Meet Paxton!

Today is my original estimated due date. After my successful induction last week, Paxton is six entire days old.

And boy, is he ever cute.

No, really. I made a really cute baby.

After being given the Cervadil on Monday night, I started cramping mildly around 9 PM. I reported the official start time of labor to the delivery nurse as 1 AM, as that is when I started to have regular contractions. My husband had to get up, unplug me from the monitor and help me to the bathroom a couple times, and at 5 AM I woke him up for good as the contractions were becoming painful rather than just uncomfortable. He and the nurse got me situated on a yoga ball to take some pressure off of my hips, and shortly after 6 AM I was allowed to get off the monitor for a little bit to "prepare myself for labor".

The nurse checked my cervix before I headed for the shower--2 cm dilated and 75% effaced. Not bad, considering that I'd been completely closed for business when I was given the Cervadil. I managed to last ten minutes in the shower--standing up seemed to make the contractions ten times worse. When my husband had me toweled off and re-gowned, my cervix was checked again and I was at 3 cm and almost fully effaced. Seriously, guys, ten minutes. Ten minutes.

I begged not to have the Pitocin drip. The nurse called the OB on call and it was agreed that since I was already in crazy labor, the Pitocin wouldn't be needed. Thank god, because I can only imagine how much worse labor would've been with the Pitocin.

That was about the time that the contractions got really bad and I started getting a little crazy. I wanted an epidural right then, but I couldn't have one until I got to 4 cm. The contractions started to hit hard, and soon I couldn't even breathe through them. I don't remember exactly when I started with the uncontrollable screaming--this is where things start to get a little fuzzy.

I remember my water breaking. It was right after the nurse had checked my cervix and I had just scooted back up in the bed. I felt a giant rush from between my legs and, in my panic, I might've screamed the words, "what was that, what was that, what the hell was that?!?!?!"

I use simple words when I'm hysterical.

You know in movies, when the pregnant lady gives birth and it is all very dramatic? Like, she's screaming, the husband is helpless, the nurses are giving each other nervous looks? Everyone says that's not realistically what labor is like, but that sure is an accurate representation of mine.

I was having contractions on top of contractions with very little or no time in between--often I'd hit two or three peaks before coming down, and then I'd only have about twenty seconds--yes, twenty seconds--to "prepare" for the next. There is no "preparing" for that outside of maybe taking a nice, deep breath so that you can scream more profanity. I felt like someone had my entire torso in a very fast-acting vice. Not good.

The nurse waited almost an hour to check me again. I'd gone from 3 to 6 in a snap. That was probably when I really started demanding the epidural. I remember screaming at the nurse to quit effing touching me because I swear she had her entire hand up my junk and it hurt like hell on top of the contractions (which also hurt like hell). (By the way, I did not use the word "effing"--I used the less family-friendly version--and there may have been other nasty words involved. And maybe flailing and/or a weak-willed attempt at pushing the nurse away. Very embarrassing.)

6 cm meant the anesthesiologist could be called. By the time the anesthesia cart came into the room, I was in full-blown shock. Literally, I went into shock from being in labor--I was shaking, almost completely incoherent, and unable to control my body. It was scary. It was very, very scary. The nurse checked me one last time before the epidural and I was at 9 cm.

The epidural took awhile to get in... mostly because I couldn't keep still. The nurse was trying to have me balance on the edge of the bed and arch my back, but the contractions wouldn't let me keep my shoulders down. They finally got the catheter in... and ten minutes later, I was (more or less) in control of myself again. I apologized to the staff. I am still really embarrassed about how that all went down, but it was really uncontrollable. Uncontrollable, but rude and embarrassing nonetheless.

The nurse checked me again after the epidural took effect and announced that I was ready to push.

Um, what?

I didn't even get to enjoy my epidural. I tried pushing, but I didn't really know what I was supposed to be doing and my pushes weren't effective at all. They let me rest for a few minutes, but then... they started the Pitocin drip to encourage me to push.

Just a little Pitocin. Not a whole lot.

Just enough to negate my effin' epidural.

I pushed for what felt like the longest, most hellish 45 minutes of my life. I was attended by the nurse, a nursing student, the resident doctor for the floor, and my husband--who, surprisingly, got really into the whole thing. This is the guy who feels faint at the sight of blood and can't stand even looking at a needle. Suddenly, my pansy husband was replaced by a guy who thought it was really cool that he was able to see a head coming out of my downstairs. The words "I wish you could see this" actually came from his mouth (I still did not wish I could see it, for the record).

The OB almost didn't make it to the room in time to catch Paxton. She and her team bustled in about two seconds before Pax's entire head made an appearance in one push. She tried to tell me to "hold on", but you try holding on when there is a half a baby hanging out of your lady parts. It's not possible, there is no pause button. One more push and he was out.

By the way, I was back to having full-blown hysterics at this point.

The OB told me to look down, I looked down, saw Pax, and--this is vaguely reminiscent of my water breaking--screamed, "oh my god, did I just have a baby?"

No shit, Sherlock. Like I said, I say dumb things with simple words when I have hysterics. The vocabulary center of my brain shuts off.

Anyway, from start to finish--less than 12 hours. It was awful, but it was over quickly. And we got a cute baby out of it! What marvels me is that Pax weighed a scant 7 pounds, 10 ounces--way under what the doctor's had supposed my overweight, diabetic butt would turn out. APGARs were 9 and 9, no blood glucose issues, he's a perfect little guy.

Perfectly cute, that is. <3