are no words. Nothing could describe the feeling, but I'll try to use words since we are humans and they are how we communicate. 

Joy. Relief. Pride. Accomplishment. Happiness. Bliss.
Motherhood.

She was so tiny and fragile-looking and slimy and wrinkly and beautiful and perfect.

That was 7 weeks ago. She amazes me every day how much she continues to learn and grow and change. She's the sweetest, prettiest baby I've ever seen. But maybe I'm just being biased. (: