Baby Mango's birth story + pics (overdue, and long - sorry!)
Mar 31, 2015 14:25:16 GMT -5
Post by mango on Mar 31, 2015 14:25:16 GMT -5
TL;DR: Eamon James was born 3/10 at 1:41 pm via scheduled c-section due to breech presentation. I cried for 2 weeks before and 2 weeks after because it wasn't the birth I wanted, but I did bond with him immediately and am completely head over heels in love with him. He was 8# 8oz, 21 1/4 inches long. He's doing great, and I'm healing well -- physically and mentally.
Lots more pictures here: Eamon
I tried to edit this down but it's still ridiculous.
Weeks leading up to the birth:
34 weeks (early Feb) - I found out baby was breech at a routine office visit. I started moxibustion, chiropractor visits, Hypnobabies breech turn track, and Spinning Babies maneuvers. I knew I had about a 50% chance the baby would turn on his own. Every day, I'd feel his little head smashed in my rib cage and get a sinking feeling - he was not going to turn. I'd been doing everything I could, and he wasn't budging.
36 weeks - Baby remained breech. I was upset, and knew my only option was an external cephalic version. I also knew my chances weren't great. Factors working against me were numerous: first time mom, frank breech position, low fluid, anterior placenta... The chance of the ECV working were far <50%. I remained open minded, but tried not to get my hopes up.
37 weeks - ECV in the hospital. I had chugged water all day, including after the time I was supposed to stop drinking, in an effort to get my fluid levels up. It did nothing - the fluid was still low. My husband was a bit freaked out because I was prepped for an emergency c-section, which was quoted as a 2-3% risk (the literature on ECV states it's actually MUCH lower, but either way - I felt comfortable moving forward). In his mind, emergencies happen all the time (he's an ER doctor), so there was a "decent chance" we'd be coming home with a baby after this. Fortunately, the baby tolerated the ECV absolutely perfectly. I did, too -- I didn't have an epidural and was able to breathe through the discomfort with relative ease. Unfortunately, the baby didn't turn. The doctor tried 3 times, and the baby hardly moved an inch. He was completely stuck in breech position. Our c-section was scheduled for Tuesday, March 10 at 2pm. I was devastated. As soon as the doctor and nurse left the room, I broke down sobbing. I had known it was a small chance, but now there was no chance. The baby would be born surgically.
Over the next two weeks, I struggled with mixed emotions. I blinked back tears frequently, any time I thought about the upcoming c-section. Sometimes I would pace the hallways at night, crying, just mourning the vaginal birth I had envisioned for years (I've been a pregnancy/birth nerd for a decade, for those of you who haven't noticed, haha!). By the day before the surgery, I had accepted the fact that I was having a c-section, but I had lingering sadness that I wasn’t going to be able to deliver him naturally. The birth of my baby—and my entrance to motherhood—was going to be the exact opposite of what I had hoped for. The phrase “born into his father’s hands,” kept crossing my mind, bringing a lump to my throat. Our boy would not be born into his father’s hands, as I’d hoped. I would not excitedly anticipate the start of labor, work through contractions with the support of my husband, or birth my baby under my own power. It would all happen in a sterile room, at a pre-determined time, and according to hospital rules and procedures. As the clocked ticked forward toward the surgery, I had difficulty processing my thoughts and feelings. Things I had only imagined—a surgery, a newborn—were about to become real. I was excited to meet my baby, but it was just a bit too much to really wrap my head around.
Birthday - The surgery was scheduled for 2:00 pm on Tuesday, March 10, and we had to get to the hospital at 11:30 am. I woke up that morning feeling pretty good. I took a shower, dried my hair, and put on makeup. I had decided that I didn’t care how vain it was; if my baby’s birth was going to be a scheduled c-section, I was going to look nice in pictures, dammit! I checked through the hospital bags (one for me, one for baby) to make sure we had everything we needed. H and I loaded up the car, and we headed out. I was thankful that excitement had crowded out most of my sadness. Today we were meeting our baby!
We got an excellent parking spot and headed in, bags in tow. I registered and was immediately shown to the recovery room, where I would be prepared for surgery. I changed into a hospital gown and waited. After a while, our nurse came in and drew my blood and started an IV. When she took my blood pressure, it was a bit high. Thankfully, it dropped back into the normal range on a re-check. I saw that she had a stack of things ready for the baby, including a security band with a Hugs tag. I stared at that, knowing that it was going to be around my son’s ankle in a matter of hours. It hardly felt real. A resident came in with the ultrasound machine and confirmed that the baby was, indeed, still breech. I signed consent forms for surgery. Dr. S, my OB/Gyn, came in to say hello. We discussed the “gentle” c-section I was hoping for. He was supportive of my desire to watch the baby’s delivery and have the baby skin-to-skin in the OR. He respectfully explained that delayed cord-clamping wasn’t really an option, because breech babies are difficult to deliver and often have a bit of a delay before they start breathing. For that reason, he said, the pediatricians are usually a bit anxious to have the baby under the warmer and close to resuscitation equipment right away. I was fine with that, and a bit surprised. I hadn’t realized my baby might be a bit slow to start, and I hoped he wouldn’t have any difficulty breathing. Dr. S mentioned that the L&D floor was pretty slow at the moment, and we might be able to go back to surgery early!
After that, the anesthesiologist came in to discuss the spinal and immediate pre-op procedures. Knowing that he was the one in control of the surgical drape that would have to be lowered so I could watch my son being born, I brought up my plan to watch the delivery. I nearly panicked when he responded that he had never heard of that being done before. He launched into an explanation of the importance of protecting the sterile field during surgery. Seeing the panic in my face, he asked me if someone had told me I could watch my baby’s birth, to which I responded that the midwives AND the OB/Gyn had suggested the idea and were supportive. He said he would talk to my doctor and lower the drape if possible. This gave me a good deal of anxiety, as I was terrified that I wouldn’t bond with the baby if I didn’t see him coming out of my body. When the anesthesiologist left, I begged my nurse to find the nurse-midwife on call. The midwives had told me that unless they were delivering a baby, they would be with me for my c-section to support me and help advocate for my wishes. I knew that I was about to go back to surgery, and I hadn’t seen a midwife yet!
My nurse hung a bag of pre-op antibiotics and had me swallow sodium citrate. She also gave my husband a white bodysuit, hairnet, and mask. This was really happening! Finally, the midwife came in. Unfortunately, it was one I had never met, but she was very nice. I quickly told her about my plan for a gentle c-section and the anesthesiologist’s hesitation. She told me that she would help make it happen, and I felt cautiously optimistic. Shortly afterwards, the doctor came back in and said we were ready to go. Like a broken record, I reiterated my concern about the anesthesiologist and my "gentle" c-section. Dr. S responded that we would certainly lower the drape. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was immediately wheeled to the OR, and H had to wait outside.
The walls of the OR were covered in baby-blue tiles. I was instantly thankful for my background in nursing, because the room didn’t feel too cold or clinical. It actually felt kind of homey, just because I’ve spent so much time in hospitals. I moved from the gurney over to the operating table, and sat on the side waiting for my spinal. Suddenly, I felt vibrating in my arm and chest. I looked down and, to my horror, saw that my IV line was completely full of air. I knew that it would take a lot of air to kill me, but feeling it rush into my body and seeing so much in my line sent a shot of panic through me. I pinched the line, felt silly and let it go, then pinched it again as the vibrations shot through my heart again. I called out to the anesthesiologist, and he tried to remove the air. By that point, it had all gone in. The anxiety, or the air irritating my heart, or both, left me with a strange feeling in my throat. I coughed several times, and slowly felt better. The attending anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself (until then I had only met the resident). He was a goofy guy who kept telling me they were going to give me the absolute best care because of my last name. I didn’t let him know that our political leanings are the opposite of what my last name suggests.
As the resident anesthesiologist set up for the spinal, the midwife arrived in the OR. She came around the table and held my hands. The human contact was so comforting; I hadn’t realized how keyed up I was. It was all I could do not to cry as things got started. She asked me about the nursery theme and my job, and I was thankful for the distraction. The spinal was in before I knew it – a tiny sting in my back, followed by almost immediate warmth and heaviness in my legs. They were surprised it worked so fast, and I was assisted to lie down on the table. The drape went up and my arms were strapped down (something I thought I would hate, but I actually really appreciated the secure resting place). My H was allowed in at that point, and I desperately needed his touch to stay calm and connected to the moment. Everything was so surreal, but his touch on my forehead kept me grounded. I started bawling at that point – I needed one last good cry to mourn my lost birth experience and to decompress a bit from the stress and complex emotions. After a few minutes, I felt a ton better. I explained to the midwife that this was the opposite of the birth experience I’d hoped for, and she disclosed that the same thing had happened to her. We joked that “of course” we women’s healthcare professionals who believe strongly in pregnancy and birth as normal processes would end up with breech babies.
The nurse placed my catheter, which kind of stung. I’ve placed a million of those things, so I figure I deserved it. Then, the doctor started testing the effectiveness of the spinal. I could still wiggle my toes and feel some pinching on my abdomen, so the anesthesiologist gave me a dose of pain medicine in my IV. After that, I felt much more relaxed. I could no longer feel the pinching, and the surgery got underway.
At that point, I felt a strong sense of peace. For five weeks, I had been doing anything and everything possible to turn the baby. All of my mental energy had been focused on the dreaded c-section and what I could (or could not) do to prevent it. Now, our baby was about to be born – not the way I’d hoped, but the safest way. There was literally nothing else I could do to change it. Any sense of control and responsibility I’d felt was gone – I was powerless, and I liked the feeling. The stress was gone. All I could do at that point was relax and enjoy the process as much as possible. I felt clear, confident, peaceful, and excited to meet my son. I actually thought “this really isn’t so bad…I kind of like this!”
During the surgery, I felt the strangest sensations in my abdomen. It felt like little animals running around inside me – deep tickles and bubbles. At least a dozen times, I commented about how surreal this was – just magically having a baby delivered from me, on a date we’d scheduled. My H glanced over the curtain and informed me that they were getting close. A little bit later, the midwife said, “your water has broken!” and I knew it wouldn’t be long! The midwife and the anesthesiologist lowered the drape, and my H helped me lift my head to see over the mound of papery material. After a bit, I saw a little butt being raised from my abdomen. I was amazed – my mouth fell open and my eyes were wide. I knew I probably looked like a little kid on Christmas or something, but I couldn’t control myself. I was completely in awe, just watching my son’s birth. The doctors had to tug pretty hard, and the baby’s torso and butt were a beautiful shade of navy by the time his head finally came free. It was 1:41 pm. I heard them comment that he had passed meconium during the delivery and peed immediately after. He was crying a bit. I didn’t really get to see his face, because he was immediately whisked away to the warmer. I turned to my H and told him that I was ok, and to go be with the baby.
Lusty cries and shrill screams filled the OR as our baby perked up. I was leaning my head back to see the warmer, but it was just out of sight. The midwife told me he was 8 pounds, 8 ounces! I learned later that he was 21 ¼ inches long and had 9/9 Apgars. Within a few minutes, he was placed on my chest. Because of the angle, I could still hardly see his face, but I could feel his soft, wet little body and smell his sweet scent. I tried to get him latched on to breastfeed, but he just screamed. I tried to help him calm down, but the midwife reminded me that it was good for him to scream. His lungs did sound a bit wet. Finally, he calmed down and we settled him skin-to-skin with me. The midwife took a family picture as they stitched me up. I heard the midwife comment that the Dr. S had done a “really nice subcuticular closure,” which made me happy because I had been dreading the staples. I heard them announce my blood loss at 606 ml, which isn’t too bad for a c-section. Finally, I was slid off the operating table and onto the gurney, then wheeled back to recovery.
In recovery, I got to sit up a bit and look at my son. He was perfect – ten fingers and ten toes, a turned up little nose, pouty little lips. Somehow, he had blond hair and blue eyes despite both his mom and dad having dark hair and eyes. (We both expect this to change as he gets older!) He had a few signs of being breech – his head was angled funny in the back, from being jammed into the top of my uterus for so long, and one of his ears was floppy and bent in half. He also had frogged little legs, and when he got really upset he’d extend them straight up in the air. We spent some time breastfeeding in recovery, and it went fairly well. He had a bit of a tight latch and didn’t have his tongue quite right, but it didn’t hurt terribly. I was able to latch him on and have him feed on both sides.
Eventually, I passed the baby over to his daddy, who hadn’t yet gotten to hold him. It was so special watching my H hold our son for the first time. They snuggled and did some skin-to-skin time, too. I was heartened to see that he had worn a button-up without an undershirt just so he could hold the baby skin-to-skin. I had asked him to do that, in case anything happened where I was separated from the baby. It was so sweet to see them bond.
Our hospital stay was relatively uneventful. My pain was minor, and I was able to get around independently by the evening of the surgery. The baby nursed well and had a ton of diapers. His weight was checked on our 2nd night (about 30 hours of life), and he had only lost about 4.5%, which was great. Unfortunately, his transcutaneous bilirubin was a high, and he had to have a heel prick to check his serum level. It was just slightly high. The pediatricians repeated the serum bilirubin in the morning, and it remained just slightly high. They were happy with his progress and agreed to discharge him, as long as we had a pediatrician appointment the next day.
The OBs were happy to discharge me at 48 hours – I had been begging for this since we scheduled the c-section, and I was happy that I felt well enough to go home when I wanted to. I knew that all I needed to do was take it easy and stay on a schedule with the pain medication, and I’d be fine. The lactation consultants weren’t good enough to be worth staying for. The only thing I ended up missing was the hospital bed, which I felt I could have used for about 2 weeks at home.
After getting the “ok” from both the OBs and the pediatricians, we dressed Eamon in his going home outfit (pictured below). My H brought the car seat in from the car, I strapped him in, and we were soon on our way!
Home life - I recovered fairly well, physically. With my H, mom, and MIL helping out for the first 3 weeks, I was able to get at least 6 hours of sleep per night and a shower every day. My pain remained under control, though it was a full 2 weeks before I felt close to normal. I did have the baby blues pretty badly -- I cried every single time I saw my c-section incision, or even just thought about it. I cried over tons of other random inconsequential things, too. My emotions are pretty much back to normal now-- just a bit of anxiety, but that's my baseline. I've been able to drive, take baby shopping, and go on walks. I have lost about 30 lb of the 40 I gained, but I'm concerned that I've lost too much muscle. I haven't been eating - just not hungry!
Eamon is now 3 weeks old. He lost 9% of his birth weight by day 3, but fortunately my milk came in that day. He is now over 9 lb and a great nurser. He's a decent sleeper (except during his current growth spurt, UGH), but when he's hungry he goes from 0-60 in about 2 seconds. We are still working on some diaper rash which he's had for 2 weeks now -- switching to water/cloth wipes and using a hair dryer with every diaper change has helped a ton. We are so in love with him!
Gold star to anyone who actually read that, hah!
Lots more pictures here: Eamon
I tried to edit this down but it's still ridiculous.
Weeks leading up to the birth:
34 weeks (early Feb) - I found out baby was breech at a routine office visit. I started moxibustion, chiropractor visits, Hypnobabies breech turn track, and Spinning Babies maneuvers. I knew I had about a 50% chance the baby would turn on his own. Every day, I'd feel his little head smashed in my rib cage and get a sinking feeling - he was not going to turn. I'd been doing everything I could, and he wasn't budging.
36 weeks - Baby remained breech. I was upset, and knew my only option was an external cephalic version. I also knew my chances weren't great. Factors working against me were numerous: first time mom, frank breech position, low fluid, anterior placenta... The chance of the ECV working were far <50%. I remained open minded, but tried not to get my hopes up.
37 weeks - ECV in the hospital. I had chugged water all day, including after the time I was supposed to stop drinking, in an effort to get my fluid levels up. It did nothing - the fluid was still low. My husband was a bit freaked out because I was prepped for an emergency c-section, which was quoted as a 2-3% risk (the literature on ECV states it's actually MUCH lower, but either way - I felt comfortable moving forward). In his mind, emergencies happen all the time (he's an ER doctor), so there was a "decent chance" we'd be coming home with a baby after this. Fortunately, the baby tolerated the ECV absolutely perfectly. I did, too -- I didn't have an epidural and was able to breathe through the discomfort with relative ease. Unfortunately, the baby didn't turn. The doctor tried 3 times, and the baby hardly moved an inch. He was completely stuck in breech position. Our c-section was scheduled for Tuesday, March 10 at 2pm. I was devastated. As soon as the doctor and nurse left the room, I broke down sobbing. I had known it was a small chance, but now there was no chance. The baby would be born surgically.
Over the next two weeks, I struggled with mixed emotions. I blinked back tears frequently, any time I thought about the upcoming c-section. Sometimes I would pace the hallways at night, crying, just mourning the vaginal birth I had envisioned for years (I've been a pregnancy/birth nerd for a decade, for those of you who haven't noticed, haha!). By the day before the surgery, I had accepted the fact that I was having a c-section, but I had lingering sadness that I wasn’t going to be able to deliver him naturally. The birth of my baby—and my entrance to motherhood—was going to be the exact opposite of what I had hoped for. The phrase “born into his father’s hands,” kept crossing my mind, bringing a lump to my throat. Our boy would not be born into his father’s hands, as I’d hoped. I would not excitedly anticipate the start of labor, work through contractions with the support of my husband, or birth my baby under my own power. It would all happen in a sterile room, at a pre-determined time, and according to hospital rules and procedures. As the clocked ticked forward toward the surgery, I had difficulty processing my thoughts and feelings. Things I had only imagined—a surgery, a newborn—were about to become real. I was excited to meet my baby, but it was just a bit too much to really wrap my head around.
Birthday - The surgery was scheduled for 2:00 pm on Tuesday, March 10, and we had to get to the hospital at 11:30 am. I woke up that morning feeling pretty good. I took a shower, dried my hair, and put on makeup. I had decided that I didn’t care how vain it was; if my baby’s birth was going to be a scheduled c-section, I was going to look nice in pictures, dammit! I checked through the hospital bags (one for me, one for baby) to make sure we had everything we needed. H and I loaded up the car, and we headed out. I was thankful that excitement had crowded out most of my sadness. Today we were meeting our baby!
We got an excellent parking spot and headed in, bags in tow. I registered and was immediately shown to the recovery room, where I would be prepared for surgery. I changed into a hospital gown and waited. After a while, our nurse came in and drew my blood and started an IV. When she took my blood pressure, it was a bit high. Thankfully, it dropped back into the normal range on a re-check. I saw that she had a stack of things ready for the baby, including a security band with a Hugs tag. I stared at that, knowing that it was going to be around my son’s ankle in a matter of hours. It hardly felt real. A resident came in with the ultrasound machine and confirmed that the baby was, indeed, still breech. I signed consent forms for surgery. Dr. S, my OB/Gyn, came in to say hello. We discussed the “gentle” c-section I was hoping for. He was supportive of my desire to watch the baby’s delivery and have the baby skin-to-skin in the OR. He respectfully explained that delayed cord-clamping wasn’t really an option, because breech babies are difficult to deliver and often have a bit of a delay before they start breathing. For that reason, he said, the pediatricians are usually a bit anxious to have the baby under the warmer and close to resuscitation equipment right away. I was fine with that, and a bit surprised. I hadn’t realized my baby might be a bit slow to start, and I hoped he wouldn’t have any difficulty breathing. Dr. S mentioned that the L&D floor was pretty slow at the moment, and we might be able to go back to surgery early!
After that, the anesthesiologist came in to discuss the spinal and immediate pre-op procedures. Knowing that he was the one in control of the surgical drape that would have to be lowered so I could watch my son being born, I brought up my plan to watch the delivery. I nearly panicked when he responded that he had never heard of that being done before. He launched into an explanation of the importance of protecting the sterile field during surgery. Seeing the panic in my face, he asked me if someone had told me I could watch my baby’s birth, to which I responded that the midwives AND the OB/Gyn had suggested the idea and were supportive. He said he would talk to my doctor and lower the drape if possible. This gave me a good deal of anxiety, as I was terrified that I wouldn’t bond with the baby if I didn’t see him coming out of my body. When the anesthesiologist left, I begged my nurse to find the nurse-midwife on call. The midwives had told me that unless they were delivering a baby, they would be with me for my c-section to support me and help advocate for my wishes. I knew that I was about to go back to surgery, and I hadn’t seen a midwife yet!
My nurse hung a bag of pre-op antibiotics and had me swallow sodium citrate. She also gave my husband a white bodysuit, hairnet, and mask. This was really happening! Finally, the midwife came in. Unfortunately, it was one I had never met, but she was very nice. I quickly told her about my plan for a gentle c-section and the anesthesiologist’s hesitation. She told me that she would help make it happen, and I felt cautiously optimistic. Shortly afterwards, the doctor came back in and said we were ready to go. Like a broken record, I reiterated my concern about the anesthesiologist and my "gentle" c-section. Dr. S responded that we would certainly lower the drape. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was immediately wheeled to the OR, and H had to wait outside.
The walls of the OR were covered in baby-blue tiles. I was instantly thankful for my background in nursing, because the room didn’t feel too cold or clinical. It actually felt kind of homey, just because I’ve spent so much time in hospitals. I moved from the gurney over to the operating table, and sat on the side waiting for my spinal. Suddenly, I felt vibrating in my arm and chest. I looked down and, to my horror, saw that my IV line was completely full of air. I knew that it would take a lot of air to kill me, but feeling it rush into my body and seeing so much in my line sent a shot of panic through me. I pinched the line, felt silly and let it go, then pinched it again as the vibrations shot through my heart again. I called out to the anesthesiologist, and he tried to remove the air. By that point, it had all gone in. The anxiety, or the air irritating my heart, or both, left me with a strange feeling in my throat. I coughed several times, and slowly felt better. The attending anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself (until then I had only met the resident). He was a goofy guy who kept telling me they were going to give me the absolute best care because of my last name. I didn’t let him know that our political leanings are the opposite of what my last name suggests.
As the resident anesthesiologist set up for the spinal, the midwife arrived in the OR. She came around the table and held my hands. The human contact was so comforting; I hadn’t realized how keyed up I was. It was all I could do not to cry as things got started. She asked me about the nursery theme and my job, and I was thankful for the distraction. The spinal was in before I knew it – a tiny sting in my back, followed by almost immediate warmth and heaviness in my legs. They were surprised it worked so fast, and I was assisted to lie down on the table. The drape went up and my arms were strapped down (something I thought I would hate, but I actually really appreciated the secure resting place). My H was allowed in at that point, and I desperately needed his touch to stay calm and connected to the moment. Everything was so surreal, but his touch on my forehead kept me grounded. I started bawling at that point – I needed one last good cry to mourn my lost birth experience and to decompress a bit from the stress and complex emotions. After a few minutes, I felt a ton better. I explained to the midwife that this was the opposite of the birth experience I’d hoped for, and she disclosed that the same thing had happened to her. We joked that “of course” we women’s healthcare professionals who believe strongly in pregnancy and birth as normal processes would end up with breech babies.
The nurse placed my catheter, which kind of stung. I’ve placed a million of those things, so I figure I deserved it. Then, the doctor started testing the effectiveness of the spinal. I could still wiggle my toes and feel some pinching on my abdomen, so the anesthesiologist gave me a dose of pain medicine in my IV. After that, I felt much more relaxed. I could no longer feel the pinching, and the surgery got underway.
At that point, I felt a strong sense of peace. For five weeks, I had been doing anything and everything possible to turn the baby. All of my mental energy had been focused on the dreaded c-section and what I could (or could not) do to prevent it. Now, our baby was about to be born – not the way I’d hoped, but the safest way. There was literally nothing else I could do to change it. Any sense of control and responsibility I’d felt was gone – I was powerless, and I liked the feeling. The stress was gone. All I could do at that point was relax and enjoy the process as much as possible. I felt clear, confident, peaceful, and excited to meet my son. I actually thought “this really isn’t so bad…I kind of like this!”
During the surgery, I felt the strangest sensations in my abdomen. It felt like little animals running around inside me – deep tickles and bubbles. At least a dozen times, I commented about how surreal this was – just magically having a baby delivered from me, on a date we’d scheduled. My H glanced over the curtain and informed me that they were getting close. A little bit later, the midwife said, “your water has broken!” and I knew it wouldn’t be long! The midwife and the anesthesiologist lowered the drape, and my H helped me lift my head to see over the mound of papery material. After a bit, I saw a little butt being raised from my abdomen. I was amazed – my mouth fell open and my eyes were wide. I knew I probably looked like a little kid on Christmas or something, but I couldn’t control myself. I was completely in awe, just watching my son’s birth. The doctors had to tug pretty hard, and the baby’s torso and butt were a beautiful shade of navy by the time his head finally came free. It was 1:41 pm. I heard them comment that he had passed meconium during the delivery and peed immediately after. He was crying a bit. I didn’t really get to see his face, because he was immediately whisked away to the warmer. I turned to my H and told him that I was ok, and to go be with the baby.
Lusty cries and shrill screams filled the OR as our baby perked up. I was leaning my head back to see the warmer, but it was just out of sight. The midwife told me he was 8 pounds, 8 ounces! I learned later that he was 21 ¼ inches long and had 9/9 Apgars. Within a few minutes, he was placed on my chest. Because of the angle, I could still hardly see his face, but I could feel his soft, wet little body and smell his sweet scent. I tried to get him latched on to breastfeed, but he just screamed. I tried to help him calm down, but the midwife reminded me that it was good for him to scream. His lungs did sound a bit wet. Finally, he calmed down and we settled him skin-to-skin with me. The midwife took a family picture as they stitched me up. I heard the midwife comment that the Dr. S had done a “really nice subcuticular closure,” which made me happy because I had been dreading the staples. I heard them announce my blood loss at 606 ml, which isn’t too bad for a c-section. Finally, I was slid off the operating table and onto the gurney, then wheeled back to recovery.
In recovery, I got to sit up a bit and look at my son. He was perfect – ten fingers and ten toes, a turned up little nose, pouty little lips. Somehow, he had blond hair and blue eyes despite both his mom and dad having dark hair and eyes. (We both expect this to change as he gets older!) He had a few signs of being breech – his head was angled funny in the back, from being jammed into the top of my uterus for so long, and one of his ears was floppy and bent in half. He also had frogged little legs, and when he got really upset he’d extend them straight up in the air. We spent some time breastfeeding in recovery, and it went fairly well. He had a bit of a tight latch and didn’t have his tongue quite right, but it didn’t hurt terribly. I was able to latch him on and have him feed on both sides.
Eventually, I passed the baby over to his daddy, who hadn’t yet gotten to hold him. It was so special watching my H hold our son for the first time. They snuggled and did some skin-to-skin time, too. I was heartened to see that he had worn a button-up without an undershirt just so he could hold the baby skin-to-skin. I had asked him to do that, in case anything happened where I was separated from the baby. It was so sweet to see them bond.
Our hospital stay was relatively uneventful. My pain was minor, and I was able to get around independently by the evening of the surgery. The baby nursed well and had a ton of diapers. His weight was checked on our 2nd night (about 30 hours of life), and he had only lost about 4.5%, which was great. Unfortunately, his transcutaneous bilirubin was a high, and he had to have a heel prick to check his serum level. It was just slightly high. The pediatricians repeated the serum bilirubin in the morning, and it remained just slightly high. They were happy with his progress and agreed to discharge him, as long as we had a pediatrician appointment the next day.
The OBs were happy to discharge me at 48 hours – I had been begging for this since we scheduled the c-section, and I was happy that I felt well enough to go home when I wanted to. I knew that all I needed to do was take it easy and stay on a schedule with the pain medication, and I’d be fine. The lactation consultants weren’t good enough to be worth staying for. The only thing I ended up missing was the hospital bed, which I felt I could have used for about 2 weeks at home.
After getting the “ok” from both the OBs and the pediatricians, we dressed Eamon in his going home outfit (pictured below). My H brought the car seat in from the car, I strapped him in, and we were soon on our way!
Home life - I recovered fairly well, physically. With my H, mom, and MIL helping out for the first 3 weeks, I was able to get at least 6 hours of sleep per night and a shower every day. My pain remained under control, though it was a full 2 weeks before I felt close to normal. I did have the baby blues pretty badly -- I cried every single time I saw my c-section incision, or even just thought about it. I cried over tons of other random inconsequential things, too. My emotions are pretty much back to normal now-- just a bit of anxiety, but that's my baseline. I've been able to drive, take baby shopping, and go on walks. I have lost about 30 lb of the 40 I gained, but I'm concerned that I've lost too much muscle. I haven't been eating - just not hungry!
Eamon is now 3 weeks old. He lost 9% of his birth weight by day 3, but fortunately my milk came in that day. He is now over 9 lb and a great nurser. He's a decent sleeper (except during his current growth spurt, UGH), but when he's hungry he goes from 0-60 in about 2 seconds. We are still working on some diaper rash which he's had for 2 weeks now -- switching to water/cloth wipes and using a hair dryer with every diaper change has helped a ton. We are so in love with him!
Gold star to anyone who actually read that, hah!
they would probably get up to all sorts of mischief together 
I definitely agree healthy baby is the most important thing -- we wouldn't have had c/s if it wasn't! but it's not all that matters - mamas are important too. 
::hugs:: to you
