When my Dr asked how I felt about being induced a week early I could have hugged him. I was so done after a pregnancy spent on the couch from either nausea, heart issues, dizziness, perinatal depression, etc. Even just one week less felt like shaving a year off. “Would 5:30am be too early?”
“Pretty much you tell me what time to be there, even at 3am, and I will be there!”
My mom came up from southern NM on Monday night so she could be here with the kids when we left for the hospital early that Tuesday morning. It was really surreal knowing the day/time to go to the hospital. It gave me light at the end of the tunnel, but made that week feel like forever. Knowing the date as well meant my brain was much less focused on the mystery of when and started dwelling on getting nervous about the actual birth. This pregnancy was rough and totally different than the other two…what if birth followed suit?!
We walked into the hospital at 5:26am and paused for a moment in the empty lobby for a quick “pre-game” selfie. It felt silly but helped me laugh and swallow some nerves. I was at least glad that because we knew ahead of time, I could at least show up showered, hair fixed, and makeup done to up my confidence levels.
We were buzzed into Labor and Delivery by two happy and adorable nurses at 5:28 and they showed us to our room. It was so relaxed…you’d think we were checking in for a vacation, lol.
We got all the preliminary stuff done. Peed, changed into the fashionable hospital gowns, got the IV going, logged personal items, talked about procedures, and waited for my doctor to come in and get things rolling. I have absolutely LOVED my OB through the entire pregnancy. He was the one that drove me from church to L&D and checked me in when I had that first heart spell and blacked out at church. He’s been fabulous!
As everything was getting prepped he asked, “Do you get an epidural or go Pioneer Woman?” I just laughed. I’m not opposed to an epidural or pain assistance, but in the past I either hadn’t had time for them or we were worried about Ione’s vitals. So I start natural and then know that if it goes long I’m totally ok with asking for help. He did the preliminary check and I was dilated to a 4, but the baby was still very high and posterior (the baby was faceup instead of facedown). So at that point Dr. Tindall broke my water and the nurses gave me Cytotec to start labor. 7am-ish.
I had to stay in the hospital bed and be monitored for the first hour. Contractions started, but were very manageable even if they did start coming on fast. The nurses changed out from the night shift to day shift and my new nurse had me turn to my side to try and give me a little more of a break between contractions as they were not lasting long but the time between each contraction was quite short.
After the hour or so in bed they checked me and while I was more dilated the baby still had not shifted at all. So around 8:30am they decided to try and see if gravity would do it’s job and had me walk around. I’ll be honest, I felt silly waddling along in my double gown, but it sounded way better than the birthing ball where I’d feel extra self conscious. I don’t know why I still feel so self conscious during the first part of labor, but there you have it.
Walking didn’t seem to do much, but during one contraction my body decided to empty the bowels. It was super glamorous. Even though it was just Cameron and I there, I felt embarrassed. I’d just pooped myself. Great.
We got back to the room and I went to clean up. While cleaning up I started feeling nauseated and just wanted to lie down, so I crawled back in bed.
My nurse came to check on me not long after and I was having some pretty good back labor. She suggested moving to a hands and knees position. In my head I didn’t really want to…again, the self conscious factor. But I didn’t fight it…really, whatever would make the back labor go away I was willing to try, and she’s way more knowledgeable about birth than I am and I’m one to trust my nurses and doctor. So onto my hands and knees I went.
I was there for just a few contractions when things really started ramping up. The Cytotec was intense! I had Pitocin when they had to induce contractions with Ione and that had been more intense than the natural contractions with Darrow. Cytotc though…man that was fun. 😨 There just were no breaks between contractions and these were taking all my concentration to get through without tensing up any muscles in my body.
At the beginning they’d told me about a pain killer option to help take the edge off (I can’t remember drug names to save my life, no clue what is was), so I asked the nurse about that. And then the next contraction hit, along with a huge wave of pressure and a lot of nausea.
Onto my back I went so they could put the oxygen mask on and check me again to get the go ahead from Dr Tindall for the pain killer. My nurse checked me and then said, “I’ll go call Dr. Tindall” and calmly walked out. I thought she was calling to ask if I could have the drug. Not quite.
Dr. Tindall got the call and dropped what he was doing at his office and ran (very literally) from his office building, across the parking lots and road and down the hall, pausing at the door just long enough to catch his breath coming in. At this point I was curled in a ball on my side just trying to focus on not tensing up and getting through each contraction and the building pressure. My arms and hands were shaking and I really had no idea who was in the room.
They helped me back onto my back and in position and I remember watching Dr. Tindall suit up and thinking, “Is he going to get suited up in time?!” It only took him seconds to get suited up but of course in the midst of labor that’s an eon long. With Darrow and Ione I never felt the urge to push. I pushed when the Dr’s said to, but didn’t feel the pressure or the urge to push like I did this time. This time I knew it was pushing time.
He gave me pushing instructions, which honestly I only caught about half of…I just assumed what I missed he’d say again if needed.
“Did you have a lot of heartburn?”
“Lots” I squeaked out.
“I bet! Look at that full head of blonde hair!”
In my head…”blonde?! Again?!” I’d prayed for a dark headed baby during pregnancy, as silly as it sounds. I was the only dark headed one of me and my siblings, and my hair matches my Mom’s. I’d hoped for just one dark headed baby. Oh well, I can love another blondie.
“He’s kidding.” Cameron winked at me. But kidding about what…the amount or the color?! The things you focus on while pushing a baby out of you. Priorities.
One contraction of pushing and I knew it wouldn’t take much more.
“Look! Marquette, look!”
I’d had my eyes closed, but opened them when my doctor said, “Look!” and looked right into the face of my baby. And that was kinda weird, as she was still half in me. I’d always just kept my eyes shut during pushing because I was focusing and things like that just made me a little squeamish. Talk about incentive to finish up though! 😂
Final pushing instructions were given and suddenly our baby was here. “It’s a girl!! It’s a girl! You have a little girl!” I think all the nurses and Tindall were talking at the same time excitedly. Those exclamations were followed by, “That’s a nine-pounder for sure!”
“Are you kidding me?!” Again, just in my head. I don’t say much at birth apparently.
But sure enough this beautiful, slimy, breathing, dark haired, perfect baby was here and I was holding her. At 9:50 am.
Come to find out we had some little (or not so little) miracles happen.
“Oh wow, we got very lucky. Very lucky!” That’s always an interesting statement from a doctor. Molly’s umbilical cord was big, but it had attached to the membrane of the placenta instead of to the placenta itself. When that happens it can be very easy for the cord to get pinched shut or damaged during pregnancy. The fact that I had a TON of amniotic fluid (more than normal and more than expected with a 9lb baby)and that Molly was always either against my spine causing back/hip pain or up high in my rib cage exacerbating my heart and dizzy issues is what saved her as she wasn’t putting pressure on that connection point. My pain and misery had been for very specific reasons and I’m so grateful for the tender mercies of God.
Then it came time to choose her name. We’d gone in with the idea we’d name her Cecily (Cameorn’s Great Grandpa is Cecil, so it would be the feminine form of his name), but she wasn’t a Cecily. I’d held my Mom’s name in reserve and really actually hoped this baby would be a Paralee America, but that just didn’t feel right either, as much as I wanted it. We’d put the name Molly on the backup name list the night before, but hadn’t been sure about it then. Looking at her, suddenly Molly and Aine (AHN-ya) were our top two contenders. We kept coming back to Molly and I loved that it was my Mom’s nickname of Polly with an M (my Dad says, “For Marquette!”), as well as the name of one of my favorite literary characters, Molly Gibson from Wives and Daughters. We decided to go with Molly Kathleen for both of our mothers and because it has an Irish ring to it (Cameron is obsessed with Irish names…he was a little disappointed when I nixed the name Roisin -pronounced roe-SHEEN – because the way it’s spelled it looks like Raisin).
And now our Molly is here and we’re all pretty smitten with her!