I Had Another Baby

Here is his birth story.

My little guy was born on a Friday, two weeks and one day before his due date. I was going to take the day off to do some self-care for this tired momma (a bougie pedicure and foot massage at Hiatus Spa). We had a big weekend planned with a grandparent-sleep-over for our daughter, a final date night before baby’s arrival, and two baby showers. At close to 38 weeks pregnant, I was tired. I had been experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions with regularity for weeks, and had felt contraction-like cramping the night before, intermittent and not powerful.

My daughter woke that morning not feeling well. She cried and cried and was clingy, and fell back asleep when I picked her up and rocked her over my huge belly. While she napped, I began feeling actual contractions - not too powerful, but regular. (Did Penny somehow intuit that her life was about to dramatically change, and want extra snuggle time with me?) My self care plans were not to happen. We live close to family during this pregnancy, so I texted my mom to let her know that 1) my gal was a little sick and 2) I was going into labor. She immediately left work and came to my house right away. Penny had perked up by late morning, and I let my husband know what was going on. I did not want to go to the hospital quite yet, as contractions were painful but still at around 8 minutes apart. My mom made lunch (grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, with mustard and jelly on mine), contractions became slightly more frequent, and I called my husband and told him to wrap up his day and come home. He arrived around 2, shortly after my father. My parents encouraged us to get to the hospital quickly and we took a final family-of-three photo, walked our Penny-girl to the car, gave her kisses in our front yard, and waved goodbye as she left with grandma and grandpa. I had a series of big contractions in the front yard grass while trying to walk back to our front door, realized the urgency with which we needed to get to the hospital, and may have said some choice words to my husband while in my pain, bent over and clutching my belly in the grass. I was overwhelmed with emotion and cried as we hurried through the living room to the garage and our waiting car, as this would be the last time that we would be a family of three and had past the point where the entirety of our time was dedicated to our precious girl. In tears, I shared this to my husband, and he said he felt the same way.

As we were driving to the hospital close to rush hour, we googled how to get there to avoid traffic and arrive as soon as possible. We were directed to go a route that we had never taken, through side streets and stop lights, and contractions became closer and closer at about 5 minutes apart and were very painful. We arrived at the hospital, dropped our car off at the front valet, and I was pushed in a wheelchair to the Women’s Center where we waited and I labored, sitting on a chair in front of the intake plexiglass partition, staring at the back of a computer monitor. It was a very long 20 minutes. We were finally taken back to the triage area, I requested an epidural, and a group of three wonderful nurses got to work - checking my dilation, navigating me into a hospital gown, giving me an IV. I was experiencing some serious contractions, and they moved skillfully and quickly (although to me this process seemed to take ages). I was taken to my delivery room, and continued to labor while waiting for the anesthesiologist. My contractions were super long - not just 60 seconds in duration but closer to a full two minutes. It was awful. Side note - I think I did the same yell-counting from 1 to 10 as I did when I was in labor with my daughter, although I think there were more curse words involved with this labor. The epidural was administered (Charles, who is an anesthesiologist, sat on the other side of the long room at the request of the administering -ologist who did not know his profession. This makes me laugh, although it is probably for the best for all parties), and I clung to my L&D nurse through multiple contractions at her direction while the anesthesiologist navigated his needle to the correct location in my spine. Thankfully my epidural worked quickly and beautifully, and I was able to rest. This was perhaps around 5 pm? My mother-in-law texted her sisters to let them know I was being admitted. Some well-meaning aunts and a cousin came to visit - this is not recommended. I am so glad that I had already received my epidural at this time because I was able to fein graciousness. Reminder - do NOT visit a woman at the hospital when she is in labor. After they excused themselves to get a snack, Charles went out to nicely request that they go home so we could labor in peace. Charles and I were then able to have some quiet time with the lights low. My obstetrician came to check on my progress around 7 pm (somehow I was lucky enough to have my actual OB deliver me as she was on call that night), and I was fully dilated and ready to go. The room quickly transformed and filled with people. I requested a mirror as with my first delivery, my OB gowned up, adjusted the lights so she could see better, and we were ready to go. I knew how to push this time and did not need direction, and appreciated all of the encouragement from the nurses, my OB, and my husband. Time seemed to pass very, very quickly, and after what seemed like only a handful of pushes my little love was out. He was quiet, which was commented on by one of the nurses. We did not find out the sex prior to this, and had not selected a name if the baby was a boy. I asked Charles what his name was and he said “James. His name is James.” James was placed on my chest and he was so tiny and wriggly and warm. I remember trying to take it all in and enjoy his smallness, his warm, long, and tiny, floppy limbs, and block out the bustle around me. My husband snapped our photo with my phone, and our main L&D nurse offered to take some photos of the three of us which I greatly appreciate. We look very happy. My little one seemed to stop stirring and was face down on my chest. I remember this with sad clarity and a tightening in my chest. Multiple nurses noticed that he was becoming grey and not crying or moving, and quickly got into action snatching him off of my chest and running to the lights and machines and station in the corner of the room. I was terrified. He was not breathing, not crying, they were paging NICU and working frantically to get him to take a breath. They moved with great urgency and I was scared. My husband is a physician and went to see if he could help. I remember asking “Charles what is going on? Charles what is happening? Chuck. CHUCK.” and him replying with tight calmness, “He is not breathing.” My nurse came over, wrapped me in her arms, and I sobbed deeply into her. One of the nurses was able to clear his airway, sucking out mucus, and my dear boy began to breathe and the NICU team arrived. These breaths were the biggest relief of my life. I have never been so scared. The nurses quietly hypothesized that James had taken excess fluid into his lungs during birth. He cried beautifully after this. I think we were able to snuggle for a bit, James on my chest or at my breast, but I cannot remember; we were tired and scared and relieved and all of this is fuzzy. After what I think was about an hour, our nurse asked us if we wanted to place James in the transitional NICU for additional monitoring, just to make sure he was ok over the next few hours. I did not want to be apart from James, but asked her council on what she would do if this was her child. We sent my sweet tiny son to the transitional NICU for that monitoring. Charles went with James, and my wonderful nurse brought me the best cafeteria food I have ever tasted - a turkey sandwich, Cool Ranch Doritos, strawberries, some kind of cream sauce. I inhaled it. The room was still and quiet and I was alone. To be waiting and doing nothing but eating and texting and looking at media on my phone was very surreal. I could not sleep, I was too amped up. I did not like it. I needed to be in a wheelchair to be able to see my boy (the epidural meant that I could not feel my legs and had no mobility), so I waited, had my uterus palpated to check for clots, waited, had my catheter removed, and waited while the epidural was turned off and began to wear off. I must have texted Charles 20 times asking how our baby was. He sent photos and updates about his blood sugar, and James was well - tiny and pink (the correct, beautiful color) and stretched out in a diaper under the lights on blankets in a tiny plastic bin with a pulse ox on his foot and a handful of wires attached to him. I was finally wheeled up there around 10:45 pm and was able to see and touch and talk to my dear boy. He was brought down to me shortly after that as his monitoring checked out, and I was and continue to be deeply in love.

(NICU babies and parents are incredibly strong. Our brief experience is trivial compared to the physical and emotional trauma they endure.)

It is very difficult to look at our first photos, knowing what would come immediately after. By contrast, I love the first photos I have of my daughter and I after she was born. The first ones that I have of James, my husband, and I feel tainted. Were we paying too much attention to the photos? Should we have noticed something was going on? Is James already grey in those photos, or does he just look like a normal, minutes-old newborn? I do not stare with wonder at the joy on my face, but squint my eyes and scrutinize the image of the tiny baby in my arms looking for hints of something wrong. Every cry he made from that night on puts a smile on my face, and makes me think of the good strong, working lungs he has. It definitely put night feedings and those sweet newborn wails into perspective, and continues to do so. And he is fine.

James is almost six months old when I write this (I wrote Penny’s when she was only a couple of weeks old - second child problems), and is both big and small at the same time. We are mad about him, wild about him. He is squishy and soft, and is adored by his big sister.