Once we got settled into our room I spoke with our doctor and the anesthesiologist, and we determined I'd do an epidural. It pains me to write that as I'd intended to forego the needle, but I'd not slept in nearly 60 hours and we knew I'd need strength in order to actually bring Ellie into the world. While I didn't sleep, I at least had a chance to rest for more than 7 minutes at a time, and since we were in for the long haul we started calling and texting family and friends.
After a few hours of not much progress (I'd stalled out at 5cm) I was given Pitocin and my water was broken manually. Since there was meconium in my water we knew it was a possibility we'd need some additional support once Ellie was delivered in case she'd swallowed some of it and/or was having any trouble breathing. Luckily, it never came to that. However, Pitocin didn't "seem" to do the trick as the monitors I was hooked up to didn't show any regularity and or increasing strength in contractions.
Our original nurse was about to go off shift and decided to check my progress as an afterthought...or so she could let the incoming nurse know where we stood. To her surprise, and mine, I was 9cm dilated and it was go time. To hell with patterns and "normal", I guess. At this point it was about 6pm, and by 9pm Ellie had made her welcome into the world. 8:47PM, to be exact. Between 6 and 8:30pm there was a lot of pushing, watch checking (the doctor had a scheduled C-section on the docket for 9pm), and random small talk from the nurse in between contractions. Oh, and Drew ordered dinner on the hospital phone a mere 18 inches away from me (talk about awkward) because the kitchen was closing at 8pm.
I'm not a mushy person; I'm more sarcastic than anything. My psyche at 8:45pm that night was still in some weird zone of "pre-Mom".
And then she was here.
Ellerie Ann Swanson. Oh my god. Slimy, amazing, with a wicked cone on top of her already coney head, and so itty itty bitty. My mind was blown, and I'll never forget the look on Drew's face - incredulous with a side of terror, perhaps. It seemed like the entire floor of nurses and specialists were in our room for the big moment, but Ellie quickly let them know with a howl that she could breathe JUST FINE, DAMMIT. :) We had the opportunity to hold Ellie for about an hour without any interruption (the golden hour) and it flew by. Then Drew watched with a perma-smile and followed along about as closely as the nurses would let him as they gave Ellie a bath, took her footprints, measured and weighed her. I, meanwhile, ate the ham sandwich and mashed potatoes that Drew had ordered me (eating seriously seemed so inappropriate, but whatever) and soaked up the idea of my child. My child. My daughter. Ellerie.
Happy 1st Birthday to my teeny tiny, sweet and smushy, stubborn little miss independent. Love you.
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