Remember the days when there was a nicely wrapped Candyland post about ballz, BR80s or beanbags waiting for you? Okay, so there wasn't exactly a post about beanbags, but I meant to. No I didn't. My brain is a little cluttered these days because in case you haven't heard, I gave birth last Tuesday, October 11th, exactly 5 years after the birth of my 5yo daughter, to a beautiful little man.
He's pretty perfect but we went through a lot to get him here. Those of you who read have been on this near 3 year journey of wishing, hoping and praying for another baby but it's not without loss, grief and frustration of not being the one in control of my fate. If you remember, just a couple weeks after a 2nd miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again. The doctor sent me to see if the fetus was "viable," and the embryo was considered a threatened abortion. I was terrified of losing another as the pain of the first loss was still a wound not healed.
But, the baby was alive.
Fast forward through nine months of hellish pregnancy with somewhere around 10-12 ultrasounds due to baby's growth, my history and loss of amniotic fluid. I was on bed rest. My hips felt broken. It hurt to stand. But it was all worth it. In the end, though, the fluid surrounding little Sully's head and body dropped to a critical level and I was hospitalized. Before I left, the number rose enough for them to say "okay, let's wait another week and see how this goes."
I went back exactly one week later, at 37 weeks, and the fluids were lower than before. And there it was...this baby I'd wanted so bad for so long might not survive if they didn't get him out of me. I was induced the same day and by the next day, was well on my way to delivery. Those of you who've been through an induction know how HORRIBLE it is. This was my 2nd induction, so at least I knew what to expect, but not even the mere thought of Matt Brady was enough to get me through.
After the doctor broke my water, the contractions intensified to an unbearable strength, but even though it felt like it, I was not ready to push. They made me wait. For nearly 3 hours. I screamed. I cried. I asked them to just kill me. But then, the time came. And I pushed. And pushed. And pushed.
Until I almost killed my baby.
His heart rate dropped with every push I made at the wrong time and I was given oxygen so I could breathe for him. But it wasn't enough. As he came through, the umbilical cord wrapped tight around his neck and he was not breathing at all. When they carried him away, something happened that the doctors had never seen before: the cord completely snapped off the placenta and literally exploded. It was on my mom's shirt. It was on the doctors. It was EVERYWHERE.
I can't go into anymore detail because a) it's disgusting and b) it's foggy. All I remember was not getting to see or hold that little boy I dreamed of for too long...Because they were busy bringing him back to life.
I actually blogged about Fartypants.
I could use some farty to get my party starty right about now.
Like Miss Jackson says, miss you much. Regular blogging will resume when my brain cells have regenerated.