Harper Grace | A Birth Story {Part 2}

{Part 1}

So the midwife comes in and I literally want to cross my legs because I am so nervous about the thought of being sent home. To be honest, the one thing I really, really did not want to do was say goodbye to Quinn again.

So she checks me.

I am a 3. Awesome.

An hour of walking (and lets be honest for an out of shape pregnant woman? I was hoping to be 96 cm by that point). So in her words when she checks me, she "stretches" me out a little. (Gross? Sorry.)

About an hour later I want to kill her and I feel like the contractions came back about 78 times stronger than they ever were. Thankfully by this point, we are moved into a newly open room and she walks in and I do not look happy, which makes her happy because this woman wants me to be miserable. I am magically a 4 which means.......HALLELUJER. Epidural.

This is where the only non-perfect part of this delivery happens. Anyone remember from Quinn's birth story how my epidural was done incorrectly, causing me to be knocked out during my emergency c-section? Yeah, well that tiny little man who had done that one, was of course the anesthesiologist that was on call. I already knew this because I had seen him during our walking of the halls which might have been the only mini freak out I had.

I had already told our lovely L&D nurse, Sue, all about our debacle last time, which I guess she didn't sense the anger and resentment in my voice because when he came in and started asking me all the questions, little Sue goes "Oh, you did her last epidural too!"

Way to go, Sue.

So I not so nicely recount my experience last time, trying not to be such a raging bitch being that this man is about to stick a baseball bat sized needle into my spine. Let's just say, after re-telling him my story, he was a perfect gentleman, super nice and very quick. Which last time he was not.

And I was once again a perfectly happy, pain free patient again. At least I think so.

About 5 minutes after I got the epidural, I am getting all situated in bed and looking forward to a wonderful night sleep (I think it was around 2am at this point) when I sit up, and go "Sue, I think I might..."

VOMIT. And vomit I did. All over my hair and all over my gown and anything else that was in the way. Disgusting. Which I should have gotten used to because that vomit #1 of 4 that day. Anyway, our midwife came in and said she would let us get some sleep and then she would come back and check me in the morning.

Which apparently she tried to do around 5am but felt bad because Anth and I were both passed out, probably in that ugly, mouth open type of sleep.

I wake up around 6:00 and I cannot fall back asleep. I am just too anxious.

Stephanie finally walks in, looking like a poor zombie, because she was just about to finish up a 24 hour shift, but she wanted to check me one last time before she left. At this point, I think Anth and I were both mentally prepared for the fact that I just wasn't dilating and I would be heading in for a repeat c/s. And to be honest? I wouldn't have cared. I had given it a good try.

Anth finally wakes up, she checks me and I am.......

an 8.

Holy crap. This is actually happening. Like I am on my way to pushing a human out of a very tiny body part.

I was having a baby today.