The Beautiful Bobos (and Daddy)

I never quite know what to say when people ask me how delivery went. I suppose that technically, delivery went wonderfully. After delivery, not so much.

But first, I’ll take a moment to chronicle my pregnancy, since I didn’t blog about it like I did with the girls. It was kind of one thing after another with this boy. Well, not with him, but with me. He was always perfect. My pregnancy started with the expected nausea and fatigue. Then at 8-9 weeks, I caught the flu (the fever, cough, sore throat flu, not the stomach one), and I don’t think I’ve been so sick since I had mono 10 years ago. Thanks to my good midwife, Tamiflu, and amoxicillin, though, I made it through with no complications. I recovered enough within a week or two to hop on a plane and make the 10-hour flight to Paris, France with Phil. It was the trip of a lifetime, and I’m so glad that I got to make it and that I was feeling well for the whole thing. I wish that I could have been a little more adventurous with my food choices, but other than that pregnancy had very little effect on the trip.

Before we left for Paris, we were able to tell the girls that they were getting a new brother or sister. We hadn’t told very many people at that point, but I had had a good ultrasound when I saw my midwife with the flu, so I was pretty confident that we could tell our family. Of course, when you tell your kids about a pregnancy, it’s a pretty good bet that pretty soon everyone else will know. And sure enough, during Sharing Time in Primary that Sunday, someone asked Lacey, “How many people are in your family?” and she answered, “Well, my mommy has a baby in her tummy, so we have five people.” Evidently it was the highlight of Primary that Sunday and there was much laughter. That’s my Lacey!

So, back to all the annoying stuff that I had to deal with during this pregnancy—it started with the flu, then we found that my thyroid was going a little crazy (which turned out to be normal. It happens to 20% of pregnant women and almost always resolves by 20 weeks, which it did—it just meant lots of bloodwork and follow-up with an endocrinologist). Then I was diagnosed with gall stones, which are really not any fun, so pretty much I need to get my gall bladder taken out but really don’t want to deal with surgery. Then the week that Vincent was born I came down with a case of shingles. Luckily, we caught it fairly early and I was able to start a round of antivirals to keep it from getting worse. Add to these things the sciatica, PSD, and terrible, horrible round ligament pain that would strike at any time day or night, and I would say that this pregnancy was definitely the roughest yet. Though, don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m lucky to have had a relatively complication-free pregnancy (three of them, in fact), and nothing was any worse than just being annoying thanks to the excellent medical care I have available to me.

And that brings us to July 31, 2015. Phil and I had sent Lacey and Amy off with my parents to Fishlake for a family reunion that I was very sad to miss, in the hope that they would come back and I wouldn’t be pregnant anymore. They left Friday the 24^th and of course returned on August 1^st, the day that Vincent was born. But first, the 31^st. I had my OB appointment with my midwife that day. I was 4 cm and 90% effaced, and I convinced my midwife to strip my membranes. She wasn’t going to at first, because of the shingles, but after consulting with the OB decided that it would be fine. So we did that, and almost immediately I started getting contractions. Unfortunately, they were weak and erratic and went away entirely by bedtime. I wasn’t too discouraged, though, because I know that labor is more likely to start in the middle of the night. So I just went with it and got some sleep while I could, and sure enough, I woke up at about 3:30 with strong, consistent contractions, about 4 minutes apart. So I elbowed Phil and told him that I was having a baby, and he hopped up and took me to the hospital.

Perhaps I should have mentioned this before, because I think it’s important, but about halfway through pregnancy, I decided that I wanted to have an unmedicated birth and that I would use Hypnobabies as my method of pain control. After two fairly traumatic births with epidurals (lots of blood loss, massive tears, broken tailbone, lots and lots of pushing, etc.), I decided that there had to be a better way for me. I needed to learn how to let my body give birth on its own terms instead of forcing it. I did the home study program (read a book, listen to some CDs, practice relaxing, etc.), and it helped me not only prepare to give birth, but to deal with the fear and anxiety caused by my previous deliveries. I was seriously terrified of what would happen if I broke my tailbone again, since it still hurts me occasionally.

But, anyway, at the hospital we checked in, got a room, found I was at about 6 cm, monitored Vincent for a little bit, then I got to “relax” in the tub for a while and wait. During this time, I was able to put my hypnobabies training to good use. Every time I felt a pressure wave (a.k.a. contraction) come on, I closed my eyes and relaxed through it, easy peasy. Phil says that on the outside, I looked like I was just chillin’. On the inside, of course, I was concentrating very hard on keeping my body open and loose and relaxed. I wish I could say that I had one of those anecdotal pain-free births, but….. didn’t happen. What I did have was a very calm and controlled birth. After about an hour, maybe, I don’t know, my midwife said that whenever I was ready, and if I wanted to, she could break my water and then Baby would come really quick. It took me a bit to be ready, but I decided that it was time. I was ready to be done, honestly. So I had to get out of the water and back on the bed, and my midwife broke my water, and that’s where the real work began. As soon as that lovely cushion of fluids was gone, the contractions intensified to the point that I started asking myself what I was thinking, wanting an unmedicated birth, and please just make it stop. I had to stay in bed hooked up to the monitor since V’s heart rate dipped when I sat on my birth ball. But that wasn’t a big deal, since it was only another 10 minutes or so before my body decided it was time to push that baby out. And what do you know, three pushes (and several screams and maybe a few hisses, and yes, the thought “Get it out, get it out” crossed my mind) later, I had a beautiful baby boy placed on my chest, and he’s never really left. In fact, he’s there right now, snoring away as I type. And so, you see, I had a really fantastic delivery. It was exactly what I wanted—unmedicated, minimal interventions, very little tearing (what I did get can most likely be attributed to the episiotomy that I got with Lacey), no broken tailbone. Life was good!

For like an hour, anyway. I nursed my baby boy, and he latched beautifully (hooray!). Phil snuggled him, I snuggled him, it was good. Then I felt a gush where there shouldn’t have been one, and I sent Phil out to tell the nurse that I felt like I was bleeding—a lot. The nurse came in, thinking that I probably just needed to empty my bladder (not an unreasonable assumption, since birth does crazy things to a person’s bladder). But, no, there was lots of blood, and the nurse’s tone turned to all business. She called my midwife, who was on her way home and decided to turn around, gave me all sorts of medication to try to stop the bleeding, none of which worked. My midwife arrived back and tried more, different medication, which also did not work. The consensus was that part of the placenta must have been left behind in my uterus, causing a hemorrhage. That’s a scary word after giving birth. After this, things start to get fuzzy. I don’t know how much of that is from the Percocet (sweet sweet pain relief) and how much is from the blood loss, but I remember an ultrasound, I remember my midwife telling me she had called the doctor and he was coming to perform a D and C to remove the rest of the placenta. Then there was an anesthesiologist, some nasty thing to drink so that I wouldn’t have reflux under anesthesia, or something. Mostly I just lay there with my eyes closed. Eventually, Phil took V down to the nursery, and the medical personnel wheeled me to the O.R., and I really don’t remember anything after that, but that’s by design, seeing as I was under general anesthesia. I know from my hospital bill that I was there for about 50 minutes (they bill by the minute), and later they told me that I’d had a blood transfusion to replace some of what I had lost.

I, thankfully, didn’t have any adverse reactions to the anesthesia, besides the fact that I couldn’t stop crying, for some reason (or no reason, really, it’s worse than PMS). The nurse (or someone, I don’t remember who) said she would bring me a tissue, but I never got one. Oh well. After this, they took me to my room on the mother and baby floor, and I stayed there for the next couple days, free of any more complications or excitement. V stayed with me for the entire time, since I had shingles and there are lots of precautions where newborns are concerned. But as far as I know, no one caught chicken pox from me.

Recovery was long and frustrating. It took several days before I could stand up for any period of time. Then even when I could stand, standing too long would make me pale and nauseated. I ate lots of hamburgers (yummm) and drank lots of water, and eventually started to feel more like myself.

Vincent is a sweet baby. He loves to snuggle, of course, and is easily soothed, usually. He’s growing like a weed. He’s probably gained 3 pounds in the past 6 weeks. He feels so big in my arms already.

And all that being said, if anyone wants to come hold my baby so that I can take a nap, please let me know. Because I am so tired. SO DANG TIRED.

The end.

So, sometimes, very rarely, I have been known to wax a little sentimental. 10 years ago I met and started dating this handsome fellow. :) So far, we've survived a year and a half of dating, a 2-year LDS mission to South Africa, a degree (mine), most of 2 more degrees (his), 6 1/2 years of marriage, ~~2 pregnancies and the resulting spawn,~~ 2 beautiful daughters, 3 years of mortgage payments, 1 out-of-state internship, 3 addresses, approximately 1.5 million pizzas, and 3 cars. Yes, 3, because we just bought a minivan to replace the car that Phil smashed in the snow 1 3/4 years ago. I guess that means we're officially old fuddy-duddies, but I like my van. We've even affectionately named it "The Van."

So, anyway, I scrounged around and found a picture of us together for every year that we've been together. Except 2006, when Phil was in South Africa for the entire year.

2004 T-Hall lobby, Deseret Towers