Love is a Battlefield

Question to all the mothers in the house: How do you get over it? How do you pull yourself out of the haze and stop replaying those moments? It has been a whirlwind week--unforgettable--and yet I know that details will get fuzzy. So here is an extremely detailed account of how one Finley Mae Turner came into the world and how Ricky and Lindsay were forever changed. I honestly could write an entire book just about the past six days.

It all started the Saturday after November. I woke up with contractions, which was a big deal--I had gone to bed with consistent contractions every night but always woke up without a single twinge. Very frustrating.

My aunt and uncle came in from Gardiner, Montana to be with us for Thanskgiving and possibly a baby. I haven't seen my aunt since March and my uncle since 2005. It was the most fabulous, blissful, cozy Thanksgiving I've ever had--the perfect prequel to Sunday.

Saturday afternoon--still having contractions, so we all decided to go to Fashion Place Mall (the mall of my youth) to walk around, get things moving, and reminisce. I got bitchier and bitchier (Lindsay in pain really only wants to be around my mommy), which everyone thought was a sign that things would happen. Contractions got consistent and painful--and by midnight, they were five minutes apart. So in we went to the hospital, where I was checked, given something for the pain, and told to go home, get some rest, and come back the next day if I was still contracting.

Mleh. Worst night ever. I didn't sleep, the contractions got inconsistent again, and I stayed bitchy. Sunday morning, contractions were still happening, but not quite as furiously.

So Mom and I went for a drive to take my mind off of labor. We ended up in Orem, when I desperately needed food, so we ducked into Mimi's Cafe and ate the smelliest sandwich ever (which would be the only thing in my stomach for the rest of the night). Then, pow! Contractions started again with a vengeance, so to the hospital we went...

And because it was a lazy Sunday afternoon, the nurses must have been bored, because they decided to strip my membranes (OUCH) and admit me. Here I am, walking around trying to pop my water, with Ricky as my walking stick and the waiting room already full of my anxious family members.

We decided I was a ninja in my hospital gown. Great visual for natural childbirth--karate chopping the pain away! Notice the extreme swelling beginning in my face and feet...

At 6:30, I was dilated to a 5 and in pain. My plans all along were to have an intervention-free birth if both the baby and I were handling it. I knew it would mean a lot of pain, but it was important to me to give myself a chance. I was managing fine, though, but the prospect of being only halfway finished and using my breathing techniques completely terrified me. So I sprung for the epidural. So glad I did. I was worried that I would get into labor and desperately want to do it epidural-free, but realize I couldn't do it. I actually found myself realizing I could do it--I felt so empowered--but that I really didn't want to.

Happy epidural. Happy times. They broke my water to get things going at about 7, and it was official--I wasn't leaving this hospital without a baby in my arms.

The visitor policy in the hospital had been revised to protect against swine flu: only 2 visitors in the room (not counting this child's goofy father, who kept mentioning all night how excited he was to show her his favorite zombie movies), and no children under 14. So we were the juggling act in this circus--constantly rotating visitors and pissing off the check-in nurses. Bite me, nurses. I have a lot of loves.

My mother was my faithful companion in the room--snoozing on the couch beside me, fetching me chick flicks, keeping everyone apprised of the situation. Ricky fetched and fed me ice chips and kept our gracious guests company downstairs. And everyone who popped in brought with them their fantastic excited energy and adoration.

I continued dilating to a 7... then stopped. Then the epidural stopped working in a few hot spots, and instead of reflooding my body with the refill button, the anesthesiologist had to come in and redose me, which meant doubly numb legs. Oddly enough, doubly numb legs are just as painful as not... numb legs. Weird.

7 centimeters... there I stayed, for 5 hours. My midwife switched... Kathryn left, and Jennifer came on duty. Jennifer had the most fantastic confidence and reassured me there would be no C-section as long as my spirits stayed up and the baby stayed healthy. She would wait all day, she said.

Then something happened... I was checked and they realized the baby was posterior, with the back of her head facing my spine. So they reached in to give her a turn, and she got mad... and her heart rate disappeared. In rushed the C-section team, the NICU team, all on standby while a half dozen nurses shoved monitors in me, oxygen on my face, and got her heart rate back on schedule. Baby had a long hard night full of contractions, too, and they were smashing her head up against my cervix something terrible.

So we turned off the epidural, with the plan being to wait until I could move my legs again, then get me on all fours and turn the baby. So. Now. No epidural. Lovely. I laid on my side and felt the pain creep back into my body--and then a miracle happened. Baby turned herself. She spun around like a little ballerina and then my cervix opened up to a 9.5. ALMOST TIME!

I took a cat nap while waiting for the dose of epidural to course back through (since I was NOT going to deliver this kiddo without it). Before the epidural came back, though, I woke up with the unbearable urge to push. I was checked. 10 cm. Time to push.

Mom held one leg, Ricky held the other, and Laura, Ricky's mother, paced in the corner. The midwife got her mask on and moved into position. I began pushing. And then I almost lost my mind. The pain of the stretching, the odd sensations of feeling her head tuck under and through my bones and out... I sang Christmas songs in my head to distract me from anything serious.

The pushing only lasted about 40 minutes. She slid right out, and then my world circled to a pinhole and it was just she and I. 10 minutes to 1'oclock, Ricky and I looked at each other and then we were parents.

Little Finley Mae. Daddy cut the cord and then she was free, her own person, separate from Mommy and officially a member of the family. 8 pounds, 11 ounces, 19 inches tall, with straight brown hair, dark blue eyes, rosy pink skin, and a cricket trill instead of a loud angry cry.

This is my favorite photo. This is right when they handed her to me, when we both got a good look at each other and realized we had always been best buds. She did a little scowl, which I realize now is not a scowl after all, but is the face she makes when she's studying someone carefully. Locking eyes with a human that you just birthed is wild.

Who does she look like? Everyone. I have looked down at my chest while nursing her and thought--holy cow, I am breastfeeding myself/Ricky/Hannah/my mom's mom/other random family members. She is the perfect newborn: no complications, great hearing, no jaundice, great nurser, great sleeper, setting up her own schedule already, and beautiful.

I can't imagine life without her. In fact, if it weren't for the after delivery pains I have, I could honestly say life is perfect. Those pains are the subejct of another post, though... For now, just be excited with me that now the earth is a little sweeter, a little more sensitive, a little more stoic--because there's a Finley in it. You may call her Finley, Fin, Finners, Fin McCool, the Finster, or Cricket. And call me in heaven.