The week leading up to Skylar's birth was one of the most challenging for me physically. In all my previous births, even with Charlotte being eleven days late and Cy seven, I still was never truly ready for them to be here until right up to the moment. The same was with Skylar. I remember feeling that physically I was ready to be done with the pregnancy, but in all other ways I wasn't quite ready yet. It's a lot to take in - the knowledge of the impending birth and the very glorious and also very challenging months that follow - and I wasn't ready to face all those changes until it really was God's perfect timing. It was just a day or two before she was born that I was talking to my good friend, Amy Nedelcu, and I told her that now, I think now I'm finally ready.
Skylar was born on a Friday and I remember that night having one or two contractions, but since they were coming that way all week, it really wasn't anything alarming. Matthew came down with a fever the night before so I remember thinking I really hoped the baby didn't come until he was better again. The morning was normal, other than having to go to the bathroom about four or five times, which made me think something may possibly be happening. That along with craving and devouring a large bowl of spaghetti and meatballs at around 10:30am. I remember around 11am I was feeling a contraction or two and called our sitter to let her know IF - which probably wasn't going to happen, but IF - it were to happen today, to let her know about Matthew having a fever and where the medicine was and such, so if she came I wouldn't forget to tell her during contractions. About a half hour later they were about twenty minutes apart; I called Pete and he came right home.
I remember when he came home we got into an argument about something and he was in a really grouchy mood and I kept thinking, I really hope the baby doesn't come today because I don't think I can make it through labor with him like this. Thankfully around 1pm he snapped out of it and my contractions kept a regular twenty minute pace. They slowed and then sped up over the next couple hours and at about 3pm I called our friend Denise Burrow to come watch the kids so we could go to the hospital. At this point they were about ten minutes apart and steady.
We left for the hour drive to the hospital in Wichita about 3:15 and arrived around 4pm. The drive there was very peaceful. I just breathed through regular contractions and kept timing them as we drove. When we got to Goddard, about twenty minutes away, they had sped up to about five minutes apart and I started to get a little nervous thinking we may not make it. Pete quickly reminded me that I hadn't gone through transition yet, so we still had time. Thankful for a husband who knows all about my labor! Especially when I'm in the middle of it and have somehow forgotten all about everything that happens.
We checked into the hospital at about 4:15pm and made it up to labor and delivery. They put the monitors on me and I remember looking at the clock and it was around 4:30pm. The nurse checked to see how dilated I was and asked if I wanted to guess. I was nervous after my experience with Matthew that I wasn't nearly as far along as I had hoped and didn't want to get my hopes up, but was guessing quietly that I was about a six, gauging on my labor up to that point. Six it was! I labored for about twenty minutes there and even felt the baby have the hiccups through it all. It was at this point that I started shaking all over and knew this was my sign of transition. I told the nurse that this baby was probably coming soon and we better get to a bigger room soon. She took off all the straps and walked me down the hall to my delivery room.
It was then that through contractions I got bombarded with a million and one questions. I had decided to go medication free, as I had with my other births, but they still had to "prepare" for the just in case scenario. So, as I was breathing through my contractions quietly, which I'm not sure if they mistook for them not hurting, I had the anesthesiologist on one side asking me every question possible about my parents medical history and I remember this one in particular, if I had any crowns in my teeth. What?! Then I have another nurse trying to hook me up to the monitors. I tell them I just got monitored and I don't need to be hooked up. She told me the doctor wants me to, at which time I looked to my (awesome!) doctor and he waved her off. Then the other nurse on my other side (anesthesiologist still questioning me about my mother's brother's half sister's cardiac issues) is trying very unsuccessfully to start an IV in my right hand. I'm breathing through another contraction, standing on the side of the bed trying to look into Peter's eyes (my only calming place while going through contractions), and desperately trying to ignore the pool of blood forming under the IV needle in my right hand. She finally gives up. Praise God! I think she's done and then anther nurse tries another port in my left arm. And fails. I think it's over, but then they get out that x-ray laser thingy that they see the veins through your skin. The kind that is fail-proof. WAS fail proof. So, she shines the x-ray thingy over my arm right in front of Pete's pants and he tries to stifle a snicker while they keep rooting around for my veins. I'm losing my patience and I think Pete is feeling my pain too and makes a comment, "You know what they say in baseball - three strikes and you're out!". Thankfully my (awesome!) doctor waves them off too when I tell them I think I need to poop. Wait, on second thought, I need to push!
I get onto the bed for my doctor to check to see how dilated I am. He sees I'm a nine plus and fully effaced and tells me I can start pushing whenever I'm ready. Well, I'm never ready for this part of the experience. I always say the labor I can do and I feel relatively in control and actually at times enjoy it, but the pushing, the pushing is a whole other story. It's as if this other-worldy force takes over my body and I have to surrender all control to the pain that consumes me at that moment. I am a bit of a control freak, so this is quite an overwhelming experience for me. I sat up in the bed and Peter was on my left and my doula was on my right. This baby was in quite a hurry because I don't think it was more than two or three pushes that she made her way out. They told me it was a girl and I just started crying with happiness. Once again, at the moment of her birth, I couldn't hold back my praises to the Lord, calling out, "Praise God! Praise God! Thank you Jesus!" I'm usually not one to be so animated, but to me it is such a remarkable and truly miraculous experience, I just can't hold back my joy and thanks to the Lord. They placed her sweet little body right on my belly and I just took her into my arms, not quite believing it was all over. She was born at 5:40pm, weighing in at 7lbs 11oz. We had no idea what we would name her, but somehow over the next 18 hours we landed on Skylar Belle Smith, just a few hours before we got discharged. She has been a delight and blessing to our lives every day since. The little girl that started as a prayer, not quite sure we even wanted more, I can't imagine life without.
Posts
