Oh, the long overdue birth story. Five months later. It still feels weird to share this; not because it’s too private, but because it’s still a trip to think that it happened. I HAD A BABY, Y’ALL.
Not that I could forget. He’s in the other room, yelling at the dog. (Who was it that said that having a kid was like living with a tiny drunk person? Totally true.)
So. THE BIRTH OF TATER.
Somewhere along the way in my third trimester, I started to wind down. Little physical things got harder, like walking or carrying anything heavier than my purse. (Which is no small feat in and of itself. I could fight off a pack of rabid hounds with my Kate Spade…) I also developed a problem with my pelvic bone where it started to hurt if I walked for long periods or opened my legs too wide. Even putting on my pants in the morning could cause sharp pain. Turns out Tater turned breech (AGAIN) in between weeks 37 and 38 and then proceeded to park his fat butt right right on my pubic bone, making walking ridiculously painful. See, babies are smart and get into the most comfortable position while in the womb. My hips are a little off, so his head didn’t fit comfortably in the space between them. Because of this, Tater was all “Eff this noise,” and flipped to a better position for him, which was indian style, right on top of my pubic bone.
It sucked. Many chiropractic appointments and afternoons spent lying upside down later, he refused to flip back so we tried a external cephalic version on July 20th.
Now, I’m not gonna bullshit you, the version hurts. I can’t accurately describe how it feels, but put your hand on your stomach and push as hard as you can (without digging your fingernails in or pushing so hard you poop yourself.). Now imagine that in a circular motion, but while trying to move one of your vital organs around. Yeah, like that, but a little more painful. But not so painful that I couldn’t handle it. Okay, so there were silent tears, but I prefer to think that my body had so much bad-ass built up on the inside that they overflowed out of my eyes and down my face.
But, despite me being so incredibly hardcore, Tater would not budge. And it wasn’t from lack of trying. My OB and her colleague, both of who are maybe 120 soaking wet, were kneeling on my hospital bed with their hands slathered in baby oil and trying to coax this kid to flip around as hard as they could without rupturing something. And this went on, stopping and starting, for about 15 minutes. Nada. I’m bad-ass, but Tater was stronger. (For reasons that will follow…stay with me, kids.)
So Jethro and I had a decision; we could either wait for labor to start naturally and then come in for a c-section, or we could have one that night and I’d have the baby that day. There wasn’t a big chance that Tater would flip in the womb on his own, the version probably would have worked if that was the case. And my doctor did not deliver breech babies naturally, I knew this from the get-go and was okay with it. I really wanted to go into labor naturally, but the only hitch was that my doctor was set to go out of town the next day and if I waited for labor to start, I would have had someone else in her practice do the surgery. Thinking back on it now, that doesn’t seem like such a big deal, but at the time the thought made me want to bust out into heaving sobs. It wasn’t until the version failed that I finally realized that I would not be able to give birth naturally and I was not happy. (Little did I know that this was the first of many things that would not go the way I hoped. Oh, Life. You are SUCH a heifer…)
I was tired, emotional and the reality of having a c-section (and having to choose when) was settling into my stomach and making me want to upchuck. And let me tell you, that is a WEIRD decision to have to make. I’d said that I did not want a c-section unless it was medically necessary, and suddenly it was medically necessary and then they were asking me WHEN I wanted to do it. I mean, I kill plants and always bet on the wrong horse when I play the ponies! I should not be in charge of decisions like this! There are hormonal advantages to going into labor naturally and then doing a c-section, but I was three days away from my due date and my OB was my security blanket. I talked it over with Jethro and we decided to go ahead and do the c-section that night.
We told my OB our decision and then sat there for a minute going, “Welp…guess we getting a kid tonight…” when the nurse walked in and said, “Okay, we’ve got an OR ready, so we can get you in there in about 15 minutes.”
Insert Scooby-Doo noises here as we scrambled around trying to let the grandparents know and to wrap our heads around the fact that when they said today, they meant RIGHT THE HELL NOW. Luckily my OB stepped in, talked to us for a minute to make sure we were okay with our decision and that I wasn’t scared. Having had abdominal surgery before**, I was fine, but Jethro was quietly freaking out. This was evidenced when I asked him to call my mom (who lives out of town). He had to step outside to make the call since our cell phones didn’t work in the room. (And I was covered in wire and tubes and things that went beep in ominous ways.)
Me: (as Jethro comes back in) What’d she say?
Jethro: She’s headed our way.
Me: Lord, I hope she doesn’t speed. The traffic shouldn’t be bad though…wait, did you tell her it wasn’t an emergency?
Jethro: Huh?
Me: My mom. Did you tell her that the c-section wasn’t an emergency?
Jethro: ….yes.
Me: Yes??
Jethro: …maybe???
Me: MAYBE?!? You MAYBE MIGHT HAVE told MY MOTHER that her DAUGHTER was having a c-section and that it’s NOT an emergency?!?
Jethro: THIS IS VERY STRESSFUL RIGHT NOW AND I’M TRYING NOT TO POOP MY PANTS, OKAY?!?
To his credit, he did tell her that it wasn’t an emergency. Also, he did not poop his pants.
I should be nicer to that man.
{{continued in Part Two because this is HELLA long…}}
**Y’ALL. Remind me to tell you about my splenectomy adventure with Gavin, the Not-a-Tumor. It’s good times.
