In case you missed it, here is part one and part two of Wrenn’s birth story.

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After Wrenn was born, Mr. Right and I spent about an hour with her, just the three of us. She breastfed a little, but mostly we just loved on her and savored those first few moments as a family of three. Then we welcomed back all of our family members, who had waited so patiently all day (the entire labor was 11.5 hours from the time my water broke until the time she was born), to meet our precious little girl.

Once they left, it was still several hours before I was recovered enough to move to a postpartum room. Moving me from one bed to the other was by far the most painful part of the entire childbirth process – so painful that I couldn’t sit down in a wheelchair, so they had to move me on a “people mover” – basically a dolly – and roll me down the hallway, half standing, half sitting, wrapped in a blanket at 3:30 in the morning.

Let’s just say that it wasn’t my finest moment.

I only got an hour of sleep that night because my body was still so wired from the day’s events. The next day we had visitors from around 8:00 in the morning until 10:00 that night. It was a wonderful, exhausting blur – such a joy to introduce our precious daughter to our closest friends and family (and coworkers… lot’s of coworkers since I delivered at the same place I work). I was still in a good amount of pain, but I was also able to take a shower and do my hair, which made me feel so much better.

The second night in the hospital was much harder. Miss Wrenn decided she was no longer interested in feeding, so Mr. Right and I spent half the night trying unsuccessfully to get her to latch and eat – a two person job that left us with almost no sleep.

This is the part where I should tell you that on Wednesday, while I was in labor, we found out that Mr. Right had a fractured pelvis. It was from last month’s bicycle accident – his pain had gotten worse and worse over the past few days, and he had gotten an MRI that morning (thinking I would be induced the next day), and the results came in half-way through my labor. He was in major pain but gallantly pushed ahead with the help of some strong pain medicine his doctor called in for him.

However, during a 2:00 a.m. feeding, he took one of those pain pills on an empty stomach. By 6:00, he was violently ill, so much so that I had to send him home to get some food in his system and sleep it off. I called my mom and asked her to come up to the hospital to help me while Mr. Right suffered alone at home. My heart broke for him.

He was sick ALL DAY LONG. Around noon we started to wonder if instead of a bad reaction to his medicine, maybe he had picked up a virus or food poisoning. Here we had a two-day-old newborn, we were scheduled to be discharged from the hospital, and I possibly had a contagious husband at home. We started thinking about Plan B, and Plan C… would he go stay with his parents? Would I take Wrenn to my parents? Could we coexist at home without exposing baby girl to germs?

I broke down and cried. This was NOT how I planned things. I so wanted to go home to my house, with my husband to help me. I’m sure the hormones and the fact that I hadn’t slept in two days didn’t help.

I’m so thankful for Wrenn’s pediatrician. I explained everything to him at her discharge visit and he told us that even if Mr. Right had a stomach virus, he wouldn’t spread it to her unless he kissed on her. He said it would be fine to go home and have him there with us. My sister offered to spend the night and help care for her so that we could both get some much-needed sleep between feedings. Mr. Right was finally okay enough to pick us up at the hospital and drive us home around 5:00 that evening.

This is where I should mention how thankful I am for my mom and my sister who so kindly helped us out during this unexpected mini-crisis. My family, along with Mr. Right’s family, helped us so much during those first few days so that both of us could get some rest – something I just couldn’t get enough of.

Poor Mr. Right couldn’t hold his brand-new baby that entire day. We decided it was just too risky, so he waited until Saturday morning, 24 hours after his symptoms had arrived, to get to cuddle that sweet baby of ours. He spent the entire morning with her sleeping on his chest, soaking her up. It was the sweetest thing to watch – he is such a loving daddy.

The past three weeks have since been a blur of around-the-clock feedings, sleepless nights, visits from friends and family, and trying to find a rhythm to this new life of ours. I will admit that I have cried almost every single day (I hear it’s the hormones – I’ll be so glad when they level off again), but I have also felt such overwhelming moments of joy. After the first week we started venturing out – we had our first family date night, I took her out by myself for the first time, I ventured out for some “me time” without her for the first time. Each “first” brought satisfaction that this is our new normal as a family of three… that we can do this parenthood thing, even though at times it’s a bit messy (like when she screamed… and screamed, and SCREAMED at the store last week).

And through it all, I am more in love with Mr. Right than I ever knew was possible. Watching him take care of both of us… taking shifts so that I could sleep, encouraging me to get out of the house alone so I could have a break, calling the lactation consultant when I became discouraged. And watching him love on his first daughter and seeing him as a dad for the first time is the sweetest sight for these tired eyes of mine.

We are so in love with that beautiful baby girl of ours. I don’t know what we ever did without her.

For part one of Wrenn’s birth story, see this post.

A few hours after I got my epidural, Mr. Right, my parents, and sister were hanging out in my room, we were enjoying a good conversation, when all of a sudden my pain level spiked. I buzzed the nurse to tell her I needed a “boost” on my epidural, and when she came in she said she’d go ahead and check me to see how dilated I was. The last time she had checked me I was around a 6.

We ushered my family out of the room, and in that short amount of time I started to shake all over from pain. It was my first time all day to be in extreme pain, and I became desperate for the anesthesiologist to come back and make it better. The nurse checked me, and her voice nervously shook as she said, “Well, looks like you’re an 8… or a 9. We’re going to go call the doctor and get everything ready… things are moving VERY quickly.”

My response? “PLEASE CALL THE ANESTHESIOLOGIST FIRST!”

The hour or so after that was the worst part of the whole day. I started shaking from what I found out was a combination of pain and adrenaline. I was in the famous “transition” stage, where your body is almost ready to deliver, and as several people have put it, things get “real.” The anesthesiologist quickly came and boosted my epidural and eventually my shaking started to subside. My doctor quickly appeared and told me that she was going to let me lie there and rest for about 30 minutes in order to save some energy for pushing.   She turned out the lights and left Mr. Right and me alone to wait.

That was the hardest part of the day – my belly hurt, my lower back hurt, and the shakes came and went. I got relief from having Mr. Right rub on my belly and wipe my forehead with a wet washcloth, and I got really nervous about what I thought would be several hours of pushing. In the midst of worry, I was also overcome with thankfulness that my labor had progressed exactly as it was supposed to and that I was going to avoid having a C-section. I asked Mr. Right to pray for me, and cried and tried to gear up all my bravery to tackle the biggest part of the day.

After about 30 minutes, the doctor and a few nurses came back and set up equipment in the room for the delivery and for the baby. Everything seemed to happen quickly, and all of a sudden my doctor was talking to me, coaching me on how she wanted me to push.

She asked me if I wanted a mirror to watch everything. Now, I may have worked at a hospital for ten years, but I am absolutely terrified of blood. I knew if I saw any I would lose my nerve. I told her no, and she and the nurse kept encouraging me to get the mirror anyway. That’s when my husband, in his infinite wisdom, finally said, “Trust me, she does NOT need the mirror.” It was those little moments when he took control that made me love him so much more, and made me thankful that I had an advocate and partner who knew me well. (And let’s face it, after watching me deliver a baby – from the foot of the bed – he REALLY knows me well now.)

My doctor asked for a trial push through a contraction, and I pushed as hard as I could. My epidural was so strong I couldn’t feel a pushing sensation at all – I just pushed the way I knew in my head I was supposed to, and other than feeling like my face might explode, I couldn’t feel anything. Amazingly, I felt absolutely NO pain.

Apparently I’m a really good pusher (add that to the resume). Two more rounds of pushing and just a few minutes later, and Wrenn Olivia was here. It took less than 10 minutes and suddenly I was watching them pull her out of me, I could hear her cries, and I watched them suction fluid out of her little stomach, quickly wipe her off, and then she was lying on my chest, cradled in my arms.

I started crying the moment I saw her, and didn’t stop for a long time. I cried so hard that both Mr. Right and my doctor asked if I was crying from pain, but it wasn’t pain at all – it was just the biggest wave of emotion that I have ever felt in my life. My baby girl was here, and I was her mother, and I had delivered her. I did it. We did it. It was the most overwhelming, wonderful feeling.

(I’m crying now as I type it… reliving that moment all over again).

My baby girl was absolutely perfect… 7 pounds, 2 ounces, about 19 inches long (we’re not completely sure because five days later my doctor measured her as 20.75 inches long), born at 10:04 p.m. My doctor later told me, after everything calmed down, that Wrenn had come out with the umbilical cord wrapped tightly around her neck… twice. Everybody else had known (including Mr. Right), but because I had warned them before the delivery that I wanted to be on a “need to know basis,” they wisely didn’t say a word until everything was okay. I think it was all God’s doing that she came so quickly, because it meant that the cord did no damage to her. It’s just another example of God’s protection and grace during this pregnancy.

The rest of the story, which includes a very sick husband and a major change of plans, to come soon…

It was Wednesday morning, July 10. We were scheduled to be admitted for induction that evening at 7:00. I’d been on bed rest for high blood pressure for a week, and finally decided it was time to get off my couch, do some last-minute things around the house, and make sure everything was packed and ready to go before we left for the hospital.

The night before I had suffered a bit of a pregnancy meltdown. I was so tired of being stuck at home on bed rest – I was lonely, extremely uncomfortable, and also terrified of the induction. I cried frustrated tears to Mr. Right, then went and took a bath and sobbed and sobbed until I couldn’t cry any longer. He came in and asked me what I was worried about – I realized it was stupid to be both so READY to not be pregnant anymore but also so TERRIFIED of the childbirth that was required to get her here.

The crying wore me out, I popped an Ambien and slept for ten glorious hours. Wednesday morning Mr. Right cooked me a big breakfast, then left me to get some work done and run last-minute errands before baby got here.

So back to the chores – after putting away all the laundry and finishing my bag, I started feeling really sick… and hot. I climbed onto my bed to rest, thinking I had overdone it. A few minutes later… woosh – my water broke. As soon as I felt the sensation, I jumped off the bed, and water spilled on the carpet. Thankfully none got on our bed.

I high-tailed it to the bathroom (as quickly as a giant pregnant girl can run), and climbed into our bathtub as my water continued to flow out. I called Mr. Right and told him, “My water just broke,” and he was so shocked all he could muster was, “I’m on my way home,” and hung up before we could talk anymore. As I stood there, I wondered if all of a sudden giant contractions would hit me like a freight train… but they didn’t. I had been having contractions for ten days, and I didn’t feel anything stronger than I’d been feeling all along.

I was still standing in the bathtub when he got home, afraid to leak all over our house. When he got home I finally got the nerve to climb out, get dressed, grab some last-minute items and head for the car. I wore a horrendous giant black t-shirt and work out shorts with flip-flops for the trip to the hospital and fretted that I hadn’t had time to take a shower that morning (I was hoping to have my hair done for labor – so vain).

We drove to the hospital, both of us in total shock that I was actually in labor on my own, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the moment to arrive. We got settled into a room and hooked up to machines. There was meconium in my water when it broke, so the nurse hooked me up to a machine that would flush out all of the dirty water and clean it so that when Wrenn was born, she wouldn’t inhale it and get it in her lungs. They had trouble hearing her heartbeat, so in went the internal monitors to better hear her heartbeat, as well as measure the intensity of my contractions. I got an IV and they started pumping me full of fluids, and we waited for the contractions to ramp up.

Once we got settled, Mr. Right handed me a small, square box from Neiman’s. A push present – a gorgeous, sparkly cocktail ring. He told me he wanted me to have it before things got intense, before I was on any drugs, and before I had that gorgeous baby to gaze at. Throughout the day, as things got harder, he would distract me with admiring that gorgeous ring, and I wore it on my swollen finger the rest of the hospital stay.

The contractions started to ramp up. Stronger and stronger, but not strong enough or fast enough, so after a few hours, they added some pitocin. And that’s when the contractions got REALLY strong. Even the nurse, whom we just loved, told me that my contractions were pretty intense and offered to give me some pain medicine until it was time for the epidural. I wanted to be tough – I could totally handle the pain, even though it was uncomfortable. And that’s when Mr. Right stepped in.

My wonderful husband, who knows me sometimes better than I know myself, looked me in the eye and told me to get the drugs. He told me that I wouldn’t get a medal for being a hero. That I needed to conserve my energy for a long day ahead. And, he knew that the drugs, which the nurse said would have a calming effect, would keep me – the queen of anxiety – from getting too worked up. He looked at me the way only a husband can do, and told me, “You need to do this.”

I’m so glad I listened to him.

I got the drugs, and it was the best thing I did all day. It gave me an opportunity to rest for a few hours before it was time for the epidural. It took the edge off of the pain (I could still feel the pressure from the contractions, but not that sharp pain that had been with them), and felt well enough to let family members take turns coming back and hanging out with us for a few hours.

I came into the hospital dilated to a 3, but there was a lot of effacing that had to be done before I could progress to a 4. What seemed like half a day later, I finally made it to a 4… the contractions were even more intense, and it was time to get my epidural.

The epidural wasn’t bad at all. The anticipation of the epidural? Now THAT was bad. It was about as painful as a steroid shot in the hiney, but sitting on the side of the bed, with intense contractions, waiting for the doctor to stick me in the spine with a giant needle was terrifying. It was one of the many moments that came during the day where I got really nervous, but I knew I didn’t have a choice, so I would just have to do it. Next time I have a baby I won’t be nervous at all – it was a non-issue.

It took a little while to get the epidural calibrated correctly to take care of the pain. It never totally masked the pain like I had hoped, but it was definitely better than nothing. The weirdest part was not being able to feel my legs. After the epidural, I continued to hang out with Mr. Right and various family members as we waited for the big moment to arrive. It was turning into be a pretty enjoyable day.

A few hours passed… and that’s when things got REAL. More on that next time…