Monday morning was a doctor's appointment where I was told I was dilated to a 3. That could mean anything because I have walked around for weeks at a 3. After the doctor, we went to a wilderness area and hiked around for a while--mostly to get out of the house on a beautiful Spring day. We enjoyed the earliest wildflowers and the smell of the freshly watered green, but not many contractions. I had reached the point where my anxiety was making things worse and I just needed to get on with it. I felt as emotionally ready as I could be.
Nothing happened for the rest of the day until at 11 o'clock that night. We were watching a movie and I was laying on the floor in the only comfortable position available to me. I felt a trickle of water and thought maybe my water had broken, but tried to ignore it. After a minute, I realized I couldn't ignore it and got up to check things out. Then, there was no denying it; water went everywhere. I immediately went into shock. My whole body began to quake uncontrollably. Because we are an hour from the hospital and I have a history of quick labor, we didn't delay things. My husband gave me a comforting Priesthood blessing where I was told with almost forcibly not to be scared--that everything would be fine.
We left our younger girls in the care of our very capable oldest daughter and left for the hospital. I shook most of the way and was only just beginning to calm down when we pulled into the parking lot. Relieved that we didn't deliver on the side of the road and having had virtually no contractions, we decided to sit in the car for a few minutes to gather our wits. I asked Justin to read me something peaceable. He read to me about when the Savior visited America. He read about Jesus Christ praying for the people, healing the sick and blessing the children. It calmed me and reminded me to put my trust in that same God; I would not be left alone because He loves me the way He loved them.
A minute here to mention my good husband. He was my hero and knight during this labor. He exuded a strength and confidence in me and let me borrow that strength when I had no more. He was patient and kind and THERE, ever there.
We got ourselves into the hospital, gowned, poked, monitored, tested and questioned. It was now 2 o'clock and I was decidedly not in labor. That was fine with me because I was exhausted. We decided to try to rest. Justin pulled open the squeaky cot and we both settled in. I slept restlessly for a while. (What is it about hospitals and not allowing for sleep? They had a knack for coming in to check on me just as that elusive sleep was coming on.) A couple of times in the night, I decided to try to get things going. I tried walking around and doing yoga to no avail.
Finally, at about 8:30, things started picking up. I did well for a while, but discovered, about the time I thought I had no more in me, that I was only dilated to a 7. It took every self-talk trick in the book to get myself through the next hour. (At one point I was in the English countryside--think Sense and Sensibility where Marianne discovered Willoughby. My baby's heart rate monitor was the thudding of hoofs as horses ran peacefully over the green meadows. Yes, I was that bad!)
After the hour, I was still at a 7; I lost all courage and emotional strength.
My cheering squad had his work cut out for him.
My doctor did some kind of super painful trick and then I was complete.
It wasn't long before a beautiful boy entered our lives.
He was bright-eyed and alert from the moment he arrived. He didn't even cry much, though of course he did do some of that. Mostly, he just looked around like a wise old man.
It is evident by the fact that the child hasn't been put down since he was born that, like Joseph and Jacob of old, this youngest will rule over the older!
We are all infatuated and fully in love.
And so happy to have him here.