"On the night you were born, the moon shone with such wonder, that the stars peeked in to see you, and the night wind whispered, 'Life will never be the same.'"
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Life really will NEVER be the same. We have a (long-awaited) third baby! 🥺
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| Meet Bridge |
I wrote one of these for Analisa and I did a lil story for Robby, too -- I can't exactly leave Bridget out!
Read: Ana's birthday | Welcome, Robert James
So, here's how it all went down; welcoming this third little angel child into the world, that is. 🙂
Actually, we're going to rewind, and start about a week before she was born. You'll see why.
Let's go back to like, Nov. 2. (Bridget was due the 12th, btw).
That night, I started feeling contractions. It became a bit of a pattern, but it never seemed like official labor. I woke up for work that Thursday and was like, "HOW did I not have a baby overnight, I was really cramping there for awhile." I even mentioned it to my coworkers. (I'd been largely working from home in my final weeks pre-baby). But I thought the contractions were notable enough to mention online.
Also, just for context, I had done an ultrasound at ... 36 or 37 weeks? Just because of my advanced maternal age and my gestational diabetes, to make sure the baby was growing well and fluid levels were OK. And they told me at that time that she was about 7 1/2 pounds already. And at one of my most recent appointments, we also did a cervical check, and I was a bit effaced (I'm forgetting how much), and 3 centimeters dialated.
So yeah, all this to say, I thought the baby could easily come 10ish days early.
My doctor seemed to think so, too. At our last appointment, she had been like, "You're ready, this baby is a good size, but not too big, but especially it being your third, I think it'll be a nice delivery for you. She's super low, you've managed your GD well, etc. etc. etc."
Anyway, spoiler alert, I didn't have a baby Nov. 2. Or the 3rd. Or the 4th.
But one of those nights, errr, I believe it was the early morning hours of the 5th, I was *convinced* I was in labor. I was timing my contractions on this app I use for my doula work, those contractions were coming in five minutes apart, and so I texted my mom. I said something to the effect of, "Hey, could you possibly get on a plane and come here in a few hours?" And she said yes, of course.
I had been a little freaked out because I didn't have official childcare set up, like for Ana and Robby.
Meaning, even if my contractions got super intense, I wasn't sure who I'd call at like, 3 or 4 in the morning. Now, don't get me wrong -- I had a LOT of people offering! And I'm sure I would have taken them up on it, if it were an emergency. But I was breathing through things, I was doing OK, and so I told my body, "Just go back to sleep. Rest up. You likely have a big day ahead." And, somehow, I was able to go back to sleep.
I wake up and it's now Saturday morning.
The kids came and got me, actually, around 8 or 9, and I was like ... weird! I was very convinced I'd be having a baby today. Where did that pain go?
But contractions had been so real, that I still wanted my mom to come out.
I had a hunch that it was the right thing to do.
And that she did.
James and my friend Jen, who I'd been texting with, were both like, "You're DRIVING to pick her up from the airport? Is that smart?" But really, nothing hurt anymore. I wasn't freaked out that labor would start again suddenly and I'd be like, on the side of I-94, unable to drive.
Also, I was pretty convinced that I could get myself right back to that place of "almost having a baby," if I like, took some long walks, or drank the loose-leaf raspberry tea or whatever. I felt *close*.
And when I say the baby was extremely low and ready to come out -- I can't explain it. I just had a feeling.
So, I picked up my mom and we promptly went to the mall, lol. I really wanted this cozy robe I'd spotted a week or so ago, and so we swung by Nordstrom to snag it. Then we spent an extra hour or so just kinda walking around, in hopes of getting lil baby moving once again. We walk fairly fast, for what it's worth, so it was more than just a meander through the mall.
I was literally doing squats in Macy's, and then I came home and rested in bed with pillows stacked in between my legs like they would be if I had a peanut ball; I was really trying some things!
I'd alerted my doula of the situation, along with a handful of other friends, and at some point, I was getting near-constant texts like, "Any updates? What's happening over there?" And I just kept thinking that maybe labor would start again that night. Again, I'd had cramping and such the previous few nights ... it had to take off at some point, right?
Wrong.
The next day, Sunday, my dad did the drive and met us here. Still no baby.
No baby Monday.
No baby Tuesday.
I think this is the day I golfed 9 holes, and because it had just rained and it was super soggy, no golf carts were made available. Meaning, James and I walked the course. My iPhone said it was 3-4 miles.
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| Pre-golf |
I didn't play too badly either, I got at least one par, lol.
No baby Wednesday, which was also my mom's birthday. We did go out to dinner though, as a little group, and it was super delicious and fun. Still, I was growing REALLY impatient for little one.
No baby Thursday. I walked 9 more holes with Jim, but didn't feel like golfing this time. The weather was so nice though. Still, now I was borderline annoyed -- my parents had been here for almost a week, and no baby?
No baby.
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| My mom made me take these, lol. |
I will say, I started to feel kind of "off" Thursday night. I was just so run down and tired. I tucked myself into bed and prayed for the best.
And then, about 12:30 a.m., so technically, Friday morning at this point, I woke up to the feeling of my water breaking. It wasn't a huge tidal wave, like Robby's had been, but there was enough liquid there for me to feel confident -- this was it!
THANK GOD.
My water broke with Ana too (I'd been sitting on the couch, watching a show), then with Robs, and now Bridget. I hoped that it didn't mean baby was sunny side up, like Ana had been, because that was a super painful (and long!) labor.
Oftentimes, when your water breaks early, it's a sign of a malpositioned baby. Not like, breach vs. head down, but like, facing the wrong way, if you know what I mean. Hence, sunny side up.
Anyway, I was so overjoyed. My parents were going to have to go back likely by the late weekend, and I *did* have induction scheduled for Sunday night, but who tf wants to be induced?
Not me.
I woke James first, and suggested he call out of work. I ran downstairs and went into the guest room next, to tell my mom what was going on. She had wanted this wake-up call, as we'd had plenty of time to discuss how it'd all go down, in the days leading up to this point.
And from there, I just kinda messed around. I repacked my own hospital bag. I wrote notes to the kids' teachers, saying my parents would be picking them up from school. I wrote letters to the kids themselves, saying "Mommy misses you and can't wait to see you again soon!" which made me a little emotional. I brushed my teeth and changed my clothes and contractions really started to pick up. I got James out of bed and he threw together a bag.
We were ready!
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| My parents got in LOTS of practice doing the morning routine with the kids! |
When I had called triage in the midst of all of the above, I said my contractions were 5-9 minutes apart (but inconsistent) -- and they said c'mon in.
I'd kind of wanted to deliver in this one suburb, as my doctor has multiple locations where she takes patients, but they said:
a) Your doctor isn't on call tonight.
b) Dr. Backup What'shisname is on downtown campus duty tonight, if we wouldn't mind coming downtown.
c) Sry, boo.
Honestly though, whatever. We're kind of equidistant between the suburban hospital and the downtown location, and I've always said I truly don't care who delivers my kids. As long as someone is available! (Although I do like Dr. Jayne a lot. I've doula'd in the room with her twice).
Fun fact: This would now mark my third time getting the "backup" doctor.
So, we drove downtown. I was breathing through some pain and pressure in the car on the ride over, and I was like, telling myself, "You're solidly a 5 or a 6, great job." (Yes, I'm self-diagnosing here; I had no idea).
By the time we arrived, it was maybe 3 a.m.? Or 3:30? Some time around then.
We got all checked in, and went to this little triage room first, where they hooked me up to the monitors for about 10 minutes, just to make sure baby was OK. They also swabbed me, to see if indeed my water had broken, but they couldn't find any evidence of that, apparently. I was a bit annoyed, seeing as the same thing happened with Ana's delivery, and I asked, like, "Why does this even matter? I'm telling you my water broke. You really need to find like, proof?" (I did ask nicely, for what it's worth). And the resident was just like, "Yeah, because otherwise, and if things don't progress with you quickly, we have to send you home. We can't just keep everyone here."
BTW, the same resident just checked me at 4 cm dialated -- after walking around at a 3 for a week or two! WHAT GIVES.
Turns out, my self-diagnosis of a 5 or a 6 had been bullshit.
I was frustrated. Also, like, I knew what I was experiencing. My water had broken. I didn't just pee my bed overnight, lol.
But I was only a 4? Ugh. My contractions hurt, too. This was not the 4 I'd experienced in the past.
Now I was starting to doubt everything.
But I held onto one fragment of hope: The doctor/resident would be back in an hour or 90 minutes, and I needed to progress, and quickly. I WOULD NOT BE GOING HOME, lol.
If I've learned anything in my brief career as a doula, it's that you rarely jump from a 2 to a 10 just by sitting around, watching TV, cozy in bed. You often have to make yourself a bit uncomfortable in order to get there. So, that's what I did -- we were in this tiny triage closet (or, that's what it felt like!), and although I desperately wanted to like, get unpacked, settle into a labor suite, change into my intended delivery clothes, sniff my peppermint oil for nausea and my lavender for calm, relaxing vibes ... I straddled the lil bed/chair thing I was perched on, facing the back wall. And then I did the pillow/peanut ball thing. I put a ton of pillows between my legs, laid down on my side, and hoped baby was descending.
I just could not get comfortable. I was having a really hard time getting my breath under me, if that description makes any sense. This hasn't been a problem in the past; I kinda pride myself on being able to stay super calm, suuuuuper relaxed, and just breathe.
But this time? PHEW I was struggling. I just wasn't comfy. I know I said that already, but there is no better description. You can't breathe through shit if you're like, not in a physically ideal space. I wanted my own labor suite so bad.
At one point, contractions were coming in fast and hot. I told James, "I will be damned if I'm not going through transition right now," but the resident on call and the few nurses who stopped by, didn't seem too concerned or fazed by it. I think they popped me back up on the monitors one more time to look at baby and/or contractions, but then they took me off again pretty quickly, and they were just like, "looks good!"
Another nurse stopped by and asked if we planned on doing this naturally. James was like, "yep!" And I mean, we had in the past, I'm scared of that epidural needle, and he had no reason to think otherwise.
But I was just NOT as confident as he was.
I kept thinking, "What if we get sent home? What if my life is like this for 12 more hours? Should I turn down my one shot at a little relief?"
I was ready to say anything necessary just to get moved to a real room.
Ana and Robby were fairly slow births, btw -- Ana at about 24 hours, Robby at 12. I had no idea at that point, that I was so close to being done. And that nurse actually told me, if I planned on doing things naturally, they were more reluctant to check me in. I don't know why that was ... I guess I didn't need to schedule time to meet with the anesthesiologist, and I'd require fewer nurses/people around for IVs and such?
I was feeling a little panicky and desperate, tbh.
Finally, it'd been a good hour or 90 minutes, and the doctor came back in to do a determining check.
This would decide if I could indeed get admitted into an L&D room, or if I should head back. James, by the way, said he never had a doubt. We were staying, he says confidently, three weeks later. 🤣
I was just so scared of getting sent home, I didn't know who or what to believe.
Anyway, they check me, I'm nauseated as hell and threatening to throw up everywhere, and the resident says I'm an 8 and my bag of waters IS gone. (I was right!)
They're like, "OK, let's get you loaded up and find a room!" and just as they're helping me onto this wheelchair, my body gets that familiar urge. I need to push. Bad.
So I yelp, "I NEED TO PUSH NOW THOUGH!" and everyone's like, "Don't do that, you have to wait!" But like, it's hard to keep a baby inside when it's time. So I start getting all, "I can't wait! I can't wait!" and the next thing I know, two nurses, plus me in the wheelchair with my legs dangling off the sides awkwardly, and a James trailing behind with all our bags -- we are like, jogging through the hospital at a good clip, and I'm trying to keep this baby inside me and relax my breath, and good lord, I don't think I'm an 8. I think I'm a 10.
We get into our room, I meet the backup doctor, and he's like, "let me quick check that 8 before we have you push," and yes, he confirms: I'm a full-ass 10. He tells me to go for it.
It was so surreal.
"Right now?"
Yes.
I was ready, apparently.
I hadn't even been IV'd or on the monitors in quite some time, but the next thing I know, another contraction is coming roaring through, and strong -- and I'm pushing. I do remember saying (in a tentative, scared lil voice that I almost didn't recognize), "I don't know if I remember how to do this! I'm a little scared!"
But the nurses were like, "You are FINE, you are there, just push this baby out."
My doula training then kicked in, and everything I've repeated to my clients, came rushing into my brain.
"Chin to chest, bear down, steady breath?"
Yes.
Two pushes later and she was out. I heard myself yell a ferocious roar (again, new for me), and I felt that warm, strange sensation of a baby passing through my body, and the fluids rushing out -- sorry if that part's a little TMI. It was suchhhhh a relief to have some of that pressure alleviated. It happened almost instantly.
I had asked for James to call out the sex, as in, we'd just discussed this in the car on the ride over, and he forgot, lol.
They kinda held her up to me, and I saw right away that she was a girl, and I was so, so happy. And surprised! Like, how was she here already? It was almost like, disbelief.
I had another daughter? It was an out-of-body moment ... like I was on the outside, looking in.
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| Bridgey Lou |
It was kind of funny, too: During Ana and Robby's births, or at least, the pushing stage, James had been like, helping hold one of my legs, giving me verbal encouragement, rubbing my head, etc. This time? He had low blood sugar. He was like, "Yeah, the doctors probably thought I was such a scumbag. You were doing your final push, and I plopped on the couch and busted open a Powerbar. Took a big bite. Didn't watch her come out."
He didn't cut the cord, either. The doc was like, "Want to do your thing, sir?" And James was like, "Nah, I'm good. You guys can handle it." We laughed about that after the fact. Third baby vibes, lol.
If you don't know James, you might think this sounds mean or strange. He's just James. My James. I love him so much; I don't care who cuts the cord either, lol.
Anyway, what else?
She came out and looked just like Ana. Time stood still. I didn't cry; it was like, too shocking, or my body/brain hadn't had time to register that this moment had finally arrived.
It was surreal: Looking at her little face, realizing this was probably the last time I'd do this (give birth, meet one of my children), and SHE didn't even cry, either.
I had just doula'd at a bit of a traumatic birth, about 3 weeks earlier, and when the baby came out silent (and her heart rate had dropped super low leading up to that moment), it was cause for concern. She was rushed into the hands of some doctors, and it took about 8 minutes to get her to make that first peep. But -- thank goodness -- my situation wasn't that. I think I asked at some point, "Should she be crying?" And the nurses were just like, "She's a calm little one! Enjoy it." For probably the first hour or so, she just made lil squeaks and squawks while I loved on her and rubbed her vernix in, warmed her up on my chest with skin-to-skin, nursed her, etc. I was instantly smitten, but also like, in unbelievable shock.
I know I've said that 12 different ways. It took me HOURS to fully realize that I had labored that quickly and now had my daughter earthside.
I just kept being like, "Jim! I wasn't ready! Did you have any idea it could happen that fast? How did I go from a 4 to a 10? She's here! She's a girl! Did you know she'd be a girl? Do I really have hunches, or have I lucked out with 3 guesses in a row?"
And I thought I wasn't going to get the shakes post-birth, but then I got them. I've gotten violent shakes now 3 times after childbirth. It's like my body can't calm down.
I was so happy I brought my own warm blankets.
Oh, and because I didn't have an IV in when the baby was born, they hit me with a shot of Pitocin in the thigh to help deliver my placenta. I had a slight injury (tear), but not a bad one, that they patched up fairly quickly. I do remember feeling like it was all taking a long time; like, I just wanted to skip to the good part, where I could cuddle Bridge on my chest with only James in the room. Between the fundal massage, the stitches, the few other things they needed from me ... I was READY just to cuddle my sweet fam.
I will say, the miracle of natural childbirth is insane. I was severely, severely uncomfortable, feeling the most intense pressure of my life, 20 minutes earlier. Then you deliver the baby and it just kind of melts away. I was so zen. And then I was up on my feet an hour later, on cloud nine. I was tired but at so much peace.
She was HERE. 🥰
As for the name, we'd always really liked Bridget. If Robby had been a girl, he'd have been Bridget. I actually told my parents back in 2017 that they couldn't name their new dog Bridget, because I felt like as someone growing a human child, I could call dibs, lol. (Btw, yes, Winnie the Berner could have been Bridget. Sorry, Winns!) I like the name Winnie better, fwiw.
I think I briefly entertained the idea of Bridget early on, but then dismissed it for whatever reason. We played around with the names Alice, Rosie (Ana's pick), Claire, Miriam (Miri), Mia, Carly, Camille (pronounced like Emily in Paris -- "Cam-ee"), probably 50 more, but we just couldn't see eye-to-eye on anything. Or like, we'd ALMOST pick, and then James or I would be like, "Wait, we can do better than that, can't we?"
I swear, it was like, a week before the baby was born, and we still hadn't firmed anything up, and I asked Jim, "Wait, why did we rule out Bridget? I loved Bridget. Can we name her Bridget?"
And he was like, "Yes. I like Bridget, too."
And that was the closest thing we'd had to an easy decision.
Bridget would be the name!
Louise is after my grammy -- I actually loved Louise or Louisa for a first name, but I thought having an Analisa and a Louisa was a bit much. Using her name as Bridget's middle just made more sense.
Our boy name, btw, was Joey.
Phew, what else to sayyyy?
The kids meeting Bridget, will probably remain one of my most cherished memories for all time. I wish I could bottle it. Robby walked in and announced in a proud but slightly timid voice, "Hi Bridget! It's me, Robby, your big brother." 🥺
Ana just wanted to hold her the WHOLE time. I had the three of them all up on the bed at some point, and my heart felt so full. It reminded me of that song from "Sound of Music," I think it's "Something Good"?
Just like, what did I do to deserve such happiness? So somewhere in my youth or childhood/I must have done something good.
I was also such a wreck, for so much of this pregnancy, just like, scared to miscarry again, or even sneeze the wrong way. And here, right in front of my own two eyes, I had three perfect babies. All on my lap. All at once. All so happy.
Life can be so, SO good.
Bridget is my smallest bear, coming in at 7 pounds, 12 ounces. Honestly, I did TOO well with the gestational diabetes ... lol, which sounds silly to say, but I will note, cutting nearly all carbs and sugar, I think I only gained like, 15 pounds? Is that a humble brag? And I felt ginormous. But I kept things under control, big time.
GD was a little miserable, but it's over now, and I should probably write a blog post about that topic alone. You know who didn't feel bad for me? My Type 1 husband, who I now feel for x 1,000.
I had "diabetes" for 12 weeks and it was *hard*. I so wish he could pop out a baby and end his, too. (That sounds funny, but hopefully, you know what I mean!)
I celebrated the end of my GD journey with a bagel and a boujee latte, two things I'd so desperately missed.
So yeah, even though it was a hard final week, awaiting this delivery and feeling like we were on a bit of a time crunch, I think everything happened just as it should have.
My parents were able to watch the kids and meet Bridget (they came to the hospital while Ana and Robby were still in school that Friday!)
My doula didn't make it in time, but that's my fault, really; I didn't want to call her up to the hospital without even having a L&D room, when they'd been threatening to send me home!
We texted her when I was at an "8" (you know, all 4 minutes of that), and then I had James tell her to stand down, probably 20 minutes later, once the baby was delivered.
I just would have felt really bad for wasting her time; hence why I didn't text sooner. Lesson learned, I suppose.
We were discharged from our hospy stay within 24 hours. It was fairly uneventful. We got home, and it's like, life goes on! James went out to buy a new vacuum. I sat with Ana for probably an hour to help with homework packet. It was like, this is just the new normal!
Bridget remains just the absolute best.
All of her doctors appointments have gone perfectly. She's so sweet, makes the best, most expressive faces, she lovvvvves being held (which is good, because I will hold her forever! I don't believe you can hold a baby too much; that's not a thing), and I think she's learning to adjust to our LOUD household.
She does hate diaper changes, but that's like, her only thing.
B sleeps all day and actually gives me decent stretches of shut-eye at night.
I'm off work. I'm receiving $0, F this country, lol. Not sure when I'll go back! Probably sooner rather than later, but from home.
And I got thrown into this "solo parenting 3" thing because James and I got incredibly sick about a week and a half after Bridge was born (and he was worse), but like, that too, is a blog entry for another day.
We're a lot better now, and that's what counts!
So, there you have it. As for the delivery itself, could I have advocated for myself better, and could it have gone better? I mean, probably.
I can't decide what's worse -- laboring slowwwwwly for 24 hours, or having it all come so fast. Honestly, that was HARD. It was hard before, more so mentally, but like ... phew. Am I over it? Yes and no.
But it's difficult to be mad or even grumpy about any of it, considering the outcome. I now have two daughters. I got to give Ana a sister! 🥺 And as someone who always wanted a sister, I'm so happy for her/jealous/will live vicariously through her/am really proud of my body for what it's been capable of, and I'm just kinda feeling ALL THE THINGS these days.
OK, I'll have more eventually!
This was a little bit of a jumble, especially timeline wise, so I'll sign off the same way I ended Robby's birth story: If you read this far, you deserve a medal. It feels weirdly good to type these out, so thanks for hanging!
xoxo
