A couple weeks ago I decided to share the birth stories of my children...{honestly, I decided to write them mostly for personal reasons...to finally get them "written" down}.
Consider yourself warned...this could be a very lengthy and wordy post.
Today is the first birthday of my last baby...my one and only precious boy.
I love this little boy so much. There really are not words to describe my love for any of my children.
This may be the longest and most difficult birth story for me to put down on paper. As this pregnancy and birth was very emotional for me.
I realized and knew I was pregnant on December 31, 2010. Yes, I say realized {there was no need for a pregnancy test}, maybe it is natural maternal instincts or something, but I knew for certain without a doubt that I was pregnant.
We were on our way to our best friends' home for a New Years Eve family get together. My husband knew "something" was going on in my head that I wasn't sharing. On the long drive, I blurted out my news. Within minutes he was pulling into a Walgreen's parking lot to get a test, hoping my "intuition" was wrong.
We already had three kids. We never planned on four. We were already going through a lot of "stuff". We did not have the capacity for another baby.
Upon arriving at our friends' home, I made a bee line for the bathroom, coming out minutes later not able to even look at my husband {which confirmed the answer...yes}. We didn't talk about it for days. We didn't share our news for months. We came to grips with having another baby and soon embraced the gift we would have.
We decided to find out what we were having at my twenty one week ultra-sound. The technician confirmed it was a boy. I was shocked! We already had three girls. I was sure I was having another. Girls were all that I knew. I was frightened to have a boy {to say the least}.
My pregnancy was quick and healthy. Although, it was the most tiring of them all...I guess having a six year old, five year old, and a one year old will do that to you.
I had a scheduled c-section at thirty-nine weeks. We went in to the hospital on the morning of August eighteenth {2011}. I was very nervous and scared, as I have been for delivering all of my babies.
The c-section went well, even though it seemed to take so much longer than any other.
We had a beautiful baby boy. Born at 12:09 pm. 7 pounds, 7 ounces. 21 inches long.
I was given a quick glimpse of my little boy before he was taken into another room to get stats and cleaned up, while the doctor and nurses finished with me.
Upon arriving back to my room, the nurses, my husband, and a pediatric specialist entered the room with little W for a very quick and brief second to inform me they were taking him to the NICU. Apparently he was having trouble breathing. Little W was whisked off to the NICU while the specialist stuck around to give my husband and I horrible news that it was quite possible that W could have a rare lung disease that less than 1% of babies have and it was most typical in boys.
The doctor continued to explain things and "possibilities", told use about tests, and so forth. But, all I heard was "Bad. Bad. Bad." What I was feeling was heartbreak, failure, bad mother. What I was thinking was "this is all my fault...it's all because I wasn't initially excited about another baby", "what did I do wrong?", what could I have done different?". And I was praying...and praying...and praying...for this precious life.
I was so heartbroken, and scared, and feeling guilty. There is nothing worse {in this situation} than just having a baby and not being able to hold him. I sat in my room recovering, trying to rest, but unable to do anything except for worry.
I willed myself out of bed just five hours after my surgery to get down to the NICU to be with my baby.
He was under an oxygen hood and was connected to oodles of hardware and machines. My heart broke even more. I sat by his "crib" and just cried and cried. I stayed as long as I could tolerate the pain before I had to go back to my room to rest.
I continued to go down to the NICU to stay with him every chance I could. Each time I went I would sit by his bed, offer my finger - which he always grasped, and pray as the tears would fill my eyes.
It took a couple of days, several x-rays, and several tests before we were given an answer that he did NOT have the feared rare lung disease. Instead it was {curable with time} under developed lungs and minor "stuff" that would just take time and patience.
Every day from the first day, I would beg and plead with the doctors and nurses to let me hold him...his stats always seemed to improve when I was near him or would sit with may hands on his body. The nurses were on board with my plea, but the main {scowly} doctor in charge never allowed it and refused to let me. On day three one of the nurses made the executive decision to let me hold my little boy {the doctor caught us and was so not happy - we didn't care though}. His stats sky rocketed with improvement and it felt so wonderful to have him in my arms.
The doctor forbid me from holding him again after that for a day {until a different doctor came on board and I mentioned having my son moved to another hospital that favors "kangaroo" care with the mommy}.
I was discharged from the hospital after four days...leaving my baby in the NICU. I felt a whirlwind of emotions playing tug of war with me. Each day I went to the hospital 3 to 5 times a day to be with my little boy. When I was at home with my other children, all I could think about was how I should be sitting by my baby's side in the hospital. When I was at the hospital to feed and hold my baby, I felt guilty that my other kids needed me too.
Over the course of ten days, our son's health improved tremendously...he was a strong fighter. His lungs developed much quicker than the doctors thought they would, and we were finally able to bring him home!
It felt so wonderful to have our little boy home and to be a complete family under one roof.
Less than one week after coming home, we were getting ready to go to bed around eleven pm. I had little W in the baby swing. As I was getting ready and brushing my teeth, I heard W make a funny gagging sound so I went to check on him...he was clearly having troubles breathing and seemed to be choking. I grabbed him out of the swing, yelled for my husband, and called 911.
My heart and stomach felt like they were crammed in my throat. The 911 operator lead us through a couple things to do. Within minutes we had quite a spectacle of emergency responders arrive, just as my husband was able to get W to take a breath! Thankfully, everything from this "episode" turned out OK, and W has been healthy and happy to this day.
For my little baby boy...
I cannot believe you are already one year old! A year ago I fell so in love with you and feared the worst things a mother could imagine. You are such a strong little boy. You bring so much joy to my life. There are no words to adequately express the unimaginable love that I have for you!
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