Barefeet in High Heels

WARNING: Wordy post, no pictures.  I was not about to be photographed during labor, and needless to say, I was not interested in taking pictures at the time.

Last Thursday, Engineering Man and I went out on a date.  Little did we know that it wold be our last date for a while.

As we were finishing eating, I started to get regular contractions.  Nothing bad, and actually, I'd had worse.  Braxton Hicks were not nice to me.

After eating, I picked up Mini #1 from a friend, and happened to say that I'd been having pretty regular contractions, but didn't really think much about it.

That night as the two of us were sitting around, and I was still enduring contractions, EM happened to say..."I'm not sure if I like the name we have picked out for a boy."

Let's just say my response was typical of a 38.5 week pregnant woman with raging hormones, exhaustion, and desperation.

After going through 182 pages of virtually every boys name in the world, we decided to keep the one we had.

And I was still having contractions.  

11:30 rolled around and I wanted to go to bed.  Contractions seemed to be getting closer, and a little stronger.  After a shower, things weren't getting better.  

2 a.m. rolled around and I was still awake.  And in pain.  

3 a.m. rolled around and we were off to the hospital.

I was dilated to a 2, fully effaced, and bulging.  

After walking around for two hours, puking twice, and enduring some sucky labor, I was still dilated to a 2, fully effaced and bulging.

Insert a repeat of the word I said when EM told me he didn't like the baby's name.

The resident sent me home at 6:30 a.m. with Benadryl, water, a Loratab, and instructions to see my doctor at 9.  Let's just say I wasn't happy.

EM and I got home around 7 and crashed.  8:30ish he took Mini #1 to our friends' house, and came to pick me up.  We headed to the doctor's.  

**Here I would like to apologize to the people in my doctor's office.  Usually I am very put together, on time, and happy-go-lucky.  I wasn't that day, and I apologize if I was rude.**

My doctor's nurse asked if I could leave a urine sample, (HAHAHAHAHA), and I told her no.  

My doctor walked into the office, and proceeded to say, "I apologize for having the resident send you home, but I wanted to make sure you were in actual labor.  By the way you look right now, you're in labor." 

No kidding.

Thankfully, I was dilated to a 4, so he could immediately set my c-section and we could go to the hospital.  God was smiling on me.

We headed back to the hospital, and went back upstairs to prep for surgery.  The hospital we went to is a teaching hospital.  Needless to say, there were a LOT of people around.  My nurse had a nurse she was training, my anesthesiologist was teaching someone, my surgeon was teaching someone, and there were approximately 5 other people in the surgical room.

Awesome.

Mini #2 made his appearance at 12:05 p.m.  He screamed, and that was about the end of the crying he did for a few days.  He seemed fairly content to just be on the outside.  I was too.

The two days in the hospital were wonderful.  EM, Mini #2 and I bonded watching the Olympics and healing.  We enjoyed the quiet time and loved having no rushing around to do.  Well, at least I didn't have any rushing around.  :)

Mini #1 met Mini #2 on Sunday, and thought he was pretty cool.  Mini #1 did not understand what Mini #2 found so fascinating about mom's boobs, but he did think my scar was cool. 

Now I'll be enjoying the next 6 weeks at home.  I'm going to try to keep the blog up on a daily basis, but life might get in the way.  It will definitely NOT be updated by 9 a.m. every day, as I'm hoping the three of us will still be sleeping then.

Somehow I think I'm dreaming.