Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

I am literally coasting on fumes at this point. My little ladybug pulled another all-nighter and forming sentences that don't include milk, sleep, diapers, and angry nipples seems like a literary stretch. However, I want to make sure that I write Penelope's birth story before all those brain cells are lost to lack of sleep and a steady diet of granola bars and ice chips.

Unlike Miles' lightning labor and delivery process, Penelope's arrival spans several weeks. Looking over some of my earlier posts, it seems like "early labor" lasted forever. Prior to her birth date, I had been dilated 3 centimeters for well over a week. Even better, I was able to complete 98% of the "active labor" at home- but not intentionally. Here's the breakdown of the events.

First Came the Snow

December 26:

As we began to unwind from the present-fueled frenzy Miles underwent the day before, we watched the ground steadily collect a solid ten inches of snow. At the same time, a serious case of cabin fever kicked in. To help alleviate my stress, Jesse and I went on a drive while Miles played with his grandparents. While out and about in the white-out, I started to panic that I would be returning to work at the end of Winter Break, still pregnant and in pain. Luckily, I started having some mild contractions in the late afternoon- oddly enough at the downtown Green Leafe while picking up take-out for the fam. (Thank God I didn't have her there, though I bet I could have scored a new mug on the house.) At the time, I chalked them up to Braxton-Hicks, but it cracks me up to think I sat on a bar stool, counted out contractions while thinking back on how the times have changed.

The remainder of the evening progressed as usual, aside from the ever-mounting snow, aches, and pains. Dinner and bath routines went down as normal. There is a hilarious video of Miles and me floating around from this night- I was laid out on his bedroom floor (having back labor) while he uses me a human slide. Miles started on my shoulders and wiggled his way down my back- yelling sliiiiiii- during each trip down. And Jesse's role in the matter... to laugh and take footage on his phone.

We went to sleep around midnight, and there was no inkling in my mind that a baby would arrive in the near future. Seriously. I had been feeling this way for over a week, so why start to worry now? However...

December 27:

2:00 am: I wake up from a dream in which I am having contractions. Upon waking, I realize that these are real, I-have-to-breathe, contractions. Even they count as the real deal, they are not lasting 90 seconds. At best, they last 60 seconds and are coming anywhere between 3 to 5 minutes apart.

2:00- 3:00 am: To follow the doctor's orders, I make sure the contractions are present for at least an hour before calling the answering service. Wide awake and breathing like an asthmatic dragon, I have to find a way of silently passing this time. What's a girl to do? Obviously, I do my hair. Wiping out a digital timer and a curling iron, I sway, rock, and pant my way through a solid hour of hair curling. Folks have asked how my hair looked so good following Penelope's delivery- there's the answer. I swear to you that making barrel curls is the best way to dilate another 5 centimeters. Forget Lamaz; the future lies in the Pageant Hair Method. Go big, bold, spray it down, and then race to the hospital.

3:05 am: Barring the gory details, as soon as my hair is done- I go into transition. Ten minutes of solid purging, and I know that there's no turning back.

3:15 am: I reach the on-call doctor and get the green light to head into the hospital. Time to shock Jesse out of slumber and off to warm-up the car. He has no idea what's going on, but he's very adept at following directions whilst asleep.

3:45 am: Car finally cleaned off, grandparents are here to relieve us, and we begin our cautious trek (fabulous hair and all) to the hospital. The city roads are putting the ice capades to shame, but the interstate is clean. We arrive in about 20 minutes. Interestingly enough, I find Jesse's car a perfect spot to have intense labor- lots of handles to grab and surfaces to kick. Note: my water hasn't broken yet, so the upholstery is safe.

4:15 am: Hello ER! Following a triage check-in, where I threw my insurance card and license at the attendant and told her to read it herself. I tired to give a polite smile, but she may have missed it as I prowled around the waiting room. We head up to the delivery floor, but I refuse the wheelchair. Why wheel when I can walk this baby out, right? I only had to stop twice for air...

4:28 am: We breeze through the delivery triage and find that I am 7.5 centimeters at this point. I tell the nurse if they send me home I am planning on throwing myself down the stairs to ensure I can at least stay in the ER. Jesse knows I am joking, but she genuinely looks freaked out. I promptly get a private room across the hall. Note: the doctor has yet to show up, and I called an hour ago.)

4:35 am: Got the room. Lights are switched on. Playlist "Labor 2" has been turned on (it's all Motown), and a gaggle of anxious nurses are watching me kick into survival mode. I know that delivery time has arrived because I start shaking all over. "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" was playing at this point...

4:36 am: I calmly say, "You may not believe this, but I need to push." Fun legal note- nurses are not allowed to tell you to push, and they will tell you this when you shout "I have to push RIGHT NOW!" However, they can catch whatever little one may emerge. Note: Still no doctor.

I make it onto the bed and promptly remove the blood pressure cuff and pulse reader- in no way can I push with these items on. Thankfully, no one tries to reattach them. Furthermore, there was no time for an IV because removing that sucker myself would have hurt like the dickens. You should have seen me trying to pull my hair into a ponytail at this point...

4:40- 4:55 am: Rough 15 minutes of pushing. I have Jesse and the nurses adjust the bed, get the birthing bar, and bring me an oxygen mask. At one point, a nurse lowers a handle bar on which my leg had been resting. She does this as I am pushing through a contraction. Amazingly, I am able to bark out, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?" Magically, the handle bar returns in nanoseconds. Devine intervention keeps me from swearing, and the attending nurses are very helpful with counting (and unintentionally reminding me that the doctor still hasn't arrived). Jesse, my brave partner on my right, keeps me focused and updated on Penelope's progress. Right after my water breaks (better late than never), the little lady shoots out. Rene, my triage nurse, is there to catch her. Thank you, Rene!

4:55 am: Penelope Lanaux Thomas arrives weighing 7 pounds and 15 ounces. I would like to mention that there is a huge difference between naturally delivering a baby that weighs 5 pounds and one the weighs nearly 3 pounds more. Never let me wax poetic on the "magicalness" of the experience- this hurt like hell- but when you are done, you're done! Woo-hoo!

She arrived 7 tracks later, appropriately enough to The Supremes.

5:10 am: You'll never guess what happens now... the doctor arrives! I mumble something about not paying the practice, but Jesse quickly shoots me a "zip it" look. I clam up and continue to bask in my glory of my little one and limitless sea of euphoric endorphins. The doc decides to help me deliver the placenta, but I rob her of that job too and push it out while she's getting her gown tied on. Doctors? Where we're going we don't need doctors!

In a later post, I may want to vent about my concerns regarding the whole delivery situation. What if there had been a serious snag- what if Penelope's vitals started to drop? There was no one there who could have intervened... and we are baffled that an ER doc wasn't called up. Regardless, the attending nurses and my hubs were all very helpful and catered to my requests (demands). In retrospect, we are perfectly fine not having the doctor there- but we also know that we lucky in many, many, many ways- that we made it to the hospital on time, that the grandparents were on hand, and that there were no complications in Penelope's speedy arrival.

Now my little blizzard baby is over a week old- looking pink, plump, and pleased. She's a gift, a bundle of love and cuddles, and the perfect baby sister. Welcome home, ladybug. We've been waiting on you!