Here's the short story: Emmeline Olivia Robinson was born on February 17, 2012. Here's the long version:
After two separate episodes of "false labor" earlier that week, all day Thursday was quiet-- no cramping, no contractions, nada. Randy left for work that night and I went to bed not thinking anything of it, other than being annoyed that nothing was happening. That changed a few hours later. At about 2:45 the next morning, I was jolted awake by what felt like a really low kick and an audible "pop." I just stared wide-eyed into the dark wondering what the heck had just happened. Three seconds later I felt the warm gush. "Oh shit."
I grabbed the phone off the nightstand and headed for the bathroom, leaving a trail behind me. I called Randy to let him know what was going on. He was about an hour and a half from home, which meant we could get to the hospital in about 2 hours. I hung up with Randy and called the hospital. The nurse told me to come in when my contractions where 5- 10 minutes apart. She also wanted me to do a kick count and call her back in 30minutes with a report. I hung up the phone with the hospital and called Hannah, our good friend, to come and stay with the kids. By the time I hung up the phone with Hannah, my contractions where about 2 minutes apart. Panicked, I immediately called the hospital back and told them I was driving myself in. I was not having this kid at home OR on the highway OR without drugs!
Hannah got there really quick and I left the house at about 3:15. The contractions got really painful about halfway there-- like grip-the-steering-wheel and pray-out-loud-I-do-not-have-this-baby-in-the-car painful. I didn't check the clock, but a little while later I was at the hospital. It takes about 25 minutes to get there during the day. Driving at night and flooring it, I'm gonna guess it took me about 15 minutes. So after parking and getting to the desk, my best guess is that I checked in, at the earliest, at about 3:35.
So anyway, I get there and the contractions where almost back to back. The first thing I said to the woman at the desk was, "My contractions are right on top of each other!" The woman looked at me like I was a pregnant princess, might as well have rolled her eyes, and really calmly asked, "What's your name?"
I was taken to a room, changed, and got checked out. I was dilated to a six. A nurse started to put those blue and pink bands around my stomach to monitor contractions and finally gave up. "They really are back to back," she said. At this point I'm on the brink of losing my mind because the pain was so bad. (It was also about this time that I realized an epidural was probably not going to be in the plan.)
A funny side note-- at one point during all of this, I started farting and I couldn't stop. I just kept saying, "Sorry. (fart) Sorry. (fart)" A nurse looked at me and asked, "Are you pushing?" I just started laughing and said, "No, I just can't stop farting!" We all laughed. Farts are hilarious-- even when you feel like you are going to die.
So, I'm freaking out on the bed and the nurse decides to check me again. They find I'm at an 8 and then they all start to panic a little. As they move me to another bed (I'm still in the triage room)someone says in a really sweet, soft, deceitful voice, "Now, there's a chance we may not be able to get that epidural going." (Liar she KNEW there was no chance for an epidural.) I cried a little. I knew it, but hearing it said out loud somehow made the idea even worse.
We got about 10 feet out of the triage room, en route to the delivery room when the mother of all contractions hit. "I have to push," I called out. The bed immediately went into reverse and we were back in my old room. That contraction passed and we tried again, this time making it to the room actually set up to deliver a baby. Another contraction came and they all told me to push. It was the worst thing ever. There are no words to describe that pain. I didn't want to push. I had this image of pushing a watermelon through a hole the size of a lemon and I didn't want any part of it. At the same time my body forced me to push. I gave in and pushed, knowing that pushing as hard as I could would make it end sooner. They could see the head now. One more contraction, one more push and Emmy was here at 3:56am. Ouch.
They put her up on my chest and she was blue. I kept waiting for her to cry, but nothing. Finally I said, "Why is she blue?" and they took her away. A few seconds later Randy walked in. He asked the same thing, "Why is she blue?" There was a little bit of concern in the room, but not too bad. I could see they were giving Emmy some oxygen and we didn't have a flood of people rush in so both Randy and I knew it wasn't time to panic just yet. (All of our experience with Maren had taught us that.) Two minutes after she was delivered we heard the cry and she was good to go. She was perfect!
The kids love her. Henry has been AWESOME. He loves to hold her, but isn't obnoxious about it. He's like having an extra set of hands around. The first couple of days she was home he kept saying, "She's so cute, Mom! She's so cute!"
Maren is a big fan, too. She wants to hold her as long as she's happy. Although she's getting better, Maren panics a little every time Emmy cries. "Get her! Hold her, Mom!" She just gets very concerned. Maren's been very concerned about diaper changes and I finally figured out why this morning. As I laid Emmy down to do the deed Maren yelled out, "See-- it's do-do!" She was pointing to Emmy's little umbilical cord stump that hasn't fallen off yet. Maren's been freaking out because she thought Emmy was pooping out of her belly button. I laughed and said, "That's not poop!" I lifted up Maren's shirt, tickled her belly button and asked, "Do you poop out of your belly button?" Maren laughed and of course said, "No, gross!" She seemed fine after that. Hopefully that cleared up the misunderstanding and will keep the panic attacks somewhat at bay.
So after 9 months of waiting, we have our little Emmy. She's been a great baby. She does everything she's supposed to-- she eats, she poops, and she sleeps. She never cries except when she's hungry. (Knock on wood.) We'll keep her, for sure. We are very grateful for our beautiful, healthy baby girl!
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