Record of the Redheads: July 2010

At my last Doctor's appointment (just 2 days before my due date), he again suggested induction. His schedule must have freed up, though, because he wasn't selling it as hard as he had been a week earlier. I, on the other hand, had my own plan. First: request that he strip my membranes. Next: go for a nice, long walk with the family. Lastly: go to bed and wait for real labor to begin. The doctor liked my plan and went along with step #1. Walking out of the office like I'd just dismounted a horse, I began to question the intelligence of my plan. But I decided to trudge forward.

When I got home, M requested "special time." (This is when either Clint or I takes one kid on a date of sorts.) A asked to tag along, and off we went. They both had allowance money to burn, and we started out at TJ Maxx. After laboriously sorting through each toy in their selection, they both decided to move on to the dreaded "W" store. An hour later, I was hunched over in another toy aisle, begging M to please make a decision between multiple toys he'd been eying. Ultimately, he settled for a chocolate bar, in order to save up for something more exciting. We grabbed some ice cream cones on our way home, then I put the kids to bed.

An hour later, I was watching a movie. Clint had given up on it, and as I lay by myself on the couch, I began contracting. I finished the movie, piddled around the house (that sounded disgusting, didn't it?), then went to bed. The contractions, while wrapping around to my back, weren't very painful. And I thought I'd get a few hours rest before possibly heading to the hospital. When I woke up four hours later, they were coming every 4-6 minutes. I couldn't sleep anymore and began making preparations for the hospital trip. Then, still contracting and filled with nervous excitement, I went downstairs to clean the kitchen. After 90 minutes, the contractions began to slow and eventually they were gone.

We told the kids the baby would probably be born that day, and Clint took the cell phone to work, fully expecting a call home. But the day came and went with only a few random contractions.

Thursday night, I woke up at 12:50 AM. I felt a stronger contraction, then another 8 minutes later, then another 4 minutes after that. Four minutes later, another one came. And then they were coming every two minutes. I started thinking about women delivering their own babies while their husbands are busily driving them to the hospital, and made the decision to wake up Clint. After a groggy few minutes, we were both in high gear. I finished packing my bags as he phoned a neighbor who had volunteered herself for this exact moment. Minutes later, we were headed for the hospital. The contractions slowed to every four minutes, but grew stronger and always ended in my back.

Clint suggested they might turn us away. He laughed as I explained the physical punishment that would be inflicted on such an irrational nurse. By a quarter after 2, I was declared to have dilated to a 4/5, and we were checked in. Punishment averted. Our nurse explained how quickly she expected me to progress, this being my fifth birth. She also immediately began hooking me up to machines. (I was not happy with this; I wasn't ready for an epidural and kneeling on the ground while resting my hands on a chair seemed to offer the only relief I could find during the back labor contractions. Machines mean staying in a hospital bed.) She asked if I wanted anything, and I asked for the labor cocktail I'd enjoyed four times previously; half apple juice/half cranberry on a bed of crushed ice. She told me I could have the crushed ice. I wanted to punch her, but said nothing... until she left the room. A few minutes later, Clint left because I asked him to get the ipod from the car. And I decided to make friends with this nurse. We chatted and, when Clint returned 10 minutes later, it was to see me enjoying my labor cocktail in between enduring contractions over the chair in the room, belly bands detached. Mission Make Friends With Nurse: Accomplished! :) (Apparently, this nurse didn't know what to do with a woman in labor who was not drugged up via epidural. Her words, not mine.)

The contractions were still coming about every four minutes. An hour later, I was checked and the nurse said I was between 5-6 cm. dilated. An hour after that, I was at about a 6-1/2. I started thinking about if requesting an epidural. Usually, transition begins at this point, lasts 15 minutes, then I'm pushing through a couple contractions and it's over. Hardly seems worth the inconvenience or the stress of an epidural. But, when I asked Clint if he thought I should get one, he said, "You always want an epidural." And I realized that I do, so we took care of business.

Which was a good thing because, despite this being my fifth delivery and my history of fast transitions, things did not speed up at this point. It took another hour to dilate to an 8, then an hour again to get to a 9. Now it was about 6:30. The nurse decided I should wait to be seen by a doctor until 7:00, when my Dr. would be arriving at the hospital. Dr. Kirkman was also surprised at how slowly things were progressing, and decided to break my bag of waters. The nurse later emptied my bladder with a catheter (the only time I experienced this humiliating procedure...until she did it again after wheeling me to the recovery room.) Ugh.

Finally, sometime between 8 and 9 o'clock in the morning, he realized what was going on. The baby was basically lying sideways, head facing up, in my uterus. This made coming through the birth canal difficult, which explained why I was contracting well but not dilating quickly. It also explained the back labor (since his skull, the hardest part of the head, was against my spine, I felt strong pressure and pain in my back at every contraction). My Dr. decided to give me a very low amount of Pitocin. Not long after, I began to feel a lot of pain in my back. This did just enough to get the baby down and for me to fully dilate. Now, he would just turn him as he was being born.

I started pushing a little after 10, and he was born 11 minutes later. He arrived with a round head (since he didn't spend long in the birth canal), and covered in vernix. Honestly, he looked like a cute little ghost, he was so white when the doctor laid him on my belly.

Little Unnamed Ghost, after having his face wiped

Clint and I watched him, he was snatched by the pediatrician and cleaned up, and then returned to me. Clint decided it was time to call our family and let them know he had been born. Which meant deciding on a name. I convinced him we didn't need to rush the decision (9 months of indecisiveness leads to me not being able to make a shotgun decision in a matter of minutes), but that only put things off temporarily. We had narrowed the names to Gideon and Asher, continuing the trend of Biblical names for our boys. Pre-meeting the little guy, Clint and 3 of the kids were voting for Gideon. Gabe (who was more easily influenced than his older siblings, which is weird if you've ever met our little spit-fire) and I were voting for Asher. Now that we had met him, we were ever-more ambivalent. Clint suggested we toss a coin to decide the fate of this boy. I told him that was no way to decide on our son's name. He pronounced he felt 50/50 between the names. I said I was probably 60/40, leaning toward Asher. And so we named his Asher. Asher Clinton, to be exact.

And that's it... the story of his birth.

Looking like a tiny Prize Fighter

Getting to know each other, while I tried to decide on the name :)

All winter long, we dream about friends and family far away. We sometimes even dream about those close by, who seem further because the snow and cold keep us all inside, huddling near fireplaces and around cocoa mugs. And then, once the snow melts and the Earth remembers what green is, people gradually brave their way over the mountain pass to visit us again. By June, the visits are more regular. This month, they've been nearly non-stop. Now, we'll have dreams to last another cold winter and our kids are remembering what "cousin" means. If I could think to get out the camera EVERY visit....

Thanks for coming Nana & Papa, Blue Lilies :), Englises, Almeidas & all Firths!!

All of Clint's family stopped by on their way to the annual reunion for a rare picture (before I enjoyed myself to no end with only 1 baby at home!!)

The adorable Almeidas. Sharla & I were mission companions. At the end of our missions, our parents (who came to Spain to pick us each up) started talking & we realized our great grandmas were sisters. Marintha & Annie Edwards. Crazy.

Papa, after Asher's baby blessing

Nana getting in some cuddle time after the blessing (which Clint performed Stevie Wonder-style because of a paper cut to the eye Gabe accidentally gave him the day before. Ouch!)