I think every mom gets nostalgic around her childrens' birthdays. At least, I do. Whereas Jack's birth was peaceful and a thing of beauty, Josh's birth was a lot more comical.
Of course, a birth story really starts about 9 months prior. We had felt God leading us to move to Arizona. Our home in CA sold in 9 days, with multiple offers (unheard of nowadays). We both got jobs for the local school district. We bought a home that was slightly bigger than we needed. Or so we thought.
The move was monumental and hilarious in it's own right, but this is about Joshua. The day after we moved, we found out we were expecting. The day after, y'all. The day after we had uprooted ourselves, moved to a town (and state!) where we knew no one! Oh yeah, and Jack was 6 months old. To say that I wasn't overjoyed would be an understatement. Yet, as Joshua grew in my womb, my love for him grew as well.
Five days after my maternity leave began, I woke up feeling "strange". I really can't explain this feeling, but it's just "different". I was still 18 days away from my due date, so I was confused. Nonetheless, I called Jack's babysitter and asked if I could bring him over, just in case.
First off, Joe kept telling me that I had to have this baby on a weekend, because he didn't have any sick leave accumlated yet. Am I good, or am I good? The whole house was sick the previous 3 day weekend, so that was out. Then Joe was in Globe (90 minutes away) Tuesday and Wednesday for more workshops. Thursday, he was in Pinetop, but still working. They got Friday off because they had worked 12 hour days in the workshops. The whole time, Joe was telling me that it can't be it because he has not finished the kitchen remodel. Sounded a lot like when he told me that I couldn't be in labor with Jack on Christmas Eve because he wasn't done Christmas shopping yet. uh huh, men.
So, I went with him to Home Depot and thought that walking might be good for me. Yeah. My contractions were now 5 minutes apart instead of 15. Joe took me home, but went right back to rent the cement saw. He said he was gonna get this concrete done before the baby comes. The doctors (on the phone) told me that it was Braxton Hicks. It wasn't Braxton Hicks.
At home, I was in my sanctuary, listening to my relaxing music, doing my relaxation breathing, and there was Joe: sawing a hole in the concrete slab, so that I can have electricity on my new island. Then he discovered that sawing concrete produces a lot of dust. A LOT of dust! He proceeded to return the saw, buy a mop, mop the entire house, dust the entire house, and vacuum the area rugs.
I told him to get packed for the hospital, that we needed to leave. He threw a load of laundry into the machine. He took a 20 minute shower. He threw the laundry into the dryer. Then he dressed like he was going to church. All this time I'm up to about 4 to 5 minutes apart. Could we hurry up a little?
When we got to the hospital, they were packed. They didn't have any available rooms. So, I labored in the hallway a little. Some doctors standing there talking asked Joe if I was ok. He said, "oh, she's having one of those contractions". Thanks babe.
Well, I got the "closet". This room was so small, it barely had room for my bed, a chair for Joe, and some monitors. They affectionately call it the "closet". Seriously though, closets are bigger. It was like a Seinfeld episode. Everytime someone would walk in, the other people would scrunch down by the bed. Then another person would come in, and everyone would scrunch some more. Joe, being so chivalrous, made some room by going to get pizza. He was hungry. Nevermind that maybe I was hungry, thirsty, IN LABOR!
Then Joe decided he HAD to buy new shoes. Right then. 6:00 PM on a Friday, in the mountains. Well, it did create room in the "closet". When they checked me I was only a 3. I had been a 3 at the doctor's earlier that week. They said that I could stay an hour, but then I might need to go home because they were full. An hour later I was at a 4. They said that I really should be at a 6. Joe and I looked at each other and said, "we can do that". So, instead of drugs, which they offered, we walked the hallways. Word to the wise, walking really works. We stopped every now and then to have a contraction, but we did good. Then Joe saw a person he had worked with on the rez. They talked. I contracted. They talked some more. I contracted some more.
Finally we went back to my "closet". I was a 6! Good, now I get a real room. As they were cleaning the real room, I was just going through it hard. My relaxation wasn't helping taking the edge off. My contractions were 90 seconds apart with 60 second contractions. And they hurt! I asked for Staydol to help ease the pain. They checked me. I was now a 7. Too late for Staydol, but I could have an epidural.
What the heck. I did it natural the first time, I couldn't keep up with the pain this time, give me the drugs. The doctor can't put the needle in during a contraction. But the contractions were so close. By the time he got the needle in and the drugs in, my water broke and I was at 10. I could still feel the contractions because the drugs hadn't kicked in yet. Our babysitter walked in at about this point. As she was getting her camera all set up (what can I say, we were close), Joe leans over and "whispers" real loud, "it looks like it hurts. Does it hurt?" Um..... yes. A few contractions later (oh, and ladies, I'm not one of those screaming types. I labor quietly, praying, visualizing, meditating, etc) Joe leans over and "whispers" again to the babysitter, "it looks painful. Is it painful?" Um, how can I say this..........YES!!!!!!!!!! Joe cracks me up.
Finally I got to push. Third push, Joshua Robert. Just like that. So, when the nurses tell you that you might have to go home and you are only a 3. Don't listen to them. Listen to your body. Because I went from a 3 to done in 3 hours. And listen to your body if it feels "strange".
