The Birthday Story

Every year on our birthdays growing up, my mom and dad would tell us the story of our birth. This is something that I looked forward to each year, even though I had the story memorized. And since it is Bennett's big day today, I just thought I would share with you the story of his birth...and also since we were slackers and never did this a year ago.

Bennett was born on March 31st, 2009, at 3:42 pm. It was a Tuesday, but this story begins on the Sunday before.

Matt and I were living with Mary and Wayne in their little cabin while we waited for the finishing touches to be completed on our home. We were over at their house making Sunday dinner when I started having some lower back pains. Mary informed me that this was how labor sometimes felt in the beginning stages, but since Bennett wasn't due until April 8th, we didn't really worry too much. Mary was scheduled to work the next day however (she is a neonatal nurse at the hospital where Bennett was delivered), so just to be safe, she decided to take the day off to stay at the house with me.

Monday morning I woke up feeling fine, but because Mary had taken the day off, and because Matt really, really didn't want Bennett to be born on April Fool's day, and because I wanted this baby out of me so I could eat like a human being again (remember the gestational diabetes??), we thought maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I did go into labor that day. So we started doing all sorts of things I was previously so careful not to do.

We went on vigorous walks in the morning and afternoon. We lifted heavy boxes and furniture onto the trailer which we used to move to our house. I jumped up and down. I cleaned floors on my hands and knees. We drove over bumpy roads. Basically we did just about anything that I thought would entice Bennett out of me. By the time Matt got home from work that night I was exhausted, but still no signs of labor.

Maybe it was all the activity from the day, or maybe my body knew what was about to happen, but boy was I g-r-u-m-p-y that night. Poor Matt. Anything he did was worthy of severe punishment, even though he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. The house wasn't clean enough, the heat was up too high, the TV was too loud, the dinner was burned, etc. I was on a raging warpath, and my poor, confused husband thought I had lost my mind. He finally gave up trying to be nice to me and just went to bed early. I can't say that I blame him.

I stayed up a little longer and scrubbed the cabin with unusual energy. By the time I got to bed it was 11:00 at night, and Matt was already asleep. I was still inexplicably mad at him, even though I knew it was silly, so I just got in bed too and tried to close my eyes.

It was about this time I felt the first little contraction.

I had never had a baby before, so I wasn't sure if what I was feeling was a contraction or something else. I tried to go to sleep again, but Bennett would have none of it. Pretty soon my contractions were coming pretty regularly at ten minutes apart, and I had to get out of bed and walk around in circles for them to feel better. I didn't wake up Matt to tell him what was going on until around 3:00 in the morning, at which point they were about seven minutes apart. Matt jumped out of bed like it was Christmas morning and started running around the house getting things ready. I got in the shower and did my hair and makeup.

Around 4:00am we called Mary and Wayne and my mom and dad in Idaho and told them "it was time." Mary and Wayne came over from their house and Matt and Wayne gave me and Bennett a blessing before Matt and Mary (who would be my nurse) loaded me up in the car and drove the 30 minutes to North Central Baptist Hospital in San Antonio. By the time we got there the contractions were a steady three minutes apart, and I was feeling rather uncomfortable.

Inside our large, hotel-like hospital room, I was offered an epidural but turned it down. I was determined to do this thing for as long as possible on my own. And really, I was doing much better than I had thought I would. A few hours later they said I was dilated to a seven, but they needed to break my water to make any more progress. They did so. I asked for drugs.

Not an epidural though, just a half dose of "happy drugs"...and this is about where my side of the story ends. All I remember from here on out is a bunch people asking me questions my mind would not respond to, no matter how hard I tried. In the words of one of my African-American nurses, "Don't you never do no drugs, honey. You are a lightweight."

I do remember Matt asking me if I finally wanted an epidural, because I was dilated to an eight and the anesthesiologist was leaving the wing and wouldn't be back until much later. It was a now or never thing, so I said yes. I guess when they were trying to give it to me though, I was so drugged I kept fighting them off, so Matt had to basically sit on top of me and I yelled at him. I do remember that. Sorry Mattie. :)

The next thing I knew it was several hours later and there were about a million people in the room with me, all telling me to push. One side of me feels like this moment lasted a few seconds, and the other side of me feels like it lasted a few years. I later learned I pushed for 45 minutes. People kept telling me they could see the head, but for some reason it took an incredibly long time for the rest of the body to follow. I remember my doctor looking really worried and thinking "that's not good" and then I heard him say he was going to use the vacuum to get him out. I guess Bennett had twisted into some awkward position where he was sideways and stuck. In one quick move, Dr. Feinstein simultaneously gave me an episiotomy, and sucked out 7-pound 14-ounce Bennett.

A baby coming out of you is the best feeling in the world.

Unfortunately, I still tore to a four, which is as far as you could ever tear during childbirth, and I guess it was pretty bad. Matt compared me to a gutted fish (thank you for that visual, Matthew). There was a lot of blood, so they called in a plastic surgeon to help fix me up. It took about six months to fully recover from this, but it was so dang worth it. I would do it again in a second...even though I am medically unable to, and must have the remainder of our children through C-Section.

Once Mary, who was my nurse, checked Bennett's vitals and sugars and made sure he was OK, they washed him up and put a little hat over his horribly misshapen head. And then they gave him to me to hold. He was crying a little, and Matt came over and said, "Hey buddy, it's your Daddy." Bennett looked right over at Matt and stopped crying. His whole body just relaxed, and it was one of the best moments ever. That was when I knew we were a family. Matt was beside himself happy, and so was I.

We still are, everyday.

Because I tore so bad, they treated me like a C-Section patient and made us stay in the hospital for three of the loooooongest days of my life. I hated the TV by the time we left that room. They did feed us a steak dinner with sparkling cider though, and we had lots of visitors so that was cool.

Anyway, that is the story of Bennett, in great length and detail. The next few weeks were spent with many visitors (including my parents and grandparents),, and a whole lot of adjusting to life with a newborn while moving to a new home. I was scared out of my mind, I'm not going to lie. But look! It's been a whole year, and he is still alive! And we are extremely happy he is, because let me tell you, WE SURE LOVE THIS KID!