Like I did with
Brooke, I'm going to take a little time to recount the events leading up to, and of, Miles' birth. His was a little more eventful than Brooke's so it's only fair to warn you that this is long and detailed. But I think it'll be fun for him to look back on someday.
Our little guy was due on March 25, 2012. At my 20-week ultrasound on Halloween, the doctor said he was "98% sure" that Miles was a boy. Matt literally told every neighbor that we ran into that night that we were having a boy. At my next appointment a month later, I joked that we were picking out paint colors, so was he sure it was a boy? He offered to do another ultrasound since I was the last appointment of the day (I love my doctor). This was a bad idea. This ultrasound did not give him as much certainty that it was a boy, although he said that if he had to say, he'd say it was a boy. This made us (Matt) a little nervous. Fast forward to my 32 week ultrasound when a different doctor said something to the effect of, "If they said it was a boy at 20 weeks, that's a better view than what we see now..." (We were obviously thrilled that the baby was healthy, but we're planners and this rocked our world a bit. In retrospect, the whole situation was a great, albeit somewhat silly, lesson from God in giving up control.
Just like with Brooke, I was showing "progress" for at least a month leading up to my due date. At my appointment a week or two out, the doctor said, "You can make your appointment for next week, but we'll see you before then. And I NEVER say that." I remained skeptical, which turned out to be a good thing. I did have some "signs" of labor starting the Friday before my due date and was convinced that something was going to happen in the next day or two. But those "signs" (that were pretty gross - I'll spare you details) continued for another few days, so who knows what was going on? I had a doctor's appointment on Wednesday (3 days after my due date) and we chose to induce on Friday. I was really torn as I had hoped to go into labor on my own this time, but again, my family was coming up from St. Louis and I wanted them to have time to meet and get to know the baby.
I had been having Braxton-Hicks contractions pretty regularly for a couple of weeks leading up to my due date, but I remember on Wednesday night things changing. I just didn't feel great. The contractions were much more uncomfortable and when I started paying attention, I realized they were about 15 minutes apart. And they stayed that way for a full day. I wasn't as emotional as I had been prior to my induction with Brooke because literally every night for a week I'd gone to bed prepared for it to be my last night saying goodnight to her as an only child. I was kind of over it and ready to get the show on the road.
I woke up around 4:30 that morning with a contraction, but went back to sleep...to be woken up 7 minutes later by another intense contraction. I waited out a couple of contractions, also 7 minutes apart, then woke Matt up. I remembered "them" saying something to the effect of "if you aren't able to sleep through the contractions, it's the real deal." I asked him if we should call the doctor and he groggily said something about how they'd probably just tell us to wait until 7, our scheduled induction time, to come in. I'm not sure if I said this out loud, but I definitely thought, "You are going to be in big trouble if by not calling I miss my chance for an epidural."
Isn't this a great picture? It was in the elevator on the way up to Labor and Delivery. Matt's so sweet and thoughtful. And funny.
So, I let Matt go back to sleep. I took a shower, paced around a bit, and watched the morning news. It really was amazing how the contractions were like clockwork. The news would say, "It's now 5:26..." and I'd think, "Here it comes...". Debbie came over to watch Brooke for us and I remember having to take a break from talking to her to walk out a contraction. It was raining on our way to the hospital. I had a contraction on the way to the hospital. I remember thinking, "WHY DID WE MOVE FROM CAROL STREAM?! THAT HOUSE WAS SO MUCH CLOSER TO CDH!" (
Edit: It has come to my attention {by someone who may or may not be the future mayor of Wheaton} that our current home is actually .2 miles closer to the hospital than our former home was, although it sure as hell didn't feel that way at the time.) We checked in. Another contraction. We finally got to my room and I told the nurse right away that I didn't think I was going to need to be induced. She kind of patronized me then checked and said, "Oh. You're right. Let me get the doctor." Before she left I said, "I don't know who I need to talk to about this, but I WANT an epidural." She informed me that they'd do their best but she couldn't guarantee it.
Cue the panic. I'd been hanging in there until that point, clinging to the knowledge that I'd get to the hospital and the pain would disappear. Let's be honest, Matt was freaking out a little bit at this point, too. He's the one who had told me we didn't need to come in early. The doctor (who looked like a college student to me, proving that I was officially Old) came in, checked me, and said, "Congratulations, I think you're going to be our first baby of the day." Great news, but where was my freaking epidural?!? The nurse came back in and said that the L&D anesthesiologist was in an emergency C-section so they were going to try to find another one somewhere else in the hospital. A CNA-in-training that looked like "The Todd" from Scrubs came in and introduced himself. I remember immediately telling him in a panicked tone that I was going to throw up. His eyes got huge and he ran from the room. He was on the wrong floor if he was hoping to pick up women.
He came back with the emesis basin (I didn't throw up) around the time an anesthesiologist came in. Cue the back-lighting and singing angels. I told him that I was going to name our son after him. And I was only half-joking. For the record, I was 8 cm dilated when I finally got the sweet nectar of the gods. I began apologizing to the nurse for being such a wimp. Then I did throw up. She said that sometimes that indicates being fully dilated and sure enough, she had someone run to get the doctor. {Turns out I probably could have done it without an epidural, but I was in NO way mentally prepared for that to happen, so I'm glad it didn't.} About thirty minutes after getting the epidural, I pushed a handful of times - I think 7 or 8 - and out came our boy at 9:59 am, on March 30.
While we were fairly certain he was a boy, there was something about going in not totally sure that made seeing him for the first time extra-exciting. I didn't think he looked that big and was shocked when they said he was almost 2 lbs. heavier than Brooke had been (He was 7 lb, 15 oz). Right away, I noticed that his eyes were just like his sister's. And that he had really long nails, which for some reason I find a little gross.
Names are always an interesting discussion for us. Matt's a yuppie/athlete/weird name guy and I'm more biblical/classic. Matt had been set on the name Miles since I'd thrown it into the mix several months before to distract him from his most recent suggestion (probably Trophy or something like that). I still had a few names I liked, but I've loved the name Miles for years now, so Miles it was. Timothy was his middle name, after my dad (and brother). Matt and my brother also have their maternal grandfather's names as their middle names, so it's kind of a tradition?
Brooke came in to meet him first while we were still in the delivery room and Krissi, my mom and the kids had made it from St. Louis by the time everyone else was able to meet him in our room upstairs. Despite my somewhat unromantic recollection of it, it was an amazing, magical day and we've tried not to take for granted for one second how blessed we are.
