a baby story, season three

When my sister, Katie, and her husband, Dave, arrived on Saturday morning for their post-graduation trip to NYC, I announced, "Hooray! You're here! Now I can go have a baby!" I was [mostly] joking, of course, even though part of the reason for their visit, particularly the latter part, where Katie would be extending her stay beyond Dave's, was to help me get through the end of this pregnancy and possibly also the delivery. Only on that day, like the days preceding it, I felt absolutely miserable. Every time I got up and moved around, I'd start contracting. I ended up spending most of that day horizontally in an attempt to keep the contractions at bay. I even spent most of the ward activity we attended that evening lying down on the couch in the mother's room.

I felt a little better in the morning and so took the clan to church. We only lasted through Sacrament Meeting, though, before I needed to go home and lie down, which I did as soon as we walked in the door. While staying in bed did help to keep the contractions sporadic and irregular, it didn't stop other forms of progression. By the early afternoon I was interrupting Blake's busy afternoon at the church with a phone call to tell him that not only was I not feeling any better, but that I'd also started to bleed a little. He promised he'd streamline things and get home as soon as he could.

I'm not entirely sure why, but I was hesitant to call my doctor. After all, I was only 35 weeks along -- things weren't supposed to be happening yet. At about 4:30 I called my mom to let her know what was going on as well as with the hope that she'd be able to convince me to just call the doctor already. Her experienced wisdom, as well as the fact that during our phone call contractions started coming regularly every 5 minutes, gave me the kick in the pants I needed. I called my doctor, listed my symptoms, and was told that I should come to the hospital. He was already there and would check me out.

Blake had recently arrived home from church, and Katie and Dave had already spent the afternoon watching the boys and didn't mind continuing to do so, so I grabbed my hospital bag (which I'd thought to pack only two days before), and off we went. The first big question mark of this delivery -- how we'd manage childcare for Garrett and Caleb while we went to the hospital -- was answered with incredible ease. I don't think our getting out the door could have gone any more smoothly had Katie and Dave not been here, and for that I'll probably be forever in their debt.

We got to the hospital a little after 6:00 and had to wait a bit for a triage room to open up. By the time I was given a bed my contractions were intensifying and coming every 3-4 minutes. A quick check by the doctor determined that my cervix was still way, way posterior, but that I was dilated to a 4. Still, though, the plan was to try to stop the labor from progressing in the hope that I'd be able to hang on until I was full term, so they worked to hydrate me intravenously. Contractions continued to come, but after about an hour they started to become more manageable. I thought that for sure they'd ultimately end up sending me home, and even started making tentative plans for how I'd get through the next week, though before it ever came to that I knew they'd have to work a little harder to stop the contractions, which had started to pick up again despite their efforts to thwart them.

At around 7:45 we were informed that I was going to be admitted, which, despite the continually intensifying contractions, was a surprise to hear as no one had come in to check on me since we'd arrived. The news was also apparently a surprise to my doctor. For a few minutes we were all a little confused. My doctor checked me again, announced I was dilated to a 6, and then basically threw up his hands to signify that he was giving up his efforts to let my baby cook a little longer.

The process then began to get me to a delivery room, where I was told that a much-desired epidural would be waiting for me. Contractions were coming long and hard now, and as I moved from the bed to a wheelchair, I felt an uncontrollable desire to push. As I arrived in the delivery room, another one came. After getting myself situated on the bed, I announced to anyone who was listening that I desperately wanted to push. And when I did with the next contraction, my water broke. Only Blake was in the room at the time, so I sent him out to give my doctor, who was chit-chatting with the anesthesiologist out in the hall, the update. Another quick check determined that, only maybe 15 minutes after the last one, I was fully dilated. The doctor left again, and I noticed that in the corner of the room the anesthesiologist was s l o w l y getting things together to make the pain go away. Blake turned to me and said, "Dear, I don't think you're getting that epidural." "I know," I replied, hoping that things would end quickly like they did at this point in my last delivery.

With the next contraction, I felt the baby crowning, which I announced to the nurse who was setting up the equipment for the delivery, who wisely ran for the doctor. He, as well as another doctor from the practice that I knew well, arrived, took one look at me, and immediately assumed the position. Two contractions worth of pushing later and, at 8:24 p.m., Matthew was here.

The first words my doctor said in the moments after Matthew's delivery were, "That does not look like a 35 weeks baby!" I peeked over to see, and sure enough, he did not. When his measurements were taken a few minutes later and we all learned that at 7 lbs 7 oz our eyes were not deceiving us, I started to wonder how this could have happened. Early ultrasounds indicated that he was always about a week to a week-and-a-half bigger than my dates said, but because my periods appeared each month like clockwork, there was no reason to change my due date. Matthew, who despite his size, still had some of the features common in preterm babies of his gestational age, was perfectly healthy and never even had to step foot inside the NICU -- a feat I'm incredibly grateful he managed to accomplish. In the end we all decided that maybe my oven was just turned up a little too high for this pregnancy.

Matthew's birth seems to have determined a pattern for any future deliveries I may have. Only four hours passed from the start of active labor until he made his appearance, about two of which took place at the hospital, which, when you consider that Caleb's quick delivery was broken up between two hospital visits spread out over almost two weeks, makes his the fastest of my three. This delivery, though, was far less traumatic than Caleb's. For one, it was me, not my doctor, who ultimately ended up directing the show. Amazingly, I knew what my body was doing, which was calming and gave me the confidence to just do what I needed to do without panicking (translation: I didn't scream out in pain once, much to Blake's relief). I don't think that I will ever have time to receive an epidural again, a fact I don't particularly love (as I don't particularly love the pain of labor), but have decided to just accept. I can, after all, be in control of only so much. Also, our pediatrician, when I took Matthew in for his first appointment, told me that the odds are pretty high that my future babies will also arrive pre-term. I suppose I should take my future due dates with a grain of salt and go ahead and plan for a delivery in the month prior seeing as we're now three for three for not delivering in the month projected.

Even the hospital stay was more enjoyable than it was after Caleb's birth. Well, "enjoyable" perhaps isn't quite the right word -- this was a crowded hospital in Brooklyn, after all. But I didn't have to share my recovery room until the last dozen or so hours of my stay and I got the bed by the window, which made the stay at least a little more comfortable. Also, for the most part, all of my nurses spoke at least decent English and were generally not snappish with me.

With his birth on the 22nd, Matthew broke the pattern we'd previously established for important dates in our family. Blake and I were a little relieved, though, that he did not postpone his arrival until the 23rd since we wanted to keep our anniversary to ourselves. On Monday evening we celebrated 7 years of marriage over a take-out dinner in my hospital room. (Happy anniversary, Blake!)

A note about the name we chose for this baby: Matthew is named for his two grandmothers. Blake's mom was originally a Matthews and mine was originally a Wiest. We decided to put the two together to honor them. It's a good, strong name, with a rich heritage behind it, and one that I fell so head-over-heels in love with, I was actually glad to have a third baby boy instead of a little girl just so we could use it. Throughout the pregnancy, when people would ask if we'd picked a name, our reply would generally be that it was "in the vault." But, since Garrett was just as attached to the name and told every friend and stranger he'd meet that "my mom having a baby. His name Maffhew!" we also told people that if they really wanted to know, they could just ask him.

So there you have it -- Matthew's birth story. He wasn't born at home, or in the car en route to the hospital (thank heavens!), but his arrival was still a bit of a thrill ride. I'm grateful that he's here and that he's healthy. Everyone in the family is enamored with him, so I think we'll keep him around.