Thoughts about the wee one

• I have a kid

• She was born February 2 and measured in at 7 lbs 5 oz and 19.5 inches long. Perfection.

A sampling of the thoughts I've had over the last week:

• There is no longer anything extra alive inside of me 
• How did I survive labor?
• I can hug Darren without a belly bump
• My boobies hurt
• My baby is adorable
• My baby looks like the victim of a carbon monoxide leak for the majority of the day
• Whoever said breastfed babies don't have stinky poo lied
• I wonder if I will get to put on make-up today?
• What have I NOT watched on Netflix?
• I cannot wait until I stop hurting
• I need to get out of the house
• Solo Wal-Mart trip Friday night! Yes I did, and it was splendid
• She's judging me...I can see it in her eyes
• I love little Emma

I am working on writing up her birth story, and true to form it is the wordiest document in the world.  I cannot make it concise (because it is to document a rather momentous occasion, therefore every detail seems significant...because it is).  That being said, when it is completed, I doubt very much that I will post the whole thing here. It would go on forever, so I will instead give you the highlights, which will still be plenty long:

• Very early labor began on Monday night, the 28th of January with weird back pain and continued Braxton Hicks contractions.
• That pain/contractions came and went as the week progressed (becoming more painful each day), with a marked increase in fatigue and irritation for me.
• I went on a couple of hopeful walks during the week that not only hurt like the dickens, but felt productive.
• Friday morning around 4:15 I was awakened by a couple of painful cramps.
• During the course of the morning I timed contractions and prepared for the appointment I already had scheduled with my doctor.
• She informed me that I was experiencing early labor, and was still only dilated to a 1.  However, I was about 80% effaced. Angels sang when she said that.
• My blood pressure was a little higher than usual, so she sent me to the hospital to be monitored.
• After an hour I was sent home.
• The cramping continued throughout the day, slowly worsening, but not far exceeding the worst menstrual cramps I've ever experienced (which is saying something, because I'm a nasty cramper...periods handicap me).  I was having to breath through them, but nothing too dramatic.  I had enough strength to hang out at my parents' that night and vent about still being pregnant.  Kudos to Mom for letting me =)
• Around midnight my back caught fire.
• Then my hips.
• Then the upper part of my legs.
• I took a hot bath.
• It didn't stop.
• I never fell asleep.
• According to the paper on which I documented time, I began timing contractions at 1:51 AM.
• Somewhere in there I began to whimper a lot.
• The whimpering turned into full out sobbing as each contraction came and went. 
• I woke Darren, hoping he could help me make a decision about going to the hospital since my contractions were averaging 4-7 minutes apart, and drifting closer together at an alarming rate (everything was alarming to me).  I was scared to cry wolf, especially in the middle of the night.
• He was no help, but in his defense he was only half-awake. I doubt he sensed the urgency of my emotional state.
• I returned to the kitchen (where I had been pacing for the better part of an hour) to call the hospital and get their advice, but I couldn't make myself stop crying long enough to make the call, and though my spirit was broken, my pride was fully intact.  I was not about to talk on the phone with those weird sounds coming out of me (it was the really pathetic I'm-all-alone-in-the-world-and-in-horrible-physical-pain-that-won't-stop kind of blubbering).
• Then, with Scarlett O'Hara-esque resolution, my brain suddenly took control of itself and I marched into the bedroom to get the husband up because we were going to the hospital. 
• That was at 3:03 AM
• My tears were dried up, just like that.
• He looked rather startled, but got out of bed and gathered his things.  Several minutes, too many contractions, and a few lame jokes later, we were on our way.
• The drive was miserable.
• The nurse hooked me up to the monitors and said they would watch me for an hour and a half.
• That was at 4:30 AM
• She confirmed that I was still progressed to the point my doctor had indicated less than 24 hours previous.
• She also confirmed that I had "that look", and the pain and exhaustion were real.
• Oh, and if I wasn't dilated significantly by the end of an hour and a half I was going to be sent home. Not cool.
• At 6 o'clock she checked me again and declared that I was at a 4 and that I was not going home.
• We weren't leaving without a baby.
• Julie wasn't able to make it due to a temple trip (major bummer...I really wanted her to be able to be there), but my other sister Amanda rose to the occasion and replaced her (sorry Julie!) as my photographer.
• Or so I thought.
• Amanda is fantastic labor support, and should seriously consider becoming certified as a doula.
• Turns out the doctor who delivered didn't allow cameras during delivery anyway, so...whatever.  I'm grateful for the pictures we did get.
• I labored forever, it seemed.
• The doctor (not mine, mind you...the other one. The one she shares an office with. A man.) broke my water when I was at about a 5.
• Though I was resolved in the car to scratch my original plan and get an epidural, being in my bed, conquering contraction after contraction gave me strength.
• But then they got the best of me.
• I requested medicine, and was granted such.
• It made things more manageable, but after a while the contractions overcame the effects of the medicine, except for the loopiness. I felt stoned.
• Again, I pushed myself as much as I could through the contractions, but I reached a point where I could not, for the life of me, control my breathing.  Darren, Amanda, and the nurse were super amazing and did as much as they could to talk me through them, but I became hysterical (I felt hysterical....the tears returned, and I became a hyperventilating mess of nastiness).
• I also vomited a few times.
• Did I mention it was back labor? Tres awful.
• I debated in my head for about an hour before I finally worked up the courage to request an epidural (no pride left....I was desperate). 
• I was at a 7 by then.
• The relief was tremendous, and the rest of labor was a piece of cake.
• Though the epidural was different from my original plan, I don't feel guilty at all.  I gave it my best shot, and I am super proud of myself for lasting as long as I did. 
• The nurse checked me probably around 2:30 PM and invited Darren to look deep inside to see his daughter's head.
• I asked if that meant I was at a 10. The answer was a beautiful "yes".
• The doctor was returned.  The nurses set up shop.  The doc and my Darren discussed delivery procedures.
• After an estimated 15-20 minutes of pushing during contractions (estimated by me...may not be reliable), my baby popped out and landed in my husband's hands in a goopy mess.
• Major props to the doctor for letting Darren participate so much.
• She didn't make much noise.  She mostly whined in a really shrill and girly little voice.
• It was the hardest thing I have ever endured.
• It was amazing.