Because I had a relatively smooth (and quick) induction with Rory, my OB office was willing to let me choose when I would like to schedule an induction starting as early as 39 weeks. Still, I wanted to give my body the full 40 weeks to do what it could before I made that call. At this point, I had also made a very careful and thought-through decision about wanting to do natural childbirth (no epidural) and I knew that decision was going to be much harder with piton contractions vs natural contractions. So we were in in for the 40 week long haul at minimum.
I scheduled induction for my due date for several reasons, but turns out God was in the details on that decision. We arrived at the hospital just after 6:15 on a Monday morning, neither of us having slept well the night before. After miscarrying last summer, I struggled with a good amount of anxiety this pregnancy and was anxious to have my baby boy in my arms and know he was ok. They had me set up in a room by 7 o'clock, but before the doctor would break my water, he wanted to finish a c-section so that he could be with me in the case of any mishaps.
So he broke my water around 8:45 and the contractions started coming here and there for a while. They checked me at 10am and I had progressed to a 4, which I was pleased with, but at the next 11am check I was still at a 4, which was disappointing. The 12 noon check was where things started getting wild. They measured me at a 5, but after they left the contractions started to come really strong and close together. At this point I told Jay "I'm not sure if I can do this" because if I continued at this pace I would be having stronger contractions than this for the next several hours- and they were already verging on unbearable.
By 12:30 I had to go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time. Jay came to help me out of bed and get my cords situated, but I didn't make it out of bed before another contraction hit. As soon as the wave of pain was over, I got up and didn't quite make it to the bathroom before another came and I had to hunch over and grab the counter for support. That bathroom break I had the urge to push, which came as a complete shock to me. I thought maybe it was a fluke (I had an epidural from 7.5 on with Rory so the urge to push was faint at best) and got back to bed. The next contraction came on strong and the same urge to push came back, but undeniable now. I told Jay to call the nurses and they came rushing. By this time it was around 12:40 and the contractions were brutal and so close together I could hardly relax between. They measured me at a 7, and said they guessed the baby would be here in the next thirty minutes. The doctor was called, came quickly, and by 1 o'clock I was pushing.
After his head was delivered several things happened. First, the doctor told me to stop pushing for a minute and try to rest my body between my contractions. Second, he commented that "this is a big baby!" and asked the nurses if I had gestational diabetes, to which they responded no. (Gestational diabetes increases the likelihood of having a bigger baby)
Next I was told to pull my legs toward me as I pushed and a nurse and Jay stood on each side to help push them back with me. After maybe two pushes this way they laid my perfect, healthy baby boy on my chest, which will always and forever be my favorite part. It's a moment I dream about the whole pregnancy. Being relieved of the pain of labor, released from the discomfort of pregnancy, and having that baby placed on your chest. The nurses placing a warm blanket over the two of you. Nothing matters in that moment.
Turns out his shoulders had been stuck (thus, the pushing of my knees) and the doctor was shocked I was able to deliver Rory 5 days late without complications. He suggested I be induced at 39 weeks with all my subsequent children to prevent a much worse outcome. I now strongly feel that my long, skinny firstborn was a blessing in disguise as was my decision to be induced on my due date and no later.
Cooper came in weighing just under 8 pounds, but was only 19 inches, which made him almost two inches shorter than Rory. Stocky little guy!
The doctor had given me a second degree episiotomy, but I tore past it during labor. He called it "a really bad two" with the caveat that they "don't prefer calling it a three", but the nurses all just called it a 3. As he stitched me up, he mentioned that I was losing a lot of blood and gave me some (super fun) cytotec to help stop the bleeding. At the next check (you know, the fun one where they push really hard on your newly very squishy and tender stomach..) I was still losing too much blood and they administered another dose of cytotec and a shot in my leg as a last resort to stop the bleeding. They told me not to eat and warned me that if it didn't stop they would have to take me back for some more invasive probing of/surgery on my nether regions. None of this sounded ideal to me. They weren't sure what was happening, because my placenta was delivered whole and my uterus seemed to be firm.. so they were guessing that it may be a tear which I guess can happen when labor goes so quickly.
Regardless, after a few checks the bleeding slowed and they continued to give me the stomach press every fifteen minutes for the next two hours to monitor me before I went to recovery. The doctor also ordered that I receive three extra bags of pitocin to help me contract and make sure the bleeding stayed under control. (pleasant, to be sure)
Neither of my birth stories were completely without a measure of trauma, but I just feel so grateful to have been a part of bringing these two beautiful healthy babies into the world. So so grateful for them and that handsome guy by my side who supports and stands by me at all times, but especially in times like these.
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