At approximately 8:45pm on February 14th, my epidural had completely kicked in, my oxygen mask had been removed and the tornado of nurses had cleared my room. Olivia and Dr. Evil had left to go home for the evening, and my mom and dad slipped out for a bite to eat. The lights were dimmed in my room and as the Hubster played on our ipad in the chair next to me, I laid back and closed my eyes, ready for a few hours of sleep before the wee-bean arrived.

Suddenly, I felt something… change.

There was still absolutely no pain, but I began to feel some pressure… down there. (ha) I waited a moment to see if it would pass, then I told the Hubster what I was feeling and asked whether or not he thought we should get a nurse.

He had been in the room the entire time and heard both the nurses and my midwife tell me that it would be hours before I delivered, so we both thought that there was no way that it could be baby time already. I mean, everyone had just left. We waited a moment, but when the pressure stayed I asked him to run out to the nurses station… just to be sure.

My new nurse (night shift) came in with a student and they chuckled a little when I told her that I thought it might be baby time. She had been in the room when I was given the epidural and knew how far along I had been, and how far I still had to go. She offered to check me to ease my mind.

Seconds later her eyes opened wide and she confirmed that the wee-bean was definitely on her way and flew out of the room to begin making calls. The Hubster whipped out his cell phone to try and reach my parents, and nurses and equipment began streaming into my room.

I kept my eyes on the clock as the pressure increased and there was still no sign of my parents, Olivia or Dr. Evil. My nurses prepped everything, eased my legs into the stirrups and began talking me through what would happen as we waited.

My mom and dad made it back first. Big Dad camped out in the waiting room with his cell phone and sudoku book and mom came into the room with me. We waited another few minutes, but I knew that the wee-bean was ready to make her grand entrance, doctor or no doctor.

Again, everything actually felt really… neat. I could feel the pressure with each contraction, and my body was definitely signalling that it was time to push, but there was no pain.

Magical.

My nurses realized that it was “go time” and that things were going to start without Olivia or Dr. Evil. I had my mom on one side and the Hubster on the other as I began to deliver shortly after 10pm.

Olivia flew into the room a few minutes later, apologizing for being late. She also found it rather funny that this little wee-bean–who had stubbornly stayed put for 10 days–was suddenly sprinting toward the finish line.

As I began to push I thought, “Gee, this isn’t so bad. I can do this!”

…then the heartburn that had plagued me throughout my pregnancy reared its ugly head for one last battle. Imagine trying to deliver a baby while fighting an intense, constant urge to throw up.

My poor, amazing Hubster was doing all he could to help ease my discomfort. He rotated between feeding me Tums, offering me water and holding a bucket next to my head throughout the entire ordeal. Thankfully I was able to spare him and conquered the urge to vomit.

Minutes before the wee-bean arrived Dr. Evil reappeared in my room. He jumped in and the most painful part of the delivery began–stretching. No one told me about stretching before I delivered… and now I know why. (ha) Even the epidural couldn’t take the edge off that one.

Then, at 10:56pm Dr. Evil told me to push one last time… and she was here. It was absolutely the most incredible and surreal moment that I have ever experienced. This small wiggly bean that I had felt moving in my belly for months was suddenly held up in front of me… and she was so beautiful. After quickly cleaning her Olivia handed her to me with a smile.

There is absolutely nothing in the world that can prepare you for holding your child for the very first time. This tiny little head rests on your chest and you are filled with an overwhelming awe that you created that. This tiny, perfect person who you’ve only known for seconds but already love more fiercely than you knew was possible. As I held her for the first time, the Hubster came in close and we both studied our little girl–our daughter. Suddenly nothing else mattered: my fears about being induced, going through labor, Dr. Evil–it all melted away, forgotten in that moment.

As we laughed at the craziness of it all, we remembered that we needed to give our little wee-bean a name. For months he and I had been back and forth between two names, and knew we couldn’t decide without meeting her.

As soon as I held her we knew: she was Ruby, our little Valentine.

Hi lovelies.

It’s a grey, rainy afternoon and I finally found myself with my arms free for the first time in weeks. I know I kind of fell off the face of the earth for a while, but I do have an explanation.

Over a month ago I left you with part two of my wee-bean story. I do intend to finish it, but I took a deliberate hiatus from writing it. You see, as I was writing part three, we received news that someone very close to us had lost her full-term baby. Then, just four days later I learned that another friend had miscarried her baby as well… and she too was several months along. Suddenly I felt like it was selfish for me to be telling my story–complaints and all–when I had my little wee one, regardless of how she got here. I would like to finish her birth story, but I just needed to give it some time.

And I needed to hold her tightly for several days straight.

…but by doing that I think I squeezed her love for naps right out of her. For the past couple of weeks Ruby and I have been at war. She woke up once day and decided that naps are for little babies, and since she is now a big girl of almost 3 months, she no longer needs them.

Ha.

For days and days she would only nap in short 30 minute bursts, never getting the sleep she needed. So, by 6 or 7pm my sweet little baby would turn into a cute little crankpot who was desperately overtired. My “hands-free” time suddenly disappeared, and what time I would have loved to have spent writing was filled with trying to keep my house from looking like a bomb blew up inside it.

I am slowly getting her back into napping through a steady routine that she seems to be adapting to. As I write she is curled up in our bed fast asleep. Life is good.

I am hoping to figure in some writing time into our new schedule, and I hope that another huge blog break won’t ever happen again. I have so much to tell you… like the mushroom I found growing out of my baseboard. Exciting!

Well my lovelies, thanks for sticking with me through the last few months. I hope I’m back for good this time. :)

On Tuesday, February 14th my alarm went off at 6am, though I was awake long before I heard it. When I finally rolled out bed, I realized that I had slept maybe 2 – 3 hours.

And still no contractions.

The Hubster and I got ready, made plans to have my parents meet us later, then it was off to the hospital. We walked in together, very aware that the next time we left our little family would have grown from two to three.

We arrived at the maternity ward at 7:30am. We were shown to our room by our nurse (whom I came to love), then sent to another wing to register and be officially admitted. Twenty minutes later we walked back and I was relieved to see Olivia (my midwife) waiting for us. At this point the OB was no where in sight.

Olivia began explaining how the day would unfold. Before the OB could begin the induction, they wanted to make sure that all was well with the baby and I. I changed into a stylish hospital gown and she and the Hubster helped me get comfortable in bed. The next hour was spent hooked up to a fetal monitor listening to the wee-bean’s heart beat. She was still dancing away in my belly, so we kept having to move it around to try and find her. When Olivia was assured that the wee-bean’s heart rate was strong, she called in the OB to begin the induction.

At 9am he arrived with a slew of nurses. My little room was suddenly full of people, and everyone seemed busy with a different task. My nurse explained a little about what was happening, but before I knew it the OB wanted to examine me and get things going.

It was at this moment that I began “affectionately” calling him Dr. Evil.

The 9am examination was extremely uncomfortable. I lay on the bed with my eyes squeezed shut chanting my mantra for the day over and over in my head: “It’s just one day. It’s just one day. It’s just one day.” He let me know that I was still not dialating, and that the baby was actually sitting at -3cm… 3cm further back than where she should be. He then did a “Search and Sweep” (ow.) and inserted the prostaglandin gel to try and stimulate my body and get things moving. He let me know that he’d be back in 6 hours to check my progress.

After he finished and the whirlwind of nurses left the room, I was again hooked up to a fetal monitor and had to lay still for another hour while they monitored the baby’s reaction to the gel. My contractions during that first hour were very painful, but they were still sporadic and I could talk through them. The Hubster and my mom kept me company while Big Dad camped out in the waiting room with Suduko and a book. I don’t know what I would have done if they hadn’t been there–sadly my little hospital room did not have a TV so there was precious little to pass the time and help distract me from the contractions.

Shortly after 10am I was finally allowed to leave my bed and my little hospital room. The nurses encouraged me to walk as much as I could as it would help bring on contractions and ease their pain. The Hubster and I established a little route around the hospital and began doing laps. I had to return each hour to check on the baby’s heart rate, then we’d be off again. Shortly before lunch I decided to try and rest a little as I had barely slept the night before.

My contractions at this point hadn’t really increased in frequency or strength, but it was still difficult to try and sleep through. Laying quietly for a few moments helped me finally accept that even though this wasn’t how I had imagined having our baby, she was finally on her way. Something inside me switched, and I was able to let go of a lot of the negativity I had been harboring since I realized that the induction was actually happening the day before.

We decided to walk to the cafeteria to see my mom and dad, and as I paraded into Tim Horton’s I realized that I was the only one in the entire cafeteria who was wearing a hospital gown. haha! What can I say, I like to make a statement. I picked at a few things for lunch, then we headed back to our room. The nurses had suggested that I try taking a jacuzzi bath to help relax, so after a few more laps around our route I decided to give it a whirl. Even though the tub was in the bathroom in my private room, it felt weird to have a bath in such a public place. Everyone told me that you let go of your modesty when you give birth–I wasn’t there yet.

Just before 3pm I made my way back to bed, ready for my next visit with Dr. Evil. The six hours had finally passed and I was beyond ready to see if I had progressed at all. My contractions were still irregular, but it felt like they were getting a bit stronger.

Well, 3pm came and went, and there was no sign of the OB. The Hubster and I chatted with my mom to try and make the waiting seem a bit more bearable, but I felt like I was watching the clock constantly.

As 4pm ticked ever closer, I felt my frustration level go through the roof. The Hubs went off to find our nurse to see if she knew where he was, and we found out that he had been called for some emergency in the ER but would be with us very shortly.

At 5pm he finally arrived with another tornado of nurses… and that’s when my labor really began.

The beginning of the wee-bean’s story is a little bit sad. I want to be completely honest about what I experienced before and during labor which is why I’m including it.

Seven weeks ago today I was already several days past my due date, and I confessed my anxieties and reservations about being induced to you. Time continued to pass, and by Friday, February 10th it looked as though the induction was happening. My midwife booked an appointment for me to meet with an obstetrician for the following Monday, though we both had our fingers crossed that I would go into labor naturally over the weekend.

Well, the weekend came and went and the wee-bean still rested comfortably in my belly. The Hubster and I woke up bright and early on February 13th to begin our day of appointments–the OB, the midwife, then another ultrasound.

I was really nervous to meet the OB. Here I had spent months developing a close relationship with my midwife, whom I love, thinking that she would be the one to deliver my baby. Now I was faced with the idea that some strange man would be the one do it. I wasn’t terribly impressed.

The Hubster and I arrived for the appointment and I immediately got the impression that this doctor’s office was not a fan of midwifery. As the nurses began my check-in, there were continually comments like: “Did they have you taking prenatal vitamins?” or “We’ll just get you on the scale. I know midwives don’t check things like that.”

…umm, thanks, but my midwife was very thorough and followed my weight at every visit.

I returned to my seat and waited to meet the almighty OB. After the attitude of the nurses, my nerves were even more raw than they had been before though I tried hard to cover it. Finally the doctor came out and invited us into his office.

He seemed nice enough, though he had a strange sense of humor and his attitude was a little brisk. We quickly covered the basics, then went over how I would be induced. He then confirmed that it was time for the wee-bean to be delivered and booked me a check-in time at the hospital for the following morning. The Hubster and I looked at each other and realized that our little girl would potentially be with us the following day.

As we began grasping this new reality, the OB asked me to jump up on his examination table to see how far I had progressed. He left the room for a moment so I could get ready, and my anxiety level flew through the roof.

Not that anyone enjoys it, but I hate being examined. I am extremely shy / private and even had a hard time letting my (female) doctor or midwife do it for my yearly tests. As they themselves are both female and understand that it’s an uncomfortable procedure, they both take their time and are very gentle.

This doctor was not.

As I lay in utter discomfort on his table, I prayed that this would not be a glimpse of what I faced tomorrow. He revealed that I had still not dilated at all, and began making jokes that I would definitely need the epidural the next day, and commented that a c-section was still on the table.

As he left so I could redress, I felt my anxiety level rise and my emotions began to bubble over. It took everything in my not to cry in his office. I didn’t really want to have the baby this way, and I wasn’t 100% comfortable with this new man delivering it. Still, I knew it was the best option for the baby so I pulled myself together and agreed to check in to the hospital at 7:30am the following morning.

The rest of the day was hard for me, and even seeing the wee-bean’s cute face during the ultrasound did little to diminish my fears.

So, after all our appointments the Hubster and I headed home. He had a few tasks to finish around the house before the baby arrived, so I slipped upstairs for a few quiet moments in our bedroom.

And I cried.

I wanted to be excited so badly, but all I felt was… loss. I felt like I had lost the calm peace I had felt throughout my entire pregnancy knowing that Olivia was delivering my baby. I felt like I no longer knew what to expect, and the uncertainty was devastating to me. And most of all, I felt that not going into labor naturally was my body failing to do what it was supposed to, and I lost the confidence that I’d had. I no longer felt like I could do this.

I curled up into a ball (a big ball) on my bed and wept for a good half an hour before I picked myself up, called my sister, then cried some more.

It was the first time I really let myself be scared about what my body was going to go through in just a few short hours. The Hubster came upstairs and found me, and bless his heart he did his best to console me. Knowing that he had absolute confidence in me helped a little, as did knowing that we’d have our sweet girl at the end of the experience.

But I still felt like I was missing out on an experience I had imagined for months… you know, the whole waking up with contractions and trying to decide whether or not this was real labor thing. I had imagined myself curled up at home, doing housework or watching movies as I endured the early hours of labor, not being cooped up in a hospital room.

But, c’est la vie.

By the early evening I had accepted my new reality and my parents arrived to help distract me. We spent a few hours visiting with them, then it was time for bed. The Hubster and I curled up and again he tried to reassure me. After letting him know that I’d be okay, he rolled over and fell asleep, trying to rest up for our big day tomorrow.

Sadly, I did not.