The night before the induction was, of course, spent fretting over which outfits Tiny Dancer would wear after her birth. Oh and also mentally torturing myself about the decision I had made and whether or not I could go through with it. By the time I went to bed it was 12:30 and I had to wake up at 5 and call the hospital to find out what time they wanted me to come sacrifice myself to them. The go time was 7 am. I couldn’t sleep after that so naturally, I did my hair and makeup. (Hey a girl gets a lot of pictures taken of her on the day she gives birth.)
We made it to the hospital on time, and by 8 am, they had me hooked up to the pitocin and my doctor had broken my water. The nurse was instructed to turn the pitocin up a notch every 30 minutes until noon and by about 11 the contractions were so strong that I asked for the epidural. An hour and a half later the anesthesiologist showed up so you can imagine how many times I said the word “fuck” in that time. It was a lot. Like a lot. I’ll spare you the details of the epidural because it was, well, it was NOT pleasant. But eventually it worked and I was pain free.
I texted my girly friends around 1:30 pm to tell them that the epidural was in place, I was 6 cm dilated, and I was eating an Auntie Anne’s pretzel dipped in spicy cheese (which the nurse yelled at me for by the way. Worth it.) I figured at 6 cm, I could realistically maybe not give birth until well into the evening. Fast forward about 45 minutes and I start feeling like her head is coming out. I asked my husband to get the nurse and as he was walking away I yelled something to the effect of ‘nevermind, get your ass back here, this baby is dropping out of me right now…’ So he had to check and sure enough, her head was coming out. The nurse came in and had my husband put on a gown and gloves (it was part of the plan that he was going to deliver… we just expected a doctor to be present too.) So he was all suited up and getting ready. Dr. Awesome got there just in time and in only 4 pushes, baby London was out.
She had a sweet little cry and as soon as she was out I said, “Is she really a girl?” (You see, I’ve been having dreams that they made a mistake and I was actually having a boy.) Everyone thought it was hilarious that I asked, but I was 100% dead serious because I needed to know if I was going to be dressing a girl or boy in all these pink clothes I have.
Bottom line is she is healthy and doing great. She is a champion sleeper already and I’m hoping that continues. The boys are adjusting. Bugs loves her to pieces and L is unsure of what the hell is going on. He says, “Baby” when he looks at her and then proceeds to throw books at her head and try to squeeze her skin. We have a wee bit of a Lenny situation going on over here.
The biggest surprise of all? I am so, so happy. You see, when I discovered that I was going to have babies 18 months apart, all I could really think about was how difficult it would be… 2 kids in diapers, 2 crying babies, 2 car seats, double stroller, double no sleep. I guess I never really considered how adding a baby to my family was also going to add an infinite amount of love as well. And the fact that I now have a daughter? Mind blowing. I look at her and try to pick out ways she looks like me. I think of all the things I wish someone would have told me when I was a little girl and plan on telling her. I try on nicknames like Princess and Pumpkin. And mostly, I think of ways that I can help her become a strong, healthy and confident woman. I already knew this, but having her here reiterates the fact that the best way I can do that is to be one myself.