Monday, February 28, 2011

When Max was Born

Max turns eight months old tomorrow.
Which means that I think it's time to share his birth story with the world. Or, more accurately, it's time I write down his birth story because it's still hard for me to swallow how it all went down and I need to get over that.

Aside from a stinky bout with mono when I was seventeen, I have always been a healthy gal. So, when I found out I was pregnant, I thought I'd have pretty smooth sailing. My first few months were a little severe because my morning sickness extended to all day sickness but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I could still work and go to school without much of a problem. Then, this time last year, when food started to taste again, I was so happy I couldn't even contain myself.

The months went by and in May, the doctors put me on bedrest. Mainly it was for high blood pressure but it was also because Max weighed over six (yes, six!!) pounds when I wasn't even eight months pregnant. I'm 5'4 and weigh around 120 pounds, so everyone was worried that I wouldn't be able to carry such a large baby to full term, myself included.

During bedrest, things still kept spiraling downward- at least from my perspective. Anyone who's been on bedrest knows that it's a recipe for depression. Andrew worked full time and went to school, so every day I'd sit on the couch by myself and watch TV shows on Netflix. I don't even (usually) like TV, but my mind was too far gone to concentrate on anything- even reading- so I'd sit for hours, sometimes crocheting but usually half sleeping. Max's growth rate slowed down and I went from eating normally to eating toast once or twice a day, but somehow I still went from this:

29ish weeks

To this:

37 weeks

That's right. I gained over thirty pounds on bedrest alone, which meant I was insanely uncomfortable. I spent most nights crying instead of sleeping and when I'd wake up in the morning, Mr. C. would have to help me from the bedroom to the shower and then from the shower to the couch. It was all very glamorous.

So, when my water broke at 37 weeks, I was so excited I couldn't even stand it. The night before, I slept through the whole (yes! the whole night!) and when I went into the living room to talk to my mom, BAM! It was time. No one was too surprised since everything that's supposed to happen before labor had already happened, but I'd resigned myself to the fact that I'd be pregnant for at least a few more weeks, if not until the end of time.

We got there and after laboring for eight hours, nothing changed except that I'd spiked a fever. The doctor came and talked to me, I cried, and an hour later when there wasn't much more progress, I was wheeled in for an emergency C-section, something that had been my worst nightmare since I was a little girl.

I'm not going to go into specifics there because it wasn't close to pleasant.

While I laid there knowing that I was about to die from pain, Max was born and when I saw him for the first time, it didn't even register that he was mine. He was screaming and nurses were all over him and if I looked to the side, I could see my blood running through a thick tube. The drug doctor (aka my best friend) told me to quit fighting and just pass out but I stayed awake, even after Mr. C. and Max had left the room.

A whole lot of stitches, an insensitive nurse, more drugs, and about an hour later, I finally got to meet our little man. And in that second, when I could look at him (somewhat) coherently and know he was mine, nothing else mattered.

Meeting Mama

The pain from the C-section didn't matter, the devastation I felt about having to have an unexpected C-section didn't matter, the sixty pounds didn't matter, and the weeks of sitting on the couch didn't matter.


He was here. And he was all ours.