Sweet Baby Boy,
On a cold day in late January, I told your daddy you were coming. You were a mystery, a surprise, and yet from the very beginning, you were the surest thing I’ve ever known. We celebrated you at our birthday dinner with friends a few weeks later and toasted to the perfect completion of our family. A few months later, the doctor asked me if I’d like to know the gender of the baby. I was only 18 weeks along and didn’t expect her to ask, so your daddy was not with me. Excited to know, I had her do the scan, but put the pictures in a sealed envelope so we could find out together. Over Facetime on Nana and Pop’s porch on a warm day in May, we found out we were having a son. My heart leapt for joy.
We spent the coming months painting your room, hanging curtains, and shopping for baby overalls. The hot summer days seemed long as my body grew and everyday tasks such as lifting your sister or unloading groceries became more and more tedious. We spent our days soaking in the pool and bickering about what to name you. After months of deliberation, we finally decided on Owen. It was perfect. And as the leaves began to turn and the crisp autumn air creeped in, I wondered when we would finally get to meet this sweet baby boy we’d been dreaming of.
My last doctor’s appointment was two days before your due date. I was 4 cm dilated and felt like a ticking time bomb. Every night, I would crawl into bed and wonder if this would be our last night as a family of three. I was so excited to meet you, and yet with each passing day, my anxiety levels increased, knowing that you could come very quickly and without family in town, I wondered what we would do with your sister if you came in the middle of the night. I began having nightmares of rushing to the hospital, Ellie crying in the waiting room having been ripped from her bed, your daddy missing your arrival because he was calming your sister. At four days past your due date, we called Grandma who agreed to come down and stay with us until you were born. It was as if my body knew it could finally breathe a sigh of relief because less than 12 hours after she arrived, my water broke.
It was 3:30 in the morning. The house was silent and dark. I crept into our bedroom and woke your daddy to tell him that it was still early stages, but I was in labor. We were finally going to meet you. Hoping that he might be able to get a few more hours of sleep, I left daddy upstairs to sleep and made my way to the couch downstairs where I rode out contractions while binge watching Project Runway. It was so quiet and peaceful – nothing like the screaming or writhing that Hollywood likes to portray. The early stages of labor can be quite beautiful – seeing what your body can do and a slow and steady reminder that you’re getting closer to meeting your baby.
Your sister woke up around 8:00, just as we were getting ready to head to the hospital. My contractions were consistent and with already being 4cm, I didn’t want to wait too long. We kissed her goodbye and told her that in a few hours, she would finally get to meet “Baby Owen.” Daddy asked if we could run into Dunkin Donuts on the way to the hospital to grab some coffee and breakfast. While sitting in the parking lot, waiting, I had several very strong and very long contractions. Oh my gosh, I thought, we’re going to have a baby in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot. If we do, do you think they’ll give us free coffee and donuts for life? What if we name him Dunkin? As your daddy climbed back into the van, I told him to step on it. You were coming quickly and I’d like that to happen in a hospital, preferably with drugs.
We arrived at the hospital where they checked me in and got us settled into a labor and delivery room. I was 6cm and they asked if I’d like an epidural. Knowing I may only have a small window to decide and knowing how traumatic Ellie’s unmedicated birth had been, I told them that yes, I’d like an epidural and they called for the anesthesiologist. With not having an epidural for Ellie’s birth, this was a new experience for me. It feels very strange to look at a part of your body that’s connected to you and yet not be able to feel or move it. The contractions began to feel less and less painful until finally, I could only see them on a monitor. This is great, I kept telling Aunt Shannon. Why did I think this was such a bad idea last time? I was just settling in for what would surely be a quick and easy labor when suddenly the nurses rushed into the room to check the monitor. I had begun to feel a bit nauseous, which we quickly learned was a symptom of low blood pressure and strain on your heart. The doctor came flying into the room and quickly had me changing positions to see if we could get you in a more comfortable position. She said she needed me on my hands and knees, but realized that was probably impossible since I was numb. Before she even finished her sentence, I was up on my hands and knees – that’s what 36 weeks of prenatal yoga will get you. The issue was quickly resolved, but they inserted an internal heart monitor to make sure all remained calm. Even in the flurry and panic, I remember feeling very calm knowing that I was in good hands and that God had brought us this far, he would surely continue to take care of us.
Around 1:00 in the afternoon, the doctor came in to check me. She looked up from under the sheet and asked the magical question – Would you like to have a baby? They tore down the bed, put on gowns and gloves, and I whispered a quick prayer as I prepared for what was the most traumatic part of your sister’s birth. With the epidural and no pain, I was easily able to listen to the instructions of the doctors and nurses, and while it was still a lot of work, it was so much more manageable. I loved being so aware and present, fully able to appreciate what my body was doing. After several pushes, I could feel your little head, which was all the motivation I needed. One more big push, and they slid your tiny body onto my chest. In that moment, time stopped. No one else was present. It was just you and me, meeting each other for the first time and yet it was like I had known you forever. You fit perfectly into the crook of my shoulder. Everyone marveled at your “Godzilla hands” and guessed what you’d weigh. 8 pounds, 5 ounces of beautiful baby bliss – nearly 2 full pounds bigger than your sister {a fact that made me feel even more grateful I chose pain management this time}. I finally got the beautiful, healing moments to just enjoy and marvel at you in the minutes and hours after you were born. I got to take you in, feel the warmth of your skin against my chest, breathe in the sweet, fresh smell of your head, and help you learn how to eat. All of the things that felt so overwhelming and painful the first time I gave birth were magical and healing this time.
I knew our family was incomplete. I craved you in the deepest parts of my soul. I loved you before I knew you.
And just like that, there you were.
Love,
Mama
Life After Birth 