It’s been a few weeks now since the new baby arrived. We’re getting into the groove of things with her, adjusting to being a family of four, and (as of this week) introducing our little man to daycare (sniff, sniff). Which all means I’ve had a little time to reflect on Hiccup’s arrival.
To be completely honest I was pretty apprehensive about going into labour…even though it was my second child, I didn’t really know what to expect.
With Boo, my water broke long before I felt any contractions. At the hospital they determined I hadn’t dilated at all and put me on oxytocin to move things along. I responded a little too well to the drugs, and went from about 0-7cm dilation in less than 2 hours. I went from feeling virtually nothing to super can’t-even-talk-can-only-grunt painful. Once I received my epidural, labour slowed down dramatically. It was a long ordeal lasting about 18 hours from start to finish.
So on July 30, when I started feeling a bit crampy at about 4pm…I didn’t think much of it. In fact, I just thought I needed to use the toilet. And I eventually did. I called my husband (from the bathroom no less) and asked him to head home to help out with Boo. I told him I wasn’t feeling well. By then it was 4:45.
I finished up with my bathroom buddy making as much mischief as he could, but the cramping didn’t go away. I purposely stopped myself from being distracted by Boo and started thinking “Oh shit…this could be it!”. I timed my cramps, and quickly realized they were, in fact, contractions. And they were coming fast. Four or five minutes apart.
Last minute items were thrown into my hospital bag. I called my mom so she could start the 2+ hour drive to Montreal. I called my sister-in-law so she could come to care for Boo. I called my husband to find out where the hell he was, and to let him know it was time.
Once he got home, we didn’t wait around. My contractions were now coming 3-4 minutes apart, and we were painfully aware that it was rush hour. We threw Boo into the car and headed to the hospital, calling my sister-in-law en route to come meet us there.
I remember walking through the hospital hallways and elevator, pausing whenever I had a contraction, and seeing the look on peoples’ faces as they realized I was in labour. Priceless.
Standard procedure before being admitted required that I be put under observation for twenty minutes to measure my contractions, the baby’s heartbeat, and to check how dilated I was. I was already over 6cm dilated, and was immediately admitted. It was now going on 6:30pm.
From here on in, things started moving fast(er).
My contractions got worse. My mom arrived. I crushed my husband’s hands as I breathed through the pain. I got an epidural (because drugs….). Unfortunately the epidural didn’t do much – my contractions were increasing too quickly – and it only ever managed to kinda take the edge off the pain at the very end. I started to push and was miraculously in a good mood while doing so. I JOKED with my husband, mom, nurses and doctor. There was laughter in the delivery room. I was anxious and eager to push push push as my contractions seemed to come one after the other, breaking only to catch my breath. My little girl was born without complications (but with an extra push or two) at 8:39pm. I got to hold her immediately. I was tired, but happy to have my little girl stay with me, rather than being whisked off to the ICU as her brother had been. I offered her my breast, and she latched on like a pro.
It was a completely different – and better – labour than I’d experienced the first time around.
Sure, there was pain.
Sure, I was bruised, stitched up and sore afterward.
Sure, I bled. And bled. And bled (and continue to bleed 4 weeks later).
But none of that matters.
I have a beautiful and healthy baby girl.
Welcome little Hiccup!0