Maybe Godzilla Was Just Pregnant, or the Birth Story of My Sweet Squeaky Baby, Part II

Note: I've decided not to share my baby's name on this blog because it is public. If you're one of my facebook friends, you can check my facebook page for her name.

Jumping right back in to my tale from part I:

At 8 the nurse came in and started getting things ready which woke Brad up.

"Hey Brad, we're going to push now," I told him, with a big smile on my face.

"Oh, baby time!" He replied while simultaneously rubbing his eyes and jogging to my side.

How foolish we were. I naively, stupidly thought that the hardest part was over. I just thought I needed to muscle through a little bit longer and then I could cuddle my baby. By nine a.m. the nurse and Brad could see that our baby had a head full of hair. I was thrilled that they could already see her head. That meant it couldn't be much longer, right? I was more tired at that moment than I think I have every been before. I had just pulled the first all-nighter of my life, not to mention weeks of poor sleep before that. The day before I had miraculously had a burst of energy and decided to clean our apartment which had resulted in a sparkling kitchen and bathroom and utter exhaustion. I was so tired that I was almost falling asleep between every contraction and could not even speak more than a few words at a time to Brad and the nurse. By ten I had made hardly any more progress, was shivering uncontrollably, and had back pain that the epidural hardly touched.

The nurse finally suggested calling my OB/GYN to use a vacuum. I wanted to be able to say that I didn't need any help, that I could push  on my own. But I knew that I really didn't have much more to give. I just wanted my baby. If possible, I wanted to avoid a C-section and the nasty recovery that comes with it, but other than that I wasn't very picky anymore. I was too tired to be picky.

This is what happens when your mom takes a little bit too long pushing. Poor baby. Luckily, her head was pretty much back to normal by the next day.

Unfortunately, the vacuum was only minimally helpful. Because baby girl had so much hair, the vacuum kept losing the suction about halfway through the push. After six contractions with the vacuum, they told me that a C-section was looking likely, but I could keep pushing for a little while if I wanted. I kept going. About every ten minutes the doctor would say, "If you don't make enough progress with this contraction, we'll have to go to a C-section." So I focused as much as I could to use what little strength I had and each time I made just enough progress.

A close-up of baby's hair.

At 10:45, the doctor told me I had 15-20 minutes left. At about this time, the nurse thought she saw a dark tinge to the fluid so decided to call NICU just in case the baby aspirated any meconium. A little after eleven, I started hyperventilating and got an oxygen mask. Around 11:20, I asked Brad to call my mom. If there is one thing that being a mother has taught me, it is that I need my mom way more than I thought I did. The moment I saw my mom walk through the door, I first felt a rush of relief and tears. My second thought was how amazing it is that my mom's hair and makeup is pretty much always perfect.

My mom's presence was the final push I needed (no pun intended) and twenty minutes later, baby's head was finally through. The doctor asked me if I wanted to feel her hair, so I reached down to touch my baby for the very first time. I was so amazed by how long her hair was, I burst out laughing which forced the rest of her body out. I'm glad I have that funny memory because the next few moments were the worst of my entire life. Baby had swallowed 3 ml of meconium and was totally unresponsive. She was rushed to the other side of the room so they could get her breathing. It was probably only seconds, but it felt like eternity. I couldn't even speak, I just shoved Brad away from me. I wanted her to have one parent with her, even if I couldn't get up. My mom stayed with me, squeezing my hand and stroking my hair while we watched and waited for her to cry. And waited, and waited, and waited. I have never prayed so hard in my entire life. When I finally heard her start squawking, I wanted to cheer but I was overcome. I just sobbed silently.

Congratulations! You've given birth to a pale, wrinkly old man!

Brad carried her over to me and laid her on my chest. My mom took a few pictures of our first few moments as a family and then quietly slipped out to give us some time together.

This and most of the following pictures were taken later by my dad.

Motherhood is simultaneously the hardest, best thing ever done. I think Brad feels the same thing about fatherhood. I feel so blessed to have our daughter. I don't deserve this blessing, but I will spend the rest of my life expressing my gratitude to my Father in Heaven for such a precious gift.

And to finish out, just a few more pictures of our beautiful girl:

This facial expression reminds my mom of me.

This picture was taken because I was feeling a little self-conscious about the state of my hair and makeup but still wanted our first family picture to be taken.

She loves her tongue.

Somehow, no one stopped us from taking her home with us.

The two of us spend a lot of time on this couch.

She allows me about 10 minutes of practice at a time.

Life is just so hard.

And last of all, one happy family.