One final bump photo on my due date
The sun isn’t up yet and I have a sleeping babe next to me who’s all of seven weeks old, so I know if I don’t get this down on proverbial paper now, then I may never. So today, it’s (part 1 of) the story of little William Hunter’s birth. (Brevity is not my strong suit, fair warning.)
If you’ve ever wanted to test your sanity, wake up the day after your due date still pregnant and see how you feel. I was 40 weeks and 1 day pregnant, and not even the slightest bit mentally competent. But let’s start a few weeks before, at my 38 week appointment. Throughout my entire pregnancy, friends and family liked to tease me about just how large that little baby was going to be. You see, my family has a history of big babies and big heads (my brother was 10 lbs 1 oz, I was 8 lbs, 3 oz), and Hunter is just… well, large. (And also big headed. We don’t wear a lot of hats around here.) At my 38 week appointment my doctor said I was measuring a full 40 weeks large, and there was just a lot of baby… everywhere. This came as no surprise to me because I could feel him wiggling around all corners of my abdomen, but when she suggested an ultrasound to gauge his size I knew we were in for it. During the ultrasound the tech asked if we had any guesses as to his size, with a little laugh. We learned that he was approximately 8 lbs, 3 oz at 38 weeks, projected to be over 10 lbs if we went 41 weeks. Unlike most hospitals that will induce after 39 weeks, the hospital I was scheduled to deliver at wouldn’t induce unless a mother was 41 weeks or at least 3 cm dilated.
Fast forward to my due date checkup on a Friday, and I was neither of those things. What I was, however, was crazy. Cranky, miserable, a little hysterical, and just done. My doc and I discussed the situation (one of us was crying), and she agreed that she didn’t want me to have to go 41 weeks and risk birthing a 10+ lb baby. She did a little finagling and got me scheduled for an induction at the other hospital she delivers at for that Sunday night. I left my appointment feeling significantly less insane, knowing there was a light at the end of the tunnel. My parents were both finally in town, our to do list was finished, and we were going to have this baby that weekend.
When we checked in to begin my induction Sunday evening, we were literally the only ones in Labor & Delivery. We got settled into our corner suite (!), signed our life away in paperwork, and they placed my IV. I wasn’t particularly charmed by the nurse that placed it on the back of my hand, and it was terribly painful, so after about half an hour of squirming any time I moved, I asked them to re-place my IV. As a long-time needle-phobe, Hunter knew it was bad if I asked to be stuck again! I just knew I’d be dealing with that IV for a very long time, and there was no way I was going to be in that sort of pain when I knew I’d be dealing with an entirely different pain situation once labor began.
Around 8 p.m. they placed the cervadil (a cervical ripening agent – I know you were just dying to hear the phrase “cervical ripening”), and told me that it would be in for twelve hours. At that time they would check me to see if I had dilated more than the “roomy 1 cm” I had checked in at, and then begin the official induction via pitocin. My nurse also casually mentioned that there was a chance that the cervadil could potentially kick me into full blown labor, but “that never happens.”
I’ll let you guess what happened next.
Part 2 here.