Happy Birthday Trent!

Today is the 12th anniversary of the day I first became a mother. My firstborn was born at 11:29 pm on this day in 1994. I remember it was hot - a very hot day in Provo, Utah. World Cup Soccer was being played in the US and my husband was deeply engrossed in it. The day actually started quietly - I had been in the night before to the hospital in what I thought surely had to be labor. Not so, we were sent home after three disappointing hours of wandering the hospital corridors with no progress. They gave me a morphine shot before sending us home so I could rest. Matthew teased me about pink elephants the ride home. I woke up the next morning with not one single contraction and was quite upset by that. I was done! I was enormous! My waist expanding to twice its size literally. The pregnancy had been a long and very uncomfortable one. I spent the first 26 weeks losing my breakfast, lunch, dinner and everything in between virtually non-stop. There was a hospitalization at 15 weeks when morning sickness finally completely overwhelmed me and I had lost 20 lbs by then and was severely dehydrated. At last the vomiting stopped and while still feeling pretty queasy, started enjoying food again, all the way to a 36 lb weight gain - all in the last 18 weeks of pregnancy. Oh my - talk about stretch marks! But, this was the baby we had wanted so much. The seemingly easy task of getting pregnant seemed to elude us as it did not for our friends. Many doctors appointments, many tests, some fertility medications and many, many, many months later we were staring at our first ever positive pregnancy test. I was giddy, ecstatic - oh my gosh, I was sooooooooooooo verrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy sick!

The pregnancy progressed, as most pregnancies do and soon we found ourselves very near the end. Matt had just graduated from College and we were hoping for a job offer soon and a baby as well. Everything seemed perfect - and so we waited, and waited. May went by with no job offer - though Matthew did go on interviews and submitted numerous resumes as he had been for a few months now. The transmission on our car died and I was still very pregnant - despite many episodes of false labor. Some that had my midwives worried about a preterm delivery - until, at last I was past 36 weeks, and then 37, and 38 and then they started telling me I needed to "have that baby soon!" as they figured he was going to be enormous! So, that morning in June, after finally receiving a job offer that would take us to Idaho, I sat disgusted - feeling huge and bloated and tired of waiting, playing a game with Matt, with nary a contraction. I think you are most anxious with your first - or at least that was how it was for me.

My husband is a major soccer fan - having played soccer for BYU as well as throughout his childhood. He was thrilled to have the World Cup being played in the States so he could watch the matches on tv. I warned him that I planned on having a baby in the month of June and it might interfere with his soccer viewing schedule. He said that was okay - but I was under strict orders that under no circumstances could I go into labor during two specific matches. These were the matches he most wanted to watch. Well, I missed the first one and nailed the second one. We finished our game so Matt could go watch his soccer match. I headed to the restroom, which happens pretty much every five minutes when you're that pregnant. I hadn't realized my water had broken a bit earlier - it being just a slow leak. I did notice I was beginning to have contractions - and these were NOTHING like the ones I had been having up to this point. These hurt - these were coming every 3 minutes and were 1.5 to 2.5 minutes long. Guess when I start - I start hard and fast! After becoming convinced this was the real deal - I make my way to the couch and am clinging to the edge for dear life telling Matt it is time to go. He is glued to the tv. "In a minute" I am beginning to feel like in a minute I am going to be having the baby at home. Okay - now give me some credit here - I was a firsttimer, little did I know . . . Finally, after what seems like an eternity to me and in reality, probably was only the space of maybe 2 contractions, I issue my ultimatum: "I am going to the car, if you are there when I get there, great! If not, I am driving myself!!" I head out the door. Matthew could have given me a 5 minute start and still beat me to the car at my rate of speed, but, we both get to the car and we both drive off to the hospital in American Fork together. I was glad to see he had his priorities straight - I didn't think I was capable of driving anywhere on my own!

We arrive and get settled into a room and they check me and I am, despite all the agony, only 2 cms, which I have been for 6 weeks at this point anyway! Now I am beginning to worry - they are going to send me home. If this is what early labor feels like - I am not going to survive active labor and they CANNOT SEND ME HOME! I don't want to go home. I want to stay and have a baby - I want my body back, I want to meet the little person who has been kicking the stuffing out of me and making me feel so ill. Just as I think they are not going to keep me, the nurse asks "did your water break?" Well, I really don't know - I haven't seen anything below my navel for 6 months. She double checks and sure enough - salvation! My water has broken and I get to stay!! We won't mention that about 2 hours later while still waiting for the epidural and slowly crawling towards 4 cms that I changed my mind and decided I just wanted to go home and pretend the whole thing wasn't happening . . .

So, to make a very long story short - I finally get the epidural , which at that point I whizz to 10 cms in less than 20 minutes, push for over 3 hours with no progress and get wheeled in for a csection. I turned into a mass of trembling, whimpy, whimpering jello who was more than happy to have things taken over by someone who was going to put an end to the insanity that was turning out to be my labor and delivery. So, I was numb from the neck down, Matt had a fancy blue paper suit on, the doctors joked, and soon they were showing me a red, screaming, cheesy looking wrinkly thing with a massive conehead. It is a boy! He's also a lot smaller than I expected given my girth . . . I told Matt to have them double check they got everything out. Apparantly I had blown up like a water balloon - all fluid, little baby. I had to wait 2 hours, through finishing up the surgery, recovery and then finally being settled in my room before I got to see my new little man again. While my doctor (who was too tired to answer my questions) spent 45 minutes discussing the day's soccer matches with Matt; I got to hold my baby at last! Poor little thing - his head looked so sore, the swelling starting to go down some, but a big bruise and blisters forming on it. But, he was beautiful - he was mine!

And now - a dozen years later, he's not as little anymore, only occasionally makes me throw up, but I think he's turned out pretty okay.

This picture is of Trent when he turned a year old. I can't believe how much he looks like our youngest Adam who is now the same age as he was. Like coming full circle almost . . .

Happy Birthday Tent-man! It's been a pleasure, and certainly not the end of the story . . .

 
***Originally posted June 29, 2006