If you follow me on Facebook or Instagram, you already know that Baby Babb is FINALLY here. Yes, he made it here three weeks ago, at a whopping nine days past due. He didn’t come in the way that I thought he would (I had hoped he would be here on time, or perhaps even a week early) and he even made me have to change every plan that I thought I had about his birth.
For those of you who know me, you know I don’t adjust well to things not going as planned. If you don’t know me, I’ll fill you in really quick on how this went…
At 8 days past due, I went to my doctor’s appointment with every intention of begging to be induced. I had made it far past any level of comfort (every knows that the last month of pregnancy blows) and could no longer sleep for more than about a 20 minute stretch without being in absolute pain. Little did I know induction would be taken off the table because my little man’s head still had not engaged, and his cord was consistently hanging below his head, which put us at risk of a prolapsed cord had my water broke and that cord not moved. At that point I realized that my natural, unmedicated birth was going to be taken completely off the table.
Never having had surgery before, the word “c-section” scared me to a level that I could not comprehend. I texted my husband, who I had assured that he didn’t need to bother going to that appointment, because I was so upset that I couldn’t call. I cried like a big giant baby for nearly two hours (and accidentally stole a box of Kleenex that I believe are still in my car!) and almost didn’t get released to go home because I was such an emotional wreck that I made my blood pressure go sky high.
By the time I got home and told everyone what was going on, I had calmed down. I started researching c-sections and attempted to make myself okay with it. I talked to friends who had had c-sections previously and heard their stories… This made it better, because I figured if they could do it, so could I.
The next morning I got up, and crankily made my way to the hospital (no food, no coffee, no water… It’s a wonder that I didn’t kill someone). I was, at this point, no longer excited about the birth of my son, although I was still excited to meet him. Immediately upon my arrival, I was put into triage to wait for my surgery. I changed into a hospital gown and was hooked to an iv, had to take out all of my earrings (try doing that when you have fat swollen preggo fingers) and prepare for what I was sure would be one of the worst experiences of my life. Visitors made their way in and out of the tiny triage room (something I swore I didn’t want, but I was so thankful for, as the most calming person for me was my husband’s sweet sister who thoroughly explained everything I would be going through— have I mentioned before how much I love having all the information up front?) and before we knew it, it was time to be wheeled to the OR and to meet our baby boy.
I won’t go through the details of the c-section (honestly, other than almost kicking a nurse when I got my spinal block and how itchy my face felt from the meds, it’s all a little blurry to me) I’ll just tell you that the hardest part was watching them take my son out of the room while I was getting my tubes tied of being stitched up. Well, and the next hardest part came later, when I wasn’t allowed to get up for 12 hours afterward (or eat! Seriously, a liquid diet is not something that I can wrap my head around), and I wasn’t able to change my son’s first diaper. I had to talk my husband through it, which was HILARIOUS!
In the end, it was definitely all worth it, I got my sweet James Walter Babb out of it. All 8 pounds and 10 ounces of him! And even when he keeps me up nearly all night, I wouldn’t trade a single moment with him for the world!
