Birth story, part IV: Epilogue

After Tim held Elle, Gloria loaded me and my IV bags on to a wheelchair and gave me Elle to hold. The hospital plays Brahm's Lullaby every time a baby leaves L&D, and as we savored our trip to the Mother & Baby Unit, where we would spend the next 24 hours, I texted people to tell them of Elle's arrival. I took a photo with my cell phone camera as we cruised in the wheelchair to our recovery room and posted it on Facebook, too - I'm pretty sure I was not the only one surprised that I'd been at work the night before and 12 hours later now had a new baby.

I was settled in to my recovery room, and Tim and Elle disappeared - the nurses took Elle to be bathed. I was able to eat some lunch, call my grandma and my parents, and then I eagerly waited for my daughter to come back :) I still couldn't believe that just a few short hours earlier, I'd been showering, not really knowing if *this* was it or if we'd be told to go home and wait for more progress. Now I was eating my first meal as a mother.


The rest of our stay in the hospital was pretty uneventful. My vitals were checked regularly, I struggled to use the bathroom and was in a fair amount of pain despite the meds that I was given, and getting in and out of the hospital bed was not fun. We cuddled with the baby, we fed her, changed what seemed like an infinite amount of diapers, and just stared at her. Tim left early in the evening to get an overnight bag for himself and check in on the cats, and he came back with some food, some balloons and a thoughtful, gorgeous present for me. It's a diamond and ruby necklace - the birthstones of me and my daughter, respectively.


Apparently if I had an epidural, I would have gotten a simple bracelet. If I had a c-section, it might have been a box of chocolates. Tim based the mock gift scale on effort put forth by me, so if I had delivered at home without an epidural, I apparently would have received a new car. Since I delivered in the hospital without an epidural, I got a beautiful necklace. That boy and his sense of humor ...

That first night we struggled - the baby was crying a lot, and since the three of us were in the same room, if one of us was up, it seemed all three of us were up. At one point, I'd just gotten the baby to sleep, and the nurse came in to check my vitals and woke her up. Tim and I managed to get a three-hour nap, and then we were pretty much up for the morning, which included frequent visits from various nurses, hospital staff, etc. - it was quite the revolving door. My doctor had said I'd probably stay in the hospital until Monday, but a nurse told me it was up to me if I wanted to leave on Sunday or Monday, and after the frequent interruptions and thought of spending another 24+ hours sitting in the hospital bed, I decided I wanted to go home on Sunday. We attended a special discharge brunch the hospital has, where you get a refresher in baby care basics and some free food and baby stuff, and Elle got some blood tests done. Then we packed up our stuff, got our final paperwork from the hospital staff and set out to leave the hospital as a family of three.

And here are some videos of Elle in the hospital and Elle meeting the cats, which was quite humorous.

Birth story, part III

At some point in the "epidural or c-section" discussion, triage nurse Suellen (pictured at left) had joined our team of nurses in the delivery room. She took over where Gloria had been most of the morning, directing every push. Directing doesn't even begin to describe it, though. Suellen was one of the biggest cheerleaders I had in that room - I was supposed to push three times with each contraction, and she sometimes made me do another, shorter push. When I wanted to stop, she made me keep pushing, and she directed Tim to count down with each push so I knew when "the end" was near. I had Stephen on my left, Tim on my right, and Suellen at the end of the bed, telling me if I had made any progress with the last set of pushing. (I think she lied half of the time just to keep my spirits up.)

I seriously didn't think I could do it. I thought I couldn't push much more, and I didn't think I was making progress. Suellen kept telling me I was making progress, and the head was "almost there." I remember yelling a lot, which we were told not to do in our childbirth classes (basically you're wasting breath and energy that you could be channeling in to each push), and I remember keeping my eyes closed the entire time I pushed. (My eyes were closed for almost two hours straight.) Each time I finished a contraction, I would start breathing really fast, and they were worried that I was going to hyperventilate. Never one to miss a chance to mock me, Tim likes to remind me that at one point I kept saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" about twenty times because I felt like I was letting the medical team down. Dare I say it, but I was near hysterical at this point. I know doctors and nurses have probably seen it all during delivery, and at the time I seriously felt like I couldn't do it. In retrospect, I fear I looked like a big baby. But hey, not like I spend every day delivering a baby or will see most of those people again, and they *told* me I did an amazing job and had an incredibly high tolerance for pain. (But Gloria also told me we could go get margaritas after the baby was born, so maybe she was just lying to me the whole time, haha.)

After the Pitocin started and the pushes were pretty much non-stop, things happened quickly. Soon, I heard one of the nurses say that someone might want to tell the doctor he might want to get in the room. I think he barely made it before my final set of pushes - and then I was told to push REALLY hard. They said the head was out, and I remember hearing Tim tell me he could see her. Then Dr. S asked me to not push, and then I was told to push slowly, like I was squeezing a roll of toothpaste.

Uh, WTH?! I'm giving birth to Gigantor, not eeking out the last of a tube of Colgate.

I still didn't know how close we were, though. After the "slow push," I realized I was feeling a lot of wiggling and that it was actually Elle. They had called for a slow push because her cord was wrapped around her right shoulder - I'm guessing if I had pushed too hard or too fast it would have tightened and they were trying to dislodge it as I pushed. My final push was when her feet came out.

And all of a sudden she was on my chest, a squirmy, bloody, wriggling mess. But she was ours. And she was out.

Tim and the doctor cut the cord.

I seriously couldn't believe that she was out. I think I just kept gasping "My baby, my baby ..." (again, hysterical and in disbelief) and I didn't want them to take her, but I knew they had some things to check on her, and Tim was able to be with her the whole time. I was able to see at least part of her most of the time, and the medical staff let me know what they were checking and how she was doing.

I didn't feel any pain when she was born. I don't know if it was adrenaline, or just the fact that the contractions were finally ending and I was so relieved that the pushing was over, but it was more an odd, rather than painful, sensation as she was born. The part after her birth was painful, and seriously, I don't think the postpartum descriptions really came close to what happens. The doctor delivered the placenta, and apparently I had some rather severe tears - when the nurses were charting my delivery and asked Dr. S what level my tears were, he made some comment about how there was no level to describe the tears. (Tears are graded on a scale of 1-4, with four being the most severe.) I was alert enough to hear him and respond with an admonishing "Doctor!" because I couldn't believe he'd just described me with a "there are no words" comparison. He finally classified them as level 2 and level 3 tears, but apparently the lengths and placements made them more complex.

As I was stitched up, I asked Suellen to distract me - I wanted my baby, but I knew they needed to do some work on me before the area around my hospital bed would be clear enough that I could hold her. Suellen had photos in her badge, and I asked her to tell me about the little boys. I gripped her hand tight and tried to focus on what she was telling me instead of what was going on around me.

Finally, I was "fixed," Tim was on the phone with our parents and my sister, and Elle was brought to me. I looked at her face, her tiny little hands, her bright pink cheeks and rosy coloring, her ragged breathing, like she had just completed some crazy task like being born or something ... and I honestly didn't remember any of the pain from the contractions, or the intense pain I'd had in my back just minutes ago, or the swollen feet (more on that later), frequent trips to the bathroom or the 14 weeks of morning sickness. Her head was perfectly shaped, and I'm attributing that mostly to the fact that she didn't spend much time getting cone-headed in the birth canal. Her face was a little puffy, and she was starving, but again, she'd had a rough morning. And really, as far as newborns go (and I may be a bit biased), she is gorgeous and perfect.


I was able to breastfeed her, and then as Gloria did some final post-delivery work on me and helped me change in to a new hospital gown, Tim was able to hold our daughter for the first time. (And just typing that and looking at the picture makes me fall in love with my little family all over again.)


I don't think either of us really knew what to expect from labor, delivery or the birth of our daughter - it was surreal, it was painful, it was gory, it was fast, it was terrifying, it was exhausting, it was exhilarating. But there's no denying that we wouldn't trade it for the world, and it has changed us forever. (And I cry every time I read that paragraph, so I shall move on now ...)

Birth story, part II

So I'm 6 cm dilated, 100% effaced, and it is "baby day."

People went in to high gear. A nurse, Gloria, came down from L&D to get us, and she told us that she'd passed a group of medical students and told them she had a "hot one" and started to take bids.

Yes, folks, all of a sudden the fact that I was likely having a baby sooner than later made me a hot commodity in the medical world. I told Gloria I was OK with being auctioned off as long as I got some of the money, or at least a margarita out of the deal.

Gloria took us up to the delivery room. As we passed the nurses station, we saw Dr. S had already arrived! I felt bad interrupting his weekend, but hey, I was a "hot one" and this show was already on the road! I was glad he was there, though, because he is the only doctor in the practice that I've seen throughout the pregnancy, and he was aware of my general thoughts and feelings on things during labor and delivery. It seemed that Dr. S had plans for later in the day, though, so if we didn't deliver by a certain time, the on-call doctor might end up finishing our delivery, so there was a *bit* of pressure put on us (well, at least a bit that I felt) to not drag things out.

I had a birth wish list (instead of a birth plan) loosely sketched out ... and I had left it at home. But I had talked with Tim, too (for oh, nine months or so), about my hopes for the delivery and feelings on interventions, and I was confident that even if I wasn't in a position to say something, he would be my advocate. Dr. S and Tim were aware that I was open to an epidural (Tim was aware that I wanted to be at least 5-6 cm dilated before I got it if possible), they were both aware that I was OK with a c-section, but only if it was medically necessary, they were aware that I wanted to be awake for a c-section if possible, and other than that, I wasn't too concerned about the use of Pitocin, breaking my water, etc., as long as it was discussed with me beforehand so I could weigh the options/risks/advantages and as long as it was going to help and still ensure a safe delivery and healthy baby.

But back to the delivery.

As I got settled in the L&D room, Gloria started asking me questions about my medical history. Then another nurse asked if I would allow one of the previously mentioned students in the room for the delivery. I said sure. (Hey, I am ALL about education.) Dr. S came in and I had another internal exam. Low and behold, I was now 7 cm dilated. He decided (even though I still wasn't on an IV, which apparently displeased the nurses) to break my water. Talk about the world's weirdest sensation ...

I was asked if I wanted an epidural. I thought for sure I would have said yes, but considering I was already 7 cm dilated and the pain was manageable so far, I wasn't as sure. I asked if it would get worse, and everyone sort of laughed and said yes, but if I got the epidural I would have to wait for the anesthesiologist, wait for the epidural to kick in, and then it could slow down the progress I was making. Gloria told me that most first-time moms who are dilated 6-7 cm come in to triage with sweat on their upper lip and are breathing heavy with each contraction, and she said that I was doing great. Since I could still get the epidural later if things got worse, I decided to hold off.

(At this point, I'd like to change the name of this blog post to "WHAT THE CRAP WERE YOU THINKING, KRISTIN?!")

Then I was given an IV (and told for the FIRST TIME EVER that I had beautiful veins - usually people complain about how tiny they are) and Gloria continued with the questions. I was allowed to tote the IV bags to the bathroom, and when I came out, I had another internal exam. The contractions (monitored in photo, above) were a lot more intense after my water was broken, and the exams were more uncomfortable. But now I was 8 cm dilated.

The nurses were busy preparing things and asking me questions. The doctor stopped in every once in a while to check on me, and I had - wait for it - another internal exam. Now I was 9 cm dilated.

Holy crap.

I knew the head was low, but now apparently the nose and head weren't quite lined up for optimal baby delivery, so the nurses offered me a birthing ball to try to rock a bit and get the baby in a better position. I was told that if I felt too much pressure or the need to push, I needed to call for the nurses, but the baby wasn't going to fall out if I sat on the ball. Stephen, the student nurse who had "won the labor lottery," brought me ice chips, and then the lights were dimmed, and Tim and I were left alone in the room for a few minutes. Tim fed me ice chips and rubbed my back between contractions, and after only a few minutes, the nurses were back in and wanted to check me again. Apparently this time I was 9.5 cm dilated. (I totally didn't realize until now how many checks I was having for dilation.) For the next little bit, the nurses and the doctor came in and worked on a piece of the cervix that was apparently creating a minor roadblock. I was told to push when I had a contraction, and then the doctor left and the nurses (mostly Gloria at this point) worked with me to push on every other contraction.

After no sleep the night before and the very fast-paced morning, I was absolutely exhausted, and pushing was the last thing I wanted to do. And since I'd never done this baby-birthing thing before, I didn't know "how" to push properly. I apparently was fighting against my two leg-holders (Stephen and Tim) and instead of relaxing my legs I was tensing up. Between that and the fact that I didn't seem to be making much progress, I was discouraged. I kept asking if the baby could just come out now.

The doctor came in and asked why I wasn't pushing with every contraction. I had some terrible back pain, and every time a contraction started I was supposed to tell the nurses. I sometimes considered not telling them, just because I wanted another break. But then apparently I needed to be pushing more, according to the doctor, so that was out of the question, sigh.

The nurses started having me move in different positions to see if that would help the baby's position. I was put on my side, got up on my knees, etc. I basically did a half-flip, contracting the whole time, in terrible pain. And apparently it still didn't do much to get the baby to move.

One of the nurses quietly told the doctor she thought I should get the epidural to relax me. She thought I would push better if I wasn't tensing up so much. The doctor told me that I could have the epidural or a c-section. He said if I didn't deliver in 45 minutes after the epidural kicked in, he was going to do a c-section, mostly because if the head wasn't in a better position at that point, it likely wasn't going to be at any point, and I think we'll all remember that it wasn't a tiny head, either.

I'm not the most decisive person. So when he gave me the two options, I was not thrilled, but I told him we could try the epidural. The biggest advantage of that is that if I had the epidural in place and needed a c-section, I could be awake for the procedure. If I didn't have the epidural and went straight to the c-section, I'd have to be knocked out and would miss the birth of my baby. I worried about the energy I still needed to push, even if I was more relaxed, but I figured it was the less invasive of the two options at that point.

But then the doctor, who seemed to be getting a bit impatient (perhaps that was just my exhausted perception at that point), did another check and announced that I was not getting the epidural. He said "the head was right there" and if I "didn't deliver now I wasn't going to be delivering vaginally and we'd be going for the c-section." So the decision was made for me. Then I wanted to go to the bathroom, but the doctor apparently didn't want me to bother with that, either, and I got a catheter.

At this point I knew I was running out of time and options. If I didn't push Elle out soon, we'd be having surgery. The doctor decided that Pitocin would "help" me - basically, the drug makes the contractions more frequent and more intense. Awesome! So now instead of having any time at all to rest, I was contracting pretty much constantly, and pushing with every contraction.

Birth story, part I

I apologize now for being too wordy, descriptive or graphic in this account of Elle's birth. Some of the details might be wayyy more than some of you want to know, but they're important to me, and since I've recorded pretty much everything else about my pregnancy here, I want to be consistent.

I have been mentally drafting versions of this post since the day before Elle was born, even, and wanted to get it down before I started to forget details (especially as I become increasingly more sleep-deprived!). And after I started to write it, I realized it was reallllly long, so I'm breaking it up in to a few posts.

To give proper background, I'd have to go back a few weeks. I started having more intense, frequent and regular contractions around 37 weeks. Nothing was worth timing or really getting excited about, and I was surprised that they just felt like bad menstrual cramps. I was expecting (and later got!) much more.

And after our appointment last Tuesday, when I was slightly more effaced and 2 cm dilated, I figured we were in for the long haul and would need the scheduled induction on Monday. I hoped for *some* progress before that but figured it would only help in the induction, not result in anything that caused me to go in to labor. (Because really, people, let's not kid ourselves - this child has been anything but cooperative on the labor front.)

On Friday, though, I woke up and did a few things around the condo. I thought that I might have actually lost some of my precious bladder control, though, and hoped that maybe the baby was just dropping and putting more pressure on my bladder. Tim and I went to the gym, we lifted weights and I hit the bathroom before we did cardio.

That's when things started to get interesting.

I had some bloody show, which is a sign of impending labor. The thing is, you can have it three weeks before labor or when you're already in labor, so this wasn't a really definitive indicator of things to come. But it was a sign! And I hadn't really had any of those. I practically skipped out to Tim on the gym floor and told him. He thought my water had broken with how giddy I was, but he asked if I wanted to stay and work out or if I wanted to go home/to the hospital. We decided to skip our cardio workout and head home.

I called Labor and Delivery when we got home. They told me the "loss of bladder control" I thought I experienced earlier could actually have been me losing my mucus plug, and the bloody show was part of that as well. While I didn't need to come in to the hospital unless I started having contractions or more fluid leaking, it "sounded like things were happening." Since bloody show is also a sign of "cervical change," I hoped that maybe I was dilated a bit more, figuring it would help with the induction on Monday.

I decided to head to work, because I wasn't having contractions and I really thought I'd drive myself crazy if I stayed home. I stopped to get gas on the way because I didn't want to be in active labor and realize I had an empty tank. While I was at the gas station, I had my first real contraction. People had told Tim that "real" contractions were different, and I'd be able to tell. I kind of scoffed at that until Friday afternoon. But I knew this was different, and as I drove to work and had several more, I started to loosely time them.

I got to work and continued timing the space between and the length of each contraction. (Photo at left is of my loosely timed, scribbled notations.) Tim was on high alert and kept texting me to ask how many I had, how frequent they were, etc. I made sure my coworker (the one who would be saddled with extra work if I had to leave early) was aware of what was going on, as well as the manager who was in charge of figuring out what I'd be doing at work on Saturday (the answer: nothing. I think it was easier at that point for them to plan that I would be out instead of worry about putting me on the schedule and having me not show up or leave early).

The rule of thumb for first timers is that you're supposed to go to the hospital when the contractions are 5-1-1: Five minutes apart, one minute in length for a period of one hour. I had contractions that lasted about 45-50 seconds every 5-6 minutes apart, but they hadn't lasted an hour yet. I prepared to leave work (after only being there for about three hours), but just as I was getting serious about leaving (because the hospital is an hour south of where I work, and I didn't want to wait until they were five minutes apart for an hour; I was hoping to leave when they were 7-9 minutes apart), they slowed down.

Of course.

I had some at 8, 10 and 15 minutes apart. They lasted 30-50 seconds. They weren't consistent. I was frustrated but glad that I had stayed at work to keep myself occupied. Tim continued to freak out (and later freaked out more when he saw my noted contractions had been very close to meeting the 5-1-1 rule), but I left work around 11, stopped at Walmart for a few things to finish a craft I planned to work on over the weekend (because I still didn't think I'd be having the baby before Monday) and came home, still having contractions at varying intervals and lengths.

Last belly shot, in the hospital parking garage on Saturday morning.

Tim was supposed to cover something for work early the next morning, so he headed to bed around 2 a.m. I tried to sleep, but the contractions were getting longer and stronger again. I timed them and they were still 10 minutes apart, so I figured this could be another false alarm. The best part? I had to go to the bathroom after. every. contraction. I felt like my frequent pee breaks were probably interrupting Tim's sleep, and on the off-chance that we might be headed to the hospital sometime in the next few hours, I knew one of us should be rested. I headed to the couch, where the contractions (and frequent potty breaks) continued. At some point, the pain was so bad and the effort to get off the couch to go to the bathroom so great that I tried to get comfortable on the floor. It wasn't working.

Around 5 a.m., one of my bathroom breaks showed that I had more bloody show. At this point, I knew *something* was happening, and I was excited, nervous and scared. I knew even if the contractions let up or my bladder calmed down that I would not be able to sleep. I kept timing the contractions, and by 5:45 they were about 50 seconds long, 4-5 minutes apart and had been for almost 50 minutes. That was close enough to 5-1-1 for me, and I decided to take a quick shower.

Of course, at that point, the contractions seemed to slow down again. But I woke Tim up anyway and told him I thought we should probably head to the hospital. After asking if we could sleep a little longer (and my short reply that at least he'd gotten *some* sleep), he took a shower while I grabbed a few last-minute things, and by 6:45, we were out the door. I started timing the contractions again, and while they were now about 35-50 seconds long, they were still happening every 5 minutes or so, and they were gaining in intensity.

We got to the hospital and made our way to triage. I told them I thought I was in labor, and they pulled my paperwork and asked a few questions. Then Suellen, the triage nurse, took us back to a bed and had me change in to a gown. We'd been told in all of our childbirth preparation classes not to bring our bags in until we were admitted to labor and delivery, because it wasn't worth lugging everything in to find out that we weren't staying. We figured Tim would have time to get our bags once I was settled in L&D.

We were wrong.

Suellen hooked me and the baby up to monitors and watched my contractions. It was explained to us that while my doctor wasn't working that weekend - another doctor from his practice was on call - our doctor likes to manage his own patients if he was available. They said the doctor on call would Dr. S and let him know I was in labor and see if he was able and interested in coming in.

Meanwhile, I was extremely uncomfortable - the bed made my back hurt, and the contractions were more intense when I was lying flat - but she chatted to us about supplements she takes for her diabetes and we shared fish oil nightmares. Suellen was obsessed with the fact that an ultrasound tech, Anthony, in the curtained area next to us looked exactly like Tim. She yelled over to Anthony to stop over and meet his twin. While there were definitely similarities, I was amused most by the fact that I was preparing to have a baby, breathing through contractions that I hoped were behaving and not slowing down again, and Tim was meeting his alleged look-alike.

After the meet-and-greet, Suellen did an internal exam and exclaimed, "Wow. You're definitely staying. You'd never know from your contraction patterns, but I'd say you're six centimeters dilated and you're fully effaced. It's baby day!"

We have a baby!

For anyone who hasn't heard the news, Elle was born on Saturday at 11:28 a.m. :)

8 pounds, 2 ounces and 21 inches of absolute amazement.

We came home from the hospital on Sunday afternoon, and we've been been adjusting to the new feeding/(lack of) sleep schedule and recovering, so I haven't had much time to Internet. I've been trying to keep friends and family in the loop with photos and videos, but right now our priority has just been spending time with the little one and trying to get some rest.

That being said, I really want to blog about the events leading up to Elle's birth before I forget anything, and I warn you all now it will be long and detailed :) I'm hoping to have the first few installments ready to go in the next few days, and I will likely have plenty of posts with photos of our little girl, too :)

Birth video? Puh-lease

I realized last night that I haven't actually watched a "birth video." Tim watched one when poking around the online materials for our Prepared Childbirth/Lamaze class, and there are countless videos available on the internet, but I haven't watched one and don't intend to. The reason for this is two-fold: I don't handle stuff like that well, and I've witnessed a live delivery.

I shall explain.

When I say "I don't handle stuff like that well," I'm not kidding around. In eighth grade, we watched a video in home ec (I have no idea why) about liposuction (it was actually a segment of Geraldo that we were watching). I got really light-headed and dizzy and asked to go to the restroom. The hallway blacked out and the bathroom was spinning as I crumpled in a cold sweat against the bathroom wall. As my blood pressure returned to normal, I recovered, but it was my first brush with "I don't handle stuff like that well."

Similar events happened while discussing dislocated shoulders in ninth-grade health class, watching a video of wisdom tooth removal (it was required by insurance that I be aware of what would be happening to me, although I think I should have just remained in the dark) the summer after high school, getting a cyst on my foot x-rayed in college and getting my eyes examined the summer after college. It had gotten to the point where all someone needed to do was vividly describe a medical procedure and my blood pressure would drop, I'd break in to a cold sweat, the room started spinning and I would black out. Not exactly a fun way to live, and I *have* gotten better, but even my coworkers know that a photo of a bloodied hockey player's mouth could sent me sweating and desperately trying to stay conscious.

The best part? Tim is very much like me in this way. Not triggered by the same things, but he's had the same thing happen a few times. I've already informed my friend Traci that she may need to be at the hospital simply so a non-medical professional is conscious for the birth of our child.

So how on earth did *I* manage to witness a live delivery?

I think adrenaline kicks in for me in times of crisis. If Tim was gushing blood, I don't think I'd pass out - I think I'd go on auto-pilot and handle the situation. I hope I never have to find out, but that is pretty much what happened when I saw my mom deliver my youngest brother, Doug.

Doug, at left, was our family's "surprise" baby. My older sister was 20 and my younger brother, nicknamed Yogi, was 15 when we found out that Mom was pregnant. It wasn't planned, but it was pretty exciting, and I, especially, enjoyed the fact that Mom and Dad would not be empty nesters any time soon. I was heading in to my senior year of high school and wasn't excited that Mom and Dad were having a baby right as I was heading off to college, but luckily I ended up going to college near (but not too near) home and was able to spend a lot of Doug's younger years close by.

On a Friday night in mid-January, Yogi and I were at the high school playing in our high school's pep band as the basketball team played a conference rival. Around 9 p.m., my mom's best friend, who lives near the high school, walked up the bleacher steps and told our band director that we needed to leave - our mom's water had broken.

The cheerleaders - many of whom were friends of ours and knew that the baby could arrive any day - saw us gathering our stuff to leave and cheered.

Yogi and I drove home and found our mom and dad still there - they were waiting for us before leaving for the hospital. We got to the hospital, and Dad and Yogi hung out in the waiting room. My mom had never had any family members present during the delivery of her first three children, and I was the first non-medical professional that she allowed in the room, which was pretty cool.

At 11:50 p.m., Doug was born.

Here is what I remember:
* Jay Leno was on the TV when Doug was born.
* My mom had an oxygen mask on, and for the first time in my life, I heard her say she "couldn't do it." I remember thinking, "Uh, Mom, you kinda have to" and wondering what the doctors would do if she really couldn't do it.
* My mom - who didn't have an epidural - pushed for about 15-20 minutes.
* The medical staff left the curtains open on window at the end of the hospital bed "in case we wanted to watch." It served as a mirror to what was going on with Doug's birth. Mom didn't want to watch. I wanted to remain conscious, so I decided it was best if I didn't watch, too.
* Mom thought that Doug sounded like a goat when he first cried.

So you see, I've witnessed a live delivery, but I don't remember any of the gory details or the particulars. I don't even remember how long we all stayed at the hospital after the birth - I just remember spending a lot of time there that weekend (photo above is from his first full day in the hospital) and being afraid to pick Doug up because he was so tiny.

And it is probably better that I don't remember everything - whenever and however Elle decides to arrive, I think the details will be a blur, and any pain, discomfort, fear, etc. will be temporary. The main thing is she'll be here. And when I get freaked out about labor and delivery, I focus on that - soon, we'll have our own little goat. I don't need to see every aspect of a birth - it is something that has been happening since the beginning of time. I understand the logistics. But the end goal is what my blood-pressure challenged, dizzy mind is set on.