I suppose I could start off by mentioning that there's totally a miniature person sleeping in my living room and making cute little noises.
Not surprisingly, I have an urge to just gobble her up because she's so cute; I can barely contain myself when I look over and she's wearing her little candy-printed sleeper, wrapped in a giraffe blanket, and moving her little arms while she sleeps. Okay, okay, I know.
So I suppose I should tell you how she got here. (Consider this your ONE reminder that I am a chronic over-sharer who is prone to extreme amounts of too much information. Here's your warning and one appology; if you read on, you've been warned).
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Generally accustomed to waking up every several hours in order to manouver my extreme tumescence into a slightly more comfortable position, by about 5am I noticed cramping and was excited in my sleep: finally a sign that something would happen. Finally a hope that I wouldn't go the average of 8 days overdue. The cramps kept coming regularly, and once I got up I was ridiculously excited to note that I'd lost some of my plug (and I'll spare you the description). Of course, in real life, I told my husband and mother (an angel from heaven who is staying with us for awhile) aaaalllll about it.
The pains got worse, but I didn't want to sit around, so we went to the Mom, Pop, and Tots fair at Northlands and stole all kinds of samples; I was soooo happy everytime the pain stopped me in my tracks and I had to stand with my eyes closed and wait it out.
Later, I decided going to the Olive Garden was a brilliant plan, because eating food, as you know, is my favourite. By now these pains were definitely early labour contractions, and I caught a waitress or two and a few busboys glancing at me (and the floor) nervously every time I stopped shovelling chain-restaurant pasta down my throat to stare at the floor and get through them.
Eventually, after supper and walking around some random, ghetto Zellers in Milwoods, my contractions were pretty painful and 5 minutes apart, so we decided to go to the hospital. I didn't know what to do; I didn't want to get sent home (I worried that the hospital staff would laugh at me, because I'm like that), but we went anyway.
Well. Wouldn't you know my contractions pretty much stopped the second I was hooked up to the monitors. Fa-reaking great. They checked me, and I was only 2-3cm (not much change from my Wednesday appointment), so they said I could go home. The nurse even asked me when my next doctor's appointment was, and I think she thought I'd make it there (four more days)! They offered me pain medication at that time, and I declined because I miraculously felt fine, and besides, I planned to have a med-free birth (HAHAHAHA - more on this later).
Sunday, March 14, 2011.
So I went home feeling like a complete idiot, and tried to go to bed. Of course you can imagine my more 'active' labour pains started at exactly this second. I was dismayed, though, because none of the coping techniques were working.
1. I couldn't tell myself it was "pain with a purpose" because I needed PROOF my cervix was changing in order to believe this.
2. I couldn't focus on anything else, because the wilderness of pain permeated every picture I tried to focus on, everything I tried to recite.
3. I couldn't breathe because it just plain hurt too much.
I tried to deal with it. I sat in my stupidly shallow bathtub for an hour and half, pouring hot water on my belly. I paced around, screaming, "oooowwww, owwww, owww!" until 1:30am. Any movement killed. No labouring in different positions here: I couldn't will my body to so anything but freeze. By that point, I just couldn't do it anymore. I told B to get my mom, and said, "I NEED SOMETHING!! I NEED SOME EFFING MORPHINE OR SOMETHING!! I CANNOT DO THIS FOR FOUR MORE DAYS!!"
My favourite is how we live in a suburb of Edmonton, and the hospital is a 20 minute drive down pot hole-filled spring roads, by the way.
Anyway, scream, scream, scream.
More monitors. Contractions lasting for more than a minute, coming every 30 seconds or less. Screaming, and saying, "I can't do this, I can't, I can't, I can't."
"You ARE!"
And I thought, "are you people idiots? I totally am NOT doing this, I'm DYING!"
You see, I thought I could do it; I thought it would be no problem. I've gone through 3 kidney stones, and during one, I sat puking in emergency wanting to die for 14 hours. I'd googled "labour vs. kidney stones" 1000 times, and so many people said the kidney stones were worse.
So I'd planned to do it med-free because I didn't want to screw up the endorphine releasing business, I didn't want an episiotomy, I didn't want a c-section, and this that and the other thing. I really thought I knew what to expect.
B always said, "it's your decision, but I don't think you know what you're in for."
And I was all, "oh, it's fine. I've had THREE kidney stones. I can totally do it. Other people are just wimpier."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
So when I was checked, and the glorious nurse told me I was 4-5cm (thank GOD, because you get admission and DRUGS then), she asked me if I had a plan for pain medication. I said, "oh, I HAD a plan."
And my epidural was ordered.
Although the Angel of the Lord (or was it the anesthesiologist? Is there a difference?) took a million years to get there (a million years during which I actually tried to gnaw my arm off like a person trapped in an avalance in order to counterbalance the pain of the contractions), eventually said Angel arrived.
I was blessed with the perfect epidural.
It was in in 30 seconds, the pain was a misquito bite compared to those contractions. The pain lessened until I couldn't feel anything, but I could still move my legs.
I told my nurse, and my mom, "hey, I'm usually right. But when I'm wrong, I'm WRONG."
Yes, that epidural was the best decision I've ever made.
They broke my water, I fell asleep, and I woke up around 7am at 10 cms.
No need for any further interventions or anything.
While we waiting to start pushing, my favourite thing was to look at the monitor because it showed my contractions, which were lasting sometimes 5 or more minutes at a time. I can't imagine what I would have done if I could have felt them.
So we pushed, which was hard, and it felt really brutal.
And pushed, and pushed, and pushed.
And they told me I was "doing so well! Great, great job!" over and over, and me, always a cynic thought, "they totally say that to everyone."
It was an hour and 45 minutes, and it sucked. I still felt her crown, and I felt the random doctor stretching me, and man did that hurt, but all of a sudden her head was out.
The doctor turned her face, and my husband's heart shattered into pieces.
And thenall at once, at 9:14am, my baby girl was on my chest, all pink, and crying and perfect, with brown hair, and arms, and legs, and a little bum and face, and she was just the cutest thing, squirming around.
A real person, who I can't tell you how long we've been waiting for.
Our daughter, Adri.enne Sapp.hire (the periods are just so you this won't show up on google).
8lbs, 8oz.
21 inches long.
And oh my God, I just love her so much. I love her so much I just want to cry all the time because all the love just keeps bursting out.
Yes, we love her.
p.s - my mom's camera is just randomly stuck on Oct. 27, 2010...nothing to be done!
