About a Boy, Part 1. Also known as WHOOSH! There it is!

Time flies when you have three kids!

And, yes. That is all of the excuse-making you will get out of me for being absent for... yeesh! I haven't written in quite a while!!

But all is forgiven if I post never-before-seen adorable baby photos, right? Right.
Wait for it. 

It's coming. 

Finn's Birth Story, Part 1

Monkey love.

Once upon a time there was a woman enjoying her third pregnancy. It was her least-complicated pregnancy to date and she was very grateful. 

And then things took a turn for the worse. 

And so that is how the fair maiden (just roll with it) was put on bed rest for the foreseeable future.

Weeks after her sentence to jammies and sheets and frustration, and after countless acts of service from sainted neighbors and ward members, the maiden thought she had learned patience and humility pretty darn well (So enough already!! Please?). One fine day (let's call it April 12th just for the heck of it) her blood pressure spiked and she found herself checking into Providence St. Vincent hospital for an overnight stay with urine tests and blood draws and ultrasounds galore (be warned- it gets more graphic than "urine tests" from here on out. Read on at your own risk). Everything seemed to be going fine: The baby looked good and the maiden (seriously unsure how much longer I can call myself maiden with a straight face) felt okay enough for someone hooked up to a bazillion (rough estimate) tubes and wires. Her Prince (oh yeesh- that may have been my breaking point) was with her throughout the experience, and they watched Cupcake Wars and ordered hospital room service (not as bad as it sounds) and enjoyed spending a kid-free (besides the one sitting on said maiden's kidneys) day together. 

Until... say it with me... things took ANOTHER turn for the worse. 

(Switching to first person because I'm sick of maiden-me and so you must be, too.)

That evening around 10pm I unplugged myself and baby from all of the monitors and grabbed my IV pole (the stripper pole's less-admired cousin) for a routine eight-and-a-half-months-pregnant bi-hourly bathroom trip. I then used the restroom, went to wash my hands and...

WHOOSH!

Now, before this moment in time I had seriously thought the cheesy "MY WATER JUST BROKE!!" scenes in movies were exaggerated. All of the pregnancy books make sure to point out that something like 98% of women don't experience their water breaking until they are already in labor big time, where a little WHOOSH-ing is barely noticeable.

Welcome to the 2%.

Although I already had two children, we must remember that I had never before been in labor. Suddenly I was gushing fluids and I. Freaked. Out. 

"K-k-k-k-klayton?" I called from the restroom in a shaky voice I didn't recognize. 

To K's great credit, his response was to run into the bathroom. 

And, in the interest of full disclosure, I honestly didn't stop shaking for the rest of that night and well into the next day, so undone was I (and there go all of my Tough SuperMom Points). 

After I got back into bed and called the nurse, she informed me that it appeared I had been having mild but regular contractions (honestly didn't notice), and it was decided that she would call my doctor. 

That was when the first of what I like to call the Legit Contractions hit.

Now, like everyone else on the face of the planet, I have heard my fair share of birthing Tall Tales about the pain and agony and trauma of child birth. 

But I can say without a doubt that I was unprepared to experience that LC. 

And those horrendous birth stories AREN'T DETAILED ENOUGH. 

Holy crap, do Legit Contractions hurt. 

There aren't enough Mother's Days in the year- I'll just leave it at that. 

Slayer.

So my (sweet, angelic, wonderful) doc was called at 10-something on a Friday night. I had eaten dinner that evening, not at all expecting to have surgery that night (I was deemed an unsuitable candidate for VBAC given my terrible habit of having pregnancies/child-births that go horribly awry), and because of the anesthesia-caused risk of vomiting/choking, one cannot have anything in one's stomach during surgery (unless you want to go all of the way under, which is probably not a good way to go if you, you know, want to meet your newborn child and all of that). So my surgery was planned and prepped for around 2am on Saturday, the 13th of April. 

I don't want to dwell on this, but can I just say that laboring  for four hours with no intention of actually giving birth is super overrated? Thanks, I needed that. 

Sometime around 1am my big brother, Adam, showed up to bring our camera and hang around to meet his new nephew (can I also say that my brother is wonderful?). I'm not sure how fun it was for him to be in the room with his laboring sister, but he Instagrammed a picture of the experience, so I assume he isn't too traumatized.

Hey guys does my hair look okay?

 Around 2am I said goodbye to Adam and K and I was rolled into surgery (an experience which I would very much like to forget were it not for the whole Laying-Eyes-on-my-Perfect-Baby-Boy-for-the-First-Time memory attached to the whole My-Guts-are-Currently-Laying-on-That-Table-Over-There moment). I was 36 1/2 weeks pregnant when my 6lb 15oz baby boy was born. 

Quite the welcome, eh?

 I heard him cry and looked around a bit deliriously as he was handed across the partition to K. Blinking quickly (stupid Mommy tears) my eyes roved over his dark black hair (so much of it! All my genes) and sweet, smushed face. He was perfect- I could tell. It was then that my Grinch moment happened, of course, and my heart swelled 10 sizes to not only incorporate this little man's sisters, father, grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends, family... but Finn, too. My guy. 

They always take them back too soon to do tests and wipe-downs and suctions and all of that. I craned my neck to watch them. Then K left with the nurses and my sweet, sweet Little Man as they replaced my guts (although, really, while they were in there they could have removed the spare tire. I swear I didn't put it there...) and stitched me up. 

Tick tock.

When they finally wheeled me back into my room, where Adam and K were holding and OOhing and Ahhing over Finn, I got to hold my sweet little bundle for the first time. I felt is soft skin and furry little back... 

So much love and a shower cap.

  And that was when, just moments after I finally got him in my arms, they told me that he was still having trouble breathing (STILL??!! How long was I in there with All the King's Horses and All the King's Men?) and they wanted to send him to the Newborn Intensive Care Unit for monitoring. 

They were sure it was nothing.

He would be back with me soon, probably. 

I tried not to panic. I had done the NICU thing before, right? 

Twice already, in fact. 

I could do this again. 

This time was different. 

I would have him back soon, right?

Not so fast...

...Although this tale has a very happy ending, it doesn't start just yet...

To be continued in the next thrilling episode of "About a Boy"!