So here's the long and short of her birth story...(and since I'm stealing a few precious minutes while Ella is sleeping, this will more than likely be the "short" of it).
She took her sweet time getting here- the stats: born at 41 weeks on June 13, 2009- 7:49 pm, weighing 6 lbs 15 oz and 20 inches long. Someday I will write the entire birth story- perhaps in another post, but judging by the pace of the last 5 weeks I might be lucky to have it finished sometime before her fifth birthday. My labor lasted for a good 5 days before it was finally the *real deal.* Yes, I said 5 days. Yes, they were the longest and most trying 5 days of my life (or so I thought, until we were home and Jake was back at work and my mom had gone back to MI. Those days were altogether a different kind of "long" and "trying," to say the very least...) I was one of the unlucky few who had the prodromal labor- basically a fancy term for early labor that starts and stops irregularly with contractions that come close together and that are quite painful at times, but that don't really change the cervix, so most doctors and hospitals will send you back home to continue to wait. If I had a nickel for the number of times I uttered the words "this is it!!" or pulled out my iPhone to time the contractions on the handy "Contraction Master" app, I would be a rich woman. I still believe this was Ella's way of preparing her Mommy to realize that life was truly not about me anymore- and will never be again, for that matter.
When I had my bloody show late Friday night- after labor that started the previous Tuesday- I knew it would be soon and was more than ready to get to the hospital. We ended up arriving at the hospital early that Saturday morning (but only after stopping at McDonald's so Jake could get breakfast, because we all know the reputation hospital food carries. But for the record, I passed on the bacon-egg and cheese biscuit, lest it should make a second appearance during labor). Once we were settled in our room, the doctor came in after I was checked (and it was definite that they were not sending me home this time) and broke my water. OMG, *ouch.* I think I gripped the bed railing so hard that I left an indentation. After that, Jake was too scared to hold my hand for the duration of the labor. (j/k). Next came a dose of stadol, which I was told would "take the edge off" but only served to make me talk out my ass about stupid things and feel nauseous if I opened my eyes the tiniest bit. Finally, I got the blessed epidural by 1 pm and life was good after that. Well, "good" in that I felt no pain whatsoever. However, things didn't go *quite* how I pictured in my head from that point on...
They had determined some time earlier that she was sunny side up with her face looking up instead of at my back. Because of this, she never dropped into my pelvis, therefore, I didn't progress past 5 cm and 80% effaced....and therefore, the doctor came in around 6 pm that day and said, "I think the writing's on the wall and we may need to proceed with a c-section."
Done.
I was exhausted, not to mention STARVING (can I truthfully say that food was probably the number one driving force behind my decision to agree to a section so quickly? Well, that- and of course, getting to finally meet my baby). So Jake got changed into the cute blue scrubs complete with matching mask and shower cap and I got topped off with another dose of "heaven-in-a-spinal-tap" and they wheeled me into the OR at 7:28 pm. Twenty-one minutes later, I heard the most beautiful sound as they pulled her out and she cried for the first time.
She is probably the most amazing little person I've ever seen (of course, I realize I'm extremely biased), but I look at her and can't imagine that I had anything to do with this little miracle. She's got her Daddy's nose, my eyes (although they're still blue and look like they may stay that way) and perfectly shaped lips. *Look out Angelina.* I remember the first time the nurses brought her to me in the middle of the night, only a few hours after my c-section. I had already been allowed to hold her and bond with her a few hours prior while in recovery, but at that point, I was still heavily drugged and shaking like a fool, so it wasn't the optimum situation. They wheeled her into my room a few hours later and I was awoken from my drug-induced sleep to hear the nurse say, "Hey Momma, your baby girl is ready to eat again." And then the reality started to hit: Oh my God, I have a daughter. It wasn't a dream...she's outside in the real world now. So there I laid in that dimly-lit hospital room, still half-numb from the waist down and with only a little ginger-ale on my stomach to quell the nausea, but none of the discomfort seemed to matter. I held her with those unsteady arms that scream "new Mommy" and studied every tiny little feature, and just gazed at her and for those few precious minutes, time seemed to freeze. Ironically now, I can't get the time to stop. She's changing every day and now I will officially join Moms everywhere who can only comment that this is all going too, too fast.
More to come...(when she takes another long nap :-) )
