On the Night Baby Little Little Brother was Born

On the night you were born,
the moon smiled with such wonder
that the stars peeked in to see you
and the night wind whispered,
“Life will never be the same.”

But before the night of August 23, 2015, this:

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“If this baby doesn’t come out like, right now, I am going to perish.” – me, every day for the entire month of August.

The last 3-4 weeks of pregnancy with little little brother felt like the last 3-4 days of pregnancy with my other two. It was brutal. B-R-U-T-A-L. Consistent, painful contractions…back aches…fiery shooting pains…it was no joke.

I showered at 2am on 3 separate occasions, positive I was in early labor.

I made plans with friends under the assumption “I’m not in the hospital”.

I was still 2 weeks from my due date, but it felt like I could reach up and shake my dude’s hand if I wanted to.

So when I spent all day Saturday (Beckett’s birthday, mind you) with 5-minute apart, crampy contractions, I didn’t hold my breath. That had been the baby’s MO for 76 days straight.

The overall “bleh” feeling didn’t even stop me from spending all of the birthday boy’s Play Pass on skee-ball and basketball at Chuck-e-Cheese.

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The crampiness lasted through Sunday, but it wasn’t until late in the afternoon when a contraction halted our game of cards that I started to think, “This might be it, for real.”

I had been timing my contractions on and off that afternoon but they had gotten farther apart – like 10 to 20 minutes – and they weren’t all that strong.

Well, most of them weren’t. One out of every few were knock-me-down strong.

All of it was very un-labor-like, according to all major Google searches.

Still.

The ones that were that strong made me decide to head up to the hospital. A new hospital, by the way, which has some hilarious kinks we’ll mention at a later date.

But as a teaser, when we arrived at L&D, we waited well over 10 minutes before we saw a single front desk nurse. That’s a long time if there’s a baby coming out of your hoo-ha.

While we were waiting, a miserable looking lady in house shoes hobbled up next to us.

Lady: I had a c-section here 2 days ago.
Me: Is the hospital good?
Taylor: Congratulations.
Me: (What a weird response I just had.)
Lady: They don’t tell you a lot about giving birth. Like, what happens after. I haven’t gone #2 since Thursday.
Me: Oh, wow. I’m…sorry?
Lady: They gave me medicine so now I’m walking around trying to make things happen.
Me: Ok. Well, uh, best of luck to you… (WHERE THE CRAP – no pun intended – ARE THE NURSES AROUND HERE.)

After stranding us a few more awkward minutes with Lady Constipation, someone came to the front desk.

Nurse: Can I help you?
Me: I think I’m in labor. I might be in labor. I really need to be in labor.
Nurse: *unimpressed*…is this your first?
Me: No. Third. So I really should know by now. But I don’t. Help me.

They escorted us to triage and took their time checking us in. I think we all thought that if my contractions were still 10+ minutes apart, I wasn’t really in labor yet.

Except when she checked:

Nurse: Well, yeah, there you go. I see why you’re uncomfortable now.
Me: What does that mean tell me what that means please tell me I’m in labor.
Nurse: You’re easily a 6, could be stretched to 7-8.
Me: Hallelujah. HALLELUJAH. I could kiss you right now.
Nurse: Maybe wait until your cervix isn’t being checked to tell someone that. It makes things weird.

(She was awesome.)

They set us up in a delivery room, the anesthesiologist from heaven came in to administer the epidural nectar from heaven, and we waited for the doctor to come in and break my water.

Except she was next door in the world’s longest delivery.

So between 6:45 and 8:45, I was instructed to sit as still as possible.

“When your water breaks, this baby is coming out. So. Since the doctor is tied up, we’re going to sit very still and wait for her to be here. Unless your water breaks, then plan B.”

I was even nervous to text updates to friends and family. Thumb tendons could be connected to the uterus somehow for all I know.

Around 8:45, the doctor came in. She broke my water, and — nothing.

All that hype for nothing. No baby flying across the room. No catcher’s mitt being put to use.

So we waited another hour for him to decide to come out.

And finally (FINALLY) at about 9:30, it was time.

If you haven’t been in a delivery room before, it’s like a scene from Transformers. The bed breaks in half and turns into a leg-holding torture device, lights as bright as the surface of the sun come out of the ceiling, 17 masked humans appear from nowhere, a mirror showing parts of your body you never want to see in action (but can’t look away from) emerges…

…and they all stare at you as you push a human being out of your lady parts.

It’s quite insane, if you think about it.

3 contractions (and the doctor making a mohawk out of his hair mid-push) later…our third son was born.

Well, our third son and his cheeks because whoa nelly those things are awesome.

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World, meet baby Davis. Baby Davis, meet world.

At birth, he was 8lbs 12oz of cheeks and chins and arm rolls. He has a head full of dark brown hair (breaking the streak of thewhitestchildrenever), and is the yummiest bundle of chill around.

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Also, this. Nothing says “Welcome to the world!” like grandparent paparazzi.

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I heard someone say once that birth was the most spiritual moment they’d ever experienced, because they could feel God handing over the child he’d created just for them. I can’t say I had that spiritual of a moment (I was mostly still thinking about the mohawk thing), but I can say that no matter how many children I have or how many delivery rooms I am in, the miracle of new life is overwhelming.

All those kicks and punches and all that heartburn and frequent bathroom stops and all those aches and pains and stretch marks – they are from this tiny, perfect human who steals your heart in seconds. In our case, a miracle human we weren’t expecting and now can’t imagine a life without. There aren’t enough words in the world to convey my gratitude for yet another perfectly-timed surprise adventure from the Lord.

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We don’t know much about Davis’ personality yet, but we do know he is considerate enough to have waited until the day after his brother’s birthday to be born. (Either that he heard the all the commotion at Chuck-e-Cheese and decided he wanted in on that action but Sunday night was the first available departure time.)

I can’t wait to share more with you, namely the rest of the hospital experience and the MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. Both were epic in their own ways.

But in the meantime, the bigs are at a birthday party so Davis and I have some major cuddle napping to take care of.

2 thoughts on “On the Night Baby Little Little Brother was Born

  1. Sharissa

    Boy, I really identify with you here! So relieved to find out I’m not the only one who couldn’t decide whether or not I was actually in labor the 3rd time! Spent the afternoon (in Oct. 2011) silently arguing with myself, driving my 10 & 7 yr. olds here and there after school. I had been in labor all day, but wasn’t convinced b/c it didn’t feel like the first 2 deliveries, & I had been having contractions for weeks! By the time I was convinced, my water suddenly broke at home & we barely got to the hospital in time. By barely, I mean we got out of the car at Baylor Hospital at 10:32pm, & our daughter’s official birth time was 11:06pm! Needless to say, I got to experience 100% of the pain, so I’m glad the last part was over quick! Loved reading your story! Congrats on your newest gift from God!

     
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