Five years ago today, I was sitting on the couch watching TV while Sir Monkeypants did a little work on his laptop at the kitchen table. It was my due date.
I’d had an OB appointment that morning, which showed no dilation or any action of any kind, so my doctor had booked us in for an ultrasound later that week. But it was my due date, dammit, and I was convinced I’d have the baby that day, no matter what.
My will, she is like iron.
6 pm — I feel something that seems like a contraction.
6:45 pm — There’s another one!
7:15 pm — Definitely a third. Time to alert Sir Monkeypants. Since it’s our first, he immediately drops everything and gets out paper, pen, and a stopwatch. Let the race begin!
7:30 pm — From this point on, I start having contractions about every five minutes, but they range in duration and strength. Thus begins the long decision making process of, “Should we go to the hospital? Because I don’t want to be that lady that gets sent home for coming in too early and bothering the nurses. But this does seem like labour. Doesn’t it? And also, ow.”
10 pm — Decision made; let’s hit the hospital and get checked out. Sir Monkeypants calls our moms to let them know that we are going in, but this probably isn’t it, and we’re probably going to get sent home, so don’t get too excited. Then they both pass out from excitement.
10:30 pm — I’m only 1-2 cm dilated, but contractions are strong and regular, and since my appointment of just that morning showed nothing at all, the nurse declares me to be in labour. They aren’t busy at all, so she gives me the option of going home to “labour in comfort” (ha ha!), or staying. I choose to stay and immediately ask for an epidural. Crappy news of the day #1 — you can’t have an epidural until you’re at least 3-4 cm dilated, or else labour might stop. Crap!
11 pm — The delivery rooms all have a whirlpool tub, so I get in so I can “relax.” Instead I just feel really self-concious being all huge and naked like a beached whale. Meanwhile, Sir Monkeypants is at my side, calling me “mayonnaise” a lot and quoting from all the Rocky movies. He thinks he’s funny. He’s lucky he’s still alive.
1 am — I beg the nurse to check me again and she does, and joy! I’m 3-4 cm. Crappy news of the day #2 — when you are ready for your epidural, it’s highly unlikely that the epidural guy is just sitting outside in the hallway right outside your door, ready to rush in and help a gal out. Especially at 1 in the morning. It’ll be a while before they can track him down and get him here. Crap!
1:30 am — I receive an epidural. I immediately propose to the epidural guy. He says he gets that a lot.
2 am — I get some sleep. Sir Monkeypants gets sleep too — sitting up in a chair with his head on a table. Who’s mayonnaise now, eh, eh?? Eventually the nurse takes pity on him and finds him a recliner to sleep in. Meanwhile, she checks my status many, many times.
5 am — I’ve been at 9.5 cm dilation for almost an hour now, but there is a “little lip” that stubbornly refuses to go away. The Captain’s heart rate begins to fluctuate and there is some concern for the baby. The doctor on call comes in and tells me that if things don’t progress quickly, they will have to use suction or forceps to get the baby out fast. I’m half-asleep and still having epidural joy, so I must say, I have very little appreciation for the possible seriousness of this situation.
8 am — My own OB, Dr. Farrell, comes on for his shift. He comes to see me right away and seems pretty pissed off that the baby isn’t out yet — apparently his heart rate is really not doing well. The nurse is all, “little lip, little lip” and he reaches in and pops it out and is all like, “You mean that little lip, that should have been popped out like, five hours ago??” I’m awake now and a little concerned.
8:20 am — Dr. Farrell breaks my water and it’s full of meconium. It’s time to get the baby out fast. Lucky for me, three pushes is all it takes. (Well, that and a little help from some forceps and an episiotomy. Ow.)
8:28 am, March 12, 2003 — The Captain is born. They take him to the nursery immediately because he inhaled meconium, and they need to clear his lungs. He spends the first few hours of his life in an incubator while they monitor his breathing and try to get him to pee.
noon — I finally get to hold the little guy and try to feed him…but then it’s back to the nursery, and he isn’t too happy about it. Luckily, by the next afternoon, I get to have him in my room. I’m a mom!
Happy fifth birthday, Captain. You made us into a family. It’s been five happy, happy years, and I’m overjoyed to know you. I love you, little guy.
TurtleHead 
I do love a good birth story. Thanks!
Interestingly, though in many ways very different, CJB’s birth and Mr Excitement’s birth had some common features. Mr E also had some meconium issues (when ‘s water broke it had a pea-soup consistency) and he spent the first three hours of his life in an incubator. I was able to watch him but didn’t see him at all until 3 hours later. A little unsettling, but now it’s just a story to tell him when he’s old enough to understand (I wonder when that will be?).
Were your doctors concerned about the meconium? Did they do anything to hurry things along? You should write your own birth story!
I ask because there’s a case here from a few months ago when, sadly, a baby died during a home birth delivery attended by two midwives. It’s under criminal investigation now. The press keeps saying that since there was meconium in the water, it was a clear and obvious sign that the baby was in trouble, and the woman should have been moved immediately to a hospital. But I’ve heard from lots of people who had meconium — enough so that it seems like quite a common occurrence, so it doesn’t seem to me like a midwife would consider meconium, in and of itself, an emergency. My doctors at the hospital only really seemed to get concerned (both with the Captain and the Wee One) when the meconium was taken into account with other factors, like the baby’s heart rate falling off, and labour not progressing quickly enough. Hm.
Honestly I don’t recall if they did anything special about the meconium. In fact I rather doubt it, since I do remember that they were swamped that night; we went in at 5 and it was obvious that there was meconium, but we didn’t deliver have surgery until almost 10 (9:51 to be exact!) because there were other more critical cases ahead of us. After the birth I’m sure they did some tests, but says he didn’t aspirate any of the meconium. I do also remember though that her Mom was pretty concerned about the meconium (though we were satisfied that the hospital staff weren’t).
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