Maggie Maye's Birth Story (Only a year late)

My baby girl turns a year old tomorrow, which means I'm weaning her on Thursday.
I am alternating between feeling disbelief, nostalgia, and a leetle bit of panic...because, you see, this is the oldest baby I've ever had without being pregnant again--Jack was 11 months when I became pregnant with Clark, and Clark only made it 9 months before Maggie decided that she really really wanted to join our family--and didn't want to wait any longer.
Since I did not have a working computer at the time that she was born (or a reliable camera, unfortunately--one of my big regrets is that there won't be as many pictures to this post as I'd like), I didn't write any of her birth details on this blog--but that is about to change.
Everyone loves a good birthin' story, right?  Even if it is a year-old one.
My pregnancy with Maggie was pretty similar to my first two, with two major differences--first, even before we got pregnant, I knew that a girl was coming to join our family--and she didn't want to wait any longer than she had to-so although Steve was shocked when we saw the ultrasound proof, I wasn't surprised in the least.  Maggie had already let me know that she was coming.
Second, I didn't get nearly as big as I had gotten with the boys.  Here are a couple of pictures from me at 38 weeks:

Can I just say, it was incredibly refreshing to tell people when I was due and have them say things like "Already?  You're so small!!" instead of "Are you sure you're not having twins?" 

I was much smaller with Maggie than with either Jack or Clark, and with two quite rambunctious boys to chase and carry (one of whom decided not to start walking until after Maggie was born), it was a blessing to have the increased mobility that comes with a relatively smaller belly to maneuver around.

Despite the normal I-wish-I-could-die morning sickness I tend to get through the first 16 weeks or so, the rest of the pregnancy with Maggie went really smoothly, although I started experiencing some strong Braxton-Hicks contractions as early as 30 weeks along.  I talked to several friends and experienced family members, who all let me know that this was pretty typical for a third pregnancy, so I didn't worry too much about them. 

Maggie was due on May 15th of 2012, and I fully planned on carrying her at least that long, but the night of May 6th (which was a Sunday), I started having a lot of false labor--strong contractions every 4 minutes apart like clockwork, all night long.  Steve and I got really excited (although we tried not too--we've been burned by false labor before), called the midwife and everything--and then, around 4:30, they stopped.

Durnit.

So, although I was bleary-eyed come Monday morning, I tried to finish everything I'd been stressing about the night before when I thought I was in labor--I cleaned up the house, did some laundry, washed the baby carseat cover, packed my bags for the hospital (yeah, yeah, I know I'm a procrastinator, but I waited this time because I had two very curious little boys who would've unpacked anything I'd prepared), and basically stayed busy.

I had an appointment Tuesday morning, and as I went in to see my midwife, I asked hopefully if all that false labor had done anything.  She checked, and since I was at a two and only a week away from my due date, she offered to strip my membranes.  Since it had worked like a charm with Clark, we enthusiastically agreed, after which I went home and Steve headed back in to work (although for as unfocused as he was, he might as well have come home right away with me).

I stalled and cleaned and stayed as busy as possible until the contractions started--around 1:30 that afternoon.  They started out pretty mild, but gradually got stronger, and by 3:30, I texted Steve and asked him to come home.

My dad came over to stay with the kids, and although I was still stalling (I even sent Steve to run an errand), around 4:30 is when I started feeling a little bit of that panicky feeling--the contractions were definitely stronger at that point, and I was really having to breathe through them.  Steve and my dad gave me a priesthood blessing, which really helped me to feel comforted, and then we took off for the hospital, where we met my mom.

 Once we got checked in, my two angelic nurses (one of whom was my Young Women's president when I was a Beehive and Mia Maid--the most-requested labor and delivery nurse at this hospital) got me calmed down and on an IV right away.  Once the first dose of antibiotics was in, I was able to relax a bit, and the contractions became easier to work through.  Steve, my mom, and I walked around the hospital, laughing and talking, for 4 hours, until it was time for the second dose of penicillin (this was at 10).  As soon as I'd finished with the second dose, they broke my water, and that was when things started to get intense.

With my two first pregnancies, I prepared quite well--I had worked on breathing and helping my body to relax every night for months before my due dates, and Steve and I had practiced working as a team, coaching my body on how to relax through contractions.  However, with this pregnancy, I don't know if I was just more tired from chasing my two boys, or if I just got cocky and thought that I already knew how to go through labor, so I didn't have to prepare as well, but once they broke my water, I started tensing--which made things much more painful. 

Because I hadn't practiced with Steve, I wasn't really able to respond to his coaching.  I was keeping my body tense in between contractions, which was wearing my body out and making it harder to progress.  After an hour and a half of really intense contracting, I was DONE.

"Can I push yet?" I gasped, after an especially strong one finished.

The nurse got me on the bed and checked, then kindly shook her head.  "You're only at a 7, sweetie--you've still got a ways to go before you can push."

At that point, I panicked.  I had already been going through really strong, really close contractions for the last hour and a half, and it was 11:30.  I was tired. 

"I can't do this anymore!!  Can I have some pain meds?" I cried.

Steve looked pretty shocked (as he should--I had been pretty adamant about having natural births before).  "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeee--EEESSSS!!!" I shrieked as the next contraction hit. 

The nurse quickly injected something into my IV.  "This won't completely stop the pain, but it should help you relax," she told me as it hit my veins.

"Oh, thank you," I murmured as I closed my eyes, appreciating the relaxing effect flowing over my body--until the next contraction hit and I was once again squirming, grasping the railing on the hospital bed, crying out in pain.  This time, however, the moment the contraction finished, I was able to sink back into a fully relaxed state--until the next contraction would come, and I would again be moaning, squeezing Steve's hand, in exquisite pain.  This happened four more times, and then, suddenly, my eyes flew open--

"I've got to PUSH!" I yelled, still on my side.

"Hang on, Jewel, you can't push when you're on your side--" Steve started.

"I don't CARE!!  I have to PUSH!" I stubbornly repeated.

"Hang on--wait a minute--" the nurse waited for the contraction to subside, and then quickly got me into a more convenient position for pushing.  "The baby's crowning!" she shouted.

Wendy, my wonderful midwife, heard the kafuffle from the hallway and ran in, pulling on a glove.

"You said you wanted to catch the baby this time?" she asked Steve, as I started yelling again.

"Yes--" he said excitedly, pulling a glove on--

"She's coming!" I yelled.

"Wait a minute--" Steve grinned, still trying to get the glove on his hand--

"No!  I'm not waiting!" I grunted,  and pushed once--hard.  Steve and Wendy caught the baby together--only one gloved hand between the two of them--and laid her on the table, gently.

"Is she a girl?" I couldn't quite quite believe that it was already over.

"Yes!" Steve smiled through his tears.

I immediately grabbed her--my perfect, pink baby--and held her to my chest, sobbing.

 

 

She was perfect.  She nursed immediately, scored a 9 on both Apgar tests, and had the sweetest, longest fingers and toes I had ever seen on a newborn. Steve and I knew immediately what her name was going to be--Maggie Maye Busch. 

When they weighed her, I laughed out loud--6 lbs., 13 oz.  No wonder she came out so quickly! 

That night was a perfect one--I don't think I slept a wink all night; I was just enjoying the sweet sounds of my newest little miracle sleeping next to me.

The next day was quite relaxed.  Because she'd been born at 11:57, we couldn't check out until after spending two nights in the hospital, so knowing that made it nice to just enjoy the quiet (the boys couldn't come visit, due to RSV restrictions) and spend time with our sweet little daughter. 

That afternoon, however, something rather scary happened.  I was sitting on the couch, and Steve was on the bed, sitting next to Maggie's bassinet, when she started spitting up.  She'd already spit up several times (only a foreshadowing of coming events), so he automatically turned her on her side and started patting her back.  She kept gagging and spitting, however, and then began arching her back and turning blue. 

"She's not breathing!" he gasped.  He grabbed her and ran down to the nurse's station with me following as quickly as my post-labor body could possibly move.

"She's not breathing--please help!" he sobbed, and the nurses took her and immediately started performing CPR.  They rushed her into the nursery, where she started breathing again, and then put her near the oxygen, where she started to pink up.

This whole time, I just felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience.  I saw what was happening almost as if it was happening in slow motion, and although I wanted to do something--anything--it felt like one of those dreams where your feet are stuck to the floor.  It was honestly the most terrifying thing that I have ever been through.

I've taken CPR classes, and intellectually, I know what to do when a baby stops breathing.  But to have it happen to my newborn daughter rendered me completely, absolutely helpless.  I still haven't quite forgotten the shame of that moment--standing by and wringing my hands as others stepped in to save my baby.

My parents came by to see their newest granddaughter as we were finishing up in the Nursery--I was still shaking, and Steve was watching, anguished, as they continued to monitor her oxygen levels.

Thankfully, because of the quick thinking of Steve and the nurses, she was breathing again mere moments after she stopped, and we were allowed to go back to our room after twenty minutes or so, where my parents were able to meet her properly.

 

 

The rest of our hospital stay was, thankfully, uneventful, and we were able to check out and come home late the next morning to some family members who were pretty excited about meeting the first girl in our family:

Andrew and Julieann, Steve's brother and sister-in-law, came over to visit, and they brought their baby, Reese, who had been born only two months before Maggie.

True to form, although Mags was by far my smallest baby, she was still noticeably bigger than her two-month-old cousin.  I have a feeling that that trend will continue.  She does have Flake blood in her, after all!

Speaking of Flake blood, my cousin (baby Teresa) was born on the same day, in the same hospital as Maggie!  Teresa was born at 12:10 in the morning, while Maggie was born at 11:57 that night.  They barely share a birthday, but it still counts!

I love this picture.  These Busch guys have NOOO idea what to do with girls--but they sure are smitten!!
Getting home and getting adjusted to having three was, as you all know by now, a learning experience--dealing with baby blues on top of two toddlers (one whom was having developmental delays) was not a fun time for me.
But I wouldn't exchange any of the difficulty for my little girl--my first daughter--my Maggie Maye.

Happy birthday, girlie!!