Curtis' Birth Story

Yo.

I'm alive!

I had my darling little man-child on his due date {February 15, 2014}. So, yeah, I feel pretty cool. :) Let me give you the run down on the events.

. . .

On Valentine's Day I was feeling some fairly strong contractions, but they weren't close together. However, they were enough to give me warning that Curtis was on his way and I'd better finish preparing. Sure enough, at about 3:30 in the morning, the contractions ramped up and got closer together. It was about this point that I woke Chuck up and said, "You know what? I remember now. I remember why I wanted an epidural the first time and why I'll want one again." I had plans to go the natural route because I'd heard that the recovery was much better.

Yeah, well. . .

I'll take the numb legs any day.

. . .

My contractions rapidly became two minutes apart and I thought, "Oh gee. I tested positive for Group B Strep again. They need four hours to administer the antibiotics and they were cutting it close last time. We're in deep doo-doo now! We need to haul bum to the hospital!"

We dropped Hannah off at her "other mother" in our ward {she woke up the whole house with her wailing, of course} and took off. You may remember that with Hannah's birth story {HERE}, my hands and feet were numb by the time we got to the hospital because I was hyperventilating during the contractions. This time 'round, I was determined to breathe correctly. It helped immensely, to be sure.

We pulled off the freeway just in time to see the left-hand turn light we needed turn red. Buuuuut, Chuck ran it anyway because there was no one coming. Lo and behold, there was a highway patrol car waiting to go straight through the intersection.

Oh, hello!

What are the odds? I mean, come on.

He was virtually the only other car on the road.

Chuck began nervously checking his rear view mirror as we continued to cruise down the road, but we didn't have to evade pursuit like bank robbers {thank goodness}. Although I'll admit, that would have made for a freakin' awesome birth story.

. . .

When Chuck rolled me up to the check-in desk, we got the typical "What can we do for you?" question. Oh, I don't know, lady. We just thought we'd take a spin around the labor and delivery floor in a wheelchair at 6:45 in the morning. Nothing more. Don't mind us.

My response was a cheery, "Let's have a baby!" because by golly, I wasn't having a contraction right that minute and I was determined to be friendly.

She looked skeptical.

They asked what number of child this was for me and seemed a tiny bit surprised when I said it was my second. She probably thought I was a paranoid first-time mommy who didn't know a contraction from regular ol' late-pregnancy back pain. Still, they weren't hurrying very fast despite knowing that I had already done this once before.

They eventually decided to wheel me to a triage room to be evaluated {after yawning and hum-haaing around}. Shift change was at 7:00 am, so it took no small eternity for the nurse to come in. I was DYING, you guys. Sweet mother of monkey butts. Ouch. My back was killing me in addition to the regular contractions and all I wanted was an epidural and lime-flavored ice chips. Was that so much to ask?!

When I was finally checked, I was already dilated to a 5 and fully effaced. When they found out I needed Group B Strep antibiotics but was allergic to penicillin, that really got the fire burning under their toes. They asked if I wanted to walk to the delivery room {rapidly, because time was short} to which I responded with "No, thanks. I'll take a wheel chair," instead of profanity. It would have taken me at least 45 minutes to waddle myself to the hallway.

I was more than a little distressed to learn that the epidural couldn't be administered until after I had the IV and antibiotics started. Especially because the nurse seemed completely stumped as to what antibiotics were safe to give me because of my allergy. In the meantime, they complimented me on my good breathing. . . but that was was like slapping a Hello Kitty band-aid on the gushing artery of my torment.

Relief was finally available and I was pleased as punch when the horrific back pain faded into oblivion. I could still feel some of the contractions, but they were infinitely easier to get through. Bless you, epidural-inventor-person. Bless you. I think I say that every time I have a kid, and I will continue to say it for any future posterity, I'm sure.

Turns out Curtis was backwards and trying to come out with his face up instead of down, which explained the back pain. They were eventually able to get him to turn {I'm pretty sure, anyway}, but the contractions progressed rather quickly and I began to feel more and more. Pushing the little epidural button wasn't cuttin' it, but I didn't have a choice! hahaha! I can only imagine the unholy sounds I would have been tempted to make should I have not been numb at all. :)

An hour later, it was time to push. The back pain had returned with a vengeance and I was having a hard time not throwing my cup of ice chips at the door in order to get the nurses back in the room. The entourage returned with the doctor and 5 minutes of pushing produced our little guy {and boy! was I glad for that}.

. . .

Curtis James McAllister
7 lbs 14 oz
21 inches long



. . .

As a result of being face up, he had some hemorrhaging in his eyes and gnarly bruising on his face. . . so much so that the nurse had to hang a sign on his crib so that subsequent nurses wouldn't panic and think he wasn't breathing.

He was my little Smurf baby, and, oh, how he has melted my heart.



. . .

When Hannah came to visit us in the hospital, she gave brief salutations to her father and none to me. I don't think she even saw me in the bed until I called her name 49 times. Then she pointed and, "Baby!" and walked away. No hug. No kiss. No scream of joy at seeing her long-lost mother. After a quick walk around the room {probably to see if she could sniff out some treats hidden somewhere}, she was ready to go back home with our friend. We didn't even remember to get any pictures with her because it all happened so fast! What a little stinker. :)

. . .

All of the nursing staff during our 48 hour stay were fabulous, but one fellow stood out in particular. His name was Knik {Nick}, and it took me probably 20 minutes of staring at the board in the dim hospital room to convince myself that it was, in fact, supposed to be Knik and not Kirk. However, he was soon etched in my history book as the best CNA because I asked for a couple more Lorna Doone shortbread cookies and he came back with an armful. No joke. Not a handful; an armful. And as if that wasn't good enough, he also came bearing fresh ice water. He was like the saint of fresh ice water and midnight snacks throughout his entire shift. I grieved when he left because even though his replacement was sweet, it just wasn't the same!



. . .

The only hiccup in Curtis' hospital stay was when he was just too pooped out to eat. We tried every trick in the book to wake him up to nurse, but he just wasn't having it. In order to keep him from succumbing to jaundice {like Hannah}, the nurse suggested we hand-express colostrum onto a spoon, suck it up into a tiny syringe, and then slowly feed Curtis from the syringe. It was a LOT of work. And took forever and ever. But, I mean, what else were we gonna do? Name the ceiling tiles?

Thankfully, he caught on to nursing rather well after deciding that food came from those odd looking pillow-things. . . but he still has his moments.

. . .

So far, Hannah has been adjusting like a champ. She gives me a little bit of a strange look when I feed Curtis or when I ask her NOT to show me where Curtis' eyes are {nothing like a two-year old finger diving for a newborn's eye to get your blood pumping}, but she's been very patient and understand thus far.

Being a mom is quite literally the best dang job in the whole wide world and I am beyond honored to be able to do it. It's tiring, yes, and frighteningly un-glamorous at times. . . but it's worth every sacrifice.



. . .

Happy Saturday to everyone!