Happy Birthday Sebastian

I wish I had some crazy story to go along with the entrance of our first son into this world but alas, I don’t.  He was late and scheduled.  As nice as it would’ve been to have him in my arms rather than be 37, 38, 39, and 40 weeks pregnant, we were actually hoping for a late arrival – anytime after January 1st of this year – for insurance reasons.  (In a nutshell, after the twins were born we added them to my individual insurance plan while Anthony kept his own because we weren’t allowed to switch to a family plan until the election period.  That period came and we switched but our fam plan wouldn’t become active until January 1, 2013.  Great, good, grand, and wonderful, right?  Wrong.  Then we got pregnant with Mr. S in April and found out at our first doc appointment that we had at 365 day waiting period in which NO maternity care would be covered.  Mind you, we endured the same waiting period when we had first signed up for this insurance three years prior.  I mean, we were part of the same insurance company so why the waiting period when all we did was switch plans?  Might I also mention that I have been covered under this insurance (*cough*BlueCrossBlueShield*cough*) since I was a wee tot?  Is that an infuriating idea to anyone else?  “Get to the point Sheena!”  Right.  So, Sebastian was due Dec. 30th but his delivery wouldn’t be covered unless he was born in 2014.  A couple of days was literally the difference between us paying thousands of dollars or only paying a small deductible.  Nail-biting.  Well, the kid arrived Jan. 3rd and we still have an open savings account, thank God.  And, needless to say, we switched insurance companies for the above hassle and frustration PLUS the fact that due to Obamacare, our new BCBS plan was going to cost us $300 more per month (!!!!) starting in 2014 and loaded us with a deductible that was $5000 more than what our current had been.  What a joke and a whole ‘nother story.)

So, 2014 was here.  Anthony’s parents were here to help us out while we were at the hospital but they were only here until the 7th of January.  So, because we really needed their help while and after our hospital stay, we planned an induction for January 3rd.  Back up to the night of January 2nd, when this story starts…

You might remember I was induced with the twins.  I went in the morning of their birth because I was (and had been for three weeks) three centimeters dilated.  Seven hours later, they arrived.  With the boy (he didn’t have a name until a few hours after birth), I had been barely one centimeter for weeks so I was told to come in the night before the actual induction for a “kick-start”.  So, we put the girls to bed along the usual routine and then packed up and shipped out to arrive at the hospital around 10 pm.  We walked through the barren lobby, rose up the empty elevator, and waddled (just me, not Ant) down the quiet hallways of the labor and delivery ward where we were given our room assignment and me the super-stylin’, backless gown.  When we were settled and signed in, a nurse came in and checked my dilation (if I was three cm or more, I’d get to go home…I was hoping that was the case).  One freakin’ centimeter still at 40.5 weeks!  All-nighter at the hosptial ‘twas.  They gave me that little white pill they put up by the cervix to soften it, one at midnight and one at 4 am.  Exciting, no?  After the second one, I started feeling stronger contractions (strong as in still pretty weak but hefty compared to the boring Braxton-Hicks).  I was missing my girls, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was pregnant and delivery was imminent, battling whether I should get the epidural or not, scared at the thought of labor pains, dot dot dot.  For short, my mind was racing so sleep hid from me.  I faded in and out all night to whatever was on the mounted television or my phone until 6:30 rolled around and my doc came in to break the boy’s water.  Buuut, break it did not.  The kid really didn’t want to come out and he meant it.  After trying a few times, the doctor said he’d come try again later if it didn’t break on it’s own.  At this point I was a little scared I’d made the wrong decision to induce seeing as some little someone was hell bent on staying inside… 

But, the party kept on going.  Pitocin was added to my drip…oh wait, let me back up.  Right after my doctor left, a nurse came in to check me again (one cm, mayyyyybe two) and stick me with the IV.  Stick me she did and with no results.  I’ve had a few too many IV sticks in my life and have never given a nurse a problem poking me.  Then this one came along.  She was sweet as could be but she had to call in another nurse to get my IV in.  What’s worse than one giant needle poke?  Two, in my book.  Once nurse numero dos got my IV in, the pitocin came and with it, contractions.  Stronger and stronger, you might know how it goes.  Along with the contractions came water.  Apparently the sac had been punctured because with each contraction came a small tidal wave.  Check that one off the list and keep on laboring. 

By the time 9:45 am rolled around, I had had my fair share of contractions and requested the doctor with the numbing meds to come along to me “pretty, pretty please”.  My nurse said he had a few other rounds to make and that he’d probably be 15-20 minutes.  Okay.  Fifteen minutes passed.  Twenty minutes passed.  Thirty minutes passed.  Did you know that once your water breaks, contractions become 2847593 worse?  Forty minutes passed.  Welling tears.  Fifty minutes passed.  “Offer it up, offer it up, offer it up…AHHHH!”  An hour passed.  “Curse the anesthesiologist!/Somebody kill me!/We are DONE having kids!  An hour and fifteen minutes pass and guess who waltzes in.  Yep.  He who supposedly would have/should have been here an hour ago!  (Side note:  Never let your frustration towards a doctor wielding a very large needle show to said doctor.)  I know he wasn’t frolicking down the halls with a lollipop in hand or that he stopped and hit up all those post-Christmas deals on the way to my room so I tried not to be too perturbed at him but just happy all the pain was about to cease.  I tried my hardest to “bend over as far as you can” during” one of those wonderful post-water-break contractions and to keep my wincing to a minimum but damn, that hurt! 

One, two, skip a few because after the epidural kicked in with all it’s fuzzy warmth, uneventful was the name of the game.  The time was 11 am.  The nurse continued to come in and check my dilation (I had hit 5-6 cm sans epidural) and declared around 11:35ish that “we’re gonna start pushing.”  Part of me was excited it was finally time to meet this kid but the other part wasn’t.  The few minutes of shut-eye I had gotten the night before were obviously not going to hold up against the energy it took to push a baby out.  On top of that, my legs felt like they were on the fluffiest clouds you could pluck from the sky and I was warm and toasty and…….zzzzzz.  That’s what I wanted.  I wanted everyone to just leave me alone so I could sleep.  I didn’t want to push.  I was even okay with waiting a few hours to meet our son just so I could take a round trip flight to dreamland.  But, back to reality.  It’s time to push.  Legs up.  Here’s a contraction.  Push like you mean it only you can’t exactly feel where or how to push because you can’t feel anything under your lower back so you sorta just wing it and hope the kid is sliding out?  Yes and yes.

So with every contraction it’s three, 10-second sessions of pushing, over and over and I’m the most tired I’ve ever felt in my entire life when all of a sudden Anthony lets go of my hand and says “Babe, I’m sorry. I think I’m going to pass out.”

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!!!Suspense!!!

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!!!Suspense!!!

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I looked over at him and he was white as could be.  The nurse looked at him like “Great, he’ll pass out and then it’ll be me and two basket cases vs. the one I already have” and then she told him he’d better sit down.  And that’s as exciting as got.  Anthony put his rear in the nearest seat for a few minutes and took a few deep breaths and all was back to normal in a few minutes.  More pushing from me until finally the seas calmed and the wind died down as my wonderful doctor walked through the door.  (Seriously, I have theee best doctor.)  After what felt like an eternity (but in reality was about 30 minutes) of pushing with the nurse, it seemed we weren’t really getting anywhere.  Why?  Because the boy was transverse somehow – head down but crooked!!!  Like I said, hell bent on staying put.  Doc told me I could’ve pushed forever and never moved him because of his positioning.  I had one word to describe my son so far – “stubborn”.  Let’s hope he left it at the cervix.

Five minutes and a little help from the doctor later and our 7 lb. 7 oz. baby boy was born.  The time was 12:23 pm.

 

At this point I was so tired all I wanted to do was take a look at the miracle kid and take a nap.  Maybe sad but true.  I looked in awe at him on my belly and then handed the care-taking baton to Anthony.  The next few minutes and hours are a blur.  I vaguely remember nausea, feeding Sebastian (still unnamed) for the first time and being amazed at the power-nurser he was right from the get-go, drinking the two apple juices they gave me like they were my last meal (I hate apple juice but I was starving!), and the opening and closing of the door as nurses came and went.

Later, the recovery party started (always fun) as the epidural wore off and allll the glorious effects of giving birth came in full swing.  Don’t worry, I won’t go into details but I did “joke” over Instagram that I’d wish the pains of labor and it’s recovery on the next person that ticked me off…only I wasn’t joking.  Look out. 

Somewhere during that time we also settled on the name Sebastian Richard – Sebastian inspired by St. Sebastian, patron of soldiers and athletes and Richard, after my father who passed away in 2004 – vs. Solomon, Felix, or Isaiah or any other names I came up with that Anthony shook a stick at.  (Sebastian’s been Anthony’s dream name for a son ever since picking names for an upcoming kid has been an issue in our lives.  It also happens to be my sister’s favorite name and a strong contender for her first son.  That son was born last July and lucky for us, her husband wasn’t a huge fan of Sebastian so Augustin became him.  Crisis averted.)

That night my in-laws dropped by with the twins, who were a little weirded out.  At first they just stared at me and weren’t interested in giving me any attention much less climb in bed with me but after a few minutes they warmed up, checked out the tiny human in the room, and took to their norm of checking out the place and attempting an overhaul.  Can’t you tell how overjoyed they are via this gem?

       
I think it’s a framer, whadya think?  I know, let’s talk about how the only two people in utter comfort here are the men…

So, there ya go.  The first chapter in the story of our third addition.  There’s not much more I can say about it except that I’m glad it’s over and that it’s a real good thing you forget the pain (wait, do you really because I’m pretty sure the memory still makes me wince…) because we’d all be only-children, am I right?

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Hungry for more labor pains?  Grace has a monster link-up with lots and lots of birth stories.  Go over and get your fill of other people’s pain…in the most miraculous and exciting way of course.  ;)