And then there were three... A birth story.

Since my baby is almost four weeks old, I figured I better get this birth story written down before I forget.

After my failed induction debacle, I was sure that my body would naturally go into labor on its own before they could get me back to try inducing again. WRONG. So, picking up where we left off, here is how the next week went...

Monday: Went in for a growth ultrasound to make sure baby was not the size of a whale. Ultrasound tech wouldn't tell me anything (not allowed, I get it, but geez) went home and waited for Dr. to call and tell me the results of the ultrasound, nothing happened.

Tuesday: Walked around Costco, lifted flats of water and Diet Coke, bought an exercise ball and started bouncing. Still no call from Dr.'s office, so I called them, OB isn't in and nurse won't tell me anything. Give up bouncing and spend the rest of the day watching dumb CW shows on Netflix to distract me from the frustration of it all. Stefan or Damon? I just can't decide.

Wednesday: Official due date. Despite walking, bouncing, jumping jacks, spicy food and a whole lot of wishing, not a single real contraction. Went in to regular weekly non-stress test and OB appointment. No progression, no dropping, no dilation. Good news is that baby's vitals still look good, although he is measuring a little big, according to the ultrasound. Dr says I will need to be induced again on Thursday night - and this time I'm not leaving the hospital without a baby.

Thursday: Repack the hospital bag for the 27th time. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Call the hospital at 10:30 pm to see if we can come in for 11 pm scheduled time. Nope, too full, "try to get some rest and we'll call you when we can get you in." Right. Rest? Ha!

Friday: 5:20 AM, come on in! 6 am, arrive at hospital. Given first kind of labor inducing medication, wait four hours. Nothing. Started on petocin around noon, feeling mild contractions but they aren't painful yet and they are still pretty far apart. Dr breaks my water around 4 pm, still only dilated to a 3-ish. Petocin is maxed out, contractions are finally starting to hurt, but they are still irregular and baby's head is really high. 9 pm, epidural. All of a sudden I'm more comfortable than I've been in months. It's like a magical unicorn ride to fairy land - that is how awesome epidurals are.... except for the part where my blood pressure plummeted and they put me on oxygen... small price to pay for the unicorn ride. On the epidural, they give me even more petocin. Don't care, feeling great.

Saturday: 12:30 am, check again, still only at a 3, baby still high. Contractions are strong, but irregular. Dr. thinks that either his head is too big, my pelvic bone is too small or he can't get into the right position. We are given the option to go straight into c-section or give it two more hours. We wait. 2:30 am, no further progress. Husband and I decide its time for the c-section before we risk infection or harm to the baby. I start shaking and throwing up. Awesome. At least all I've had to eat are ice chips for 22 hours. By 3:15 am we are in the OR. Thank goodness for my amazing husband distracting me and helping me stay calm. Thank goodness for anesthesia and modern medicine. Thank goodness my doctor is still on call and is the one performing the surgery. If I could just stop shaking violently this would all be a lot less terrifying. 3:45 am. All I can see are the bright lights and the ceiling tiles and the blue sheet in front of my face. But then.... out of the jumbled sounds of the operating room.... I hear him. The tiniest little cry. He's here!... And then I hear my doctor say, "He's perfect." And I look at Husband who can see him and its one of those moments that is beyond description. But the shaking hasn't stopped and I'm throwing up again and I feel like a drug-addled mess. The NICU nurse has him all wrapped up and brings him up by my head where I can see him. He is perfect. He has perfect smooth skin and the tiniest little face and intense dark little eyes. Then they take him away and Husband goes with him. All I want is ice chips. Go figure. Sometime around 4:30 am they get me out of the OR and into the recovery room where Husband and baby are sitting behind a sheet. For 30 minutes I listen to my anesthesiologist complain about the new computer system while I slowly come out of the worst of the drug haze. I can hear Husband and baby, but I can't see them. I start to get super annoyed at this anesthesiologist. I can wiggle my toes again, the violent shaking has subsided to a slight tremor. Then they clear me for baby contact and the NICU nurse brings him over. They lay him on my chest and his tiny body just melts onto me. He keeps lifting his head to look at me and somehow he keeps scooting himself higher and higher up my chest to be closer to my voice and my heartbeat. And his skin is so soft and completely flawless and his head has the softest whisper of fluff for hair. And Husband is there and we hold our baby and all is right with the world.