Our forth and LAST child had just turned eleven months old. We had recently decided to sell our house and move closer to the base so Brandon didn't have such a nasty commute. I also decided that since we were moving to an area that didn't have the best public schools and since I was finished with pregnancy, it was the perfect time to try my hand at homeschooling.
Going back to selling the house, we had tons of projects to finish up before we could list it. We spent every Saturday in July doing projects. The 29th was no different. We were in the basement all day painting the bedroom down there.
The night before, Brandon and I went out to dinner and a movie. While we were eating dinner, he said,
"you're pregnant." I said,
"NO I AM NOT AND DON'T SAY THAT AGAIN." He had said it a couple of times in the two weeks prior.
The next day, I of course took a pregnancy test.
I've been known to take one every now again. I've even been known to buy them by the hundreds on ebay and amazon. Especially since I was still breastfeeding number four and hadn't had a period yet. I watched the control line appear and said to myself, "See, I knew I wasn't pregnant." Then tossed it in the trash can.
Later that evening I was in the bathroom giving the younger two a bath. I was sitting on the toilet right beside the trash can that had the negative pregnancy test. I thought to myself, "I need to see that negative one more time for peace of mind." WELLLLLLLLL, so much for peace of mind. The sucker sure did have two lines on it. I scared the boys in the tub when I yelled. I ran downstairs to show Brandon and he just laughed and smiled. I was NOT laughing or smiling. Remember, our fourth and FINAL child was only eleven months. And he was the LAST one we were going to have. Remember?
I was pretty sure I was going to die. I had really struggled having four. How in the world was I going to manage five? And what about moving? The house we were buying was only 1100sqft. It only had TWO bedrooms. How was I going to fit FIVE in one room? I had it figured out with four. Four I could do. But FIVE??? Not happening. And homeschooling? How could I do that with TWO babies? Millions of women do it, but me? Not me. There was no way I could do it.
How far along was I? I hadn't had a period in almost two years.
What if I was like six months pregnant? Not likely considering I buy tests in bulk for a reason, but still. I went to the OB that following Monday. I told him I didn't know how far along I was, but that the line on the test was faint. He assured me I was having a chemical pregnancy and that I would miscarry any day. He did an HCG test to measure the hormone level anyway. He said it should be at least 2000. It was 200. That confirmed it. I was going to miscarry. He did two more level draws, each going up, but not as much as it "should." He finally did an ultra sound to see what was going on. And there was my chemical pregnancy.
Heartbeat and all. My due date was April 4, 2007.
That night I told Brandon that if he ever wanted to have marital relations again, he had better get that vasectomy he was going to get after number four was born. He did. But that's another story for another day.
I'm not one to enjoy pregnancy, but for some reason, after I got over the shock and awe factor, I was really enjoying it. Perhaps it was because I knew that this special time of my life was coming to an end. (ha!) I wasn't uncomfortable, I enjoyed all the moves and twists and turns. I was really enjoying being pregnant.
Our house sold in January. We moved the last week of February. The day we moved into our new house, I stepped wrong and used my midsection to regain my balance and stop myself from falling. It felt as if sometime ripped inside. I was 34 weeks, almost 35 weeks pregnant. The next day, I was feeling like I usually do when I'm pregnant. Miserable. It couldn't end soon enough. The next three days were just like that.
Thursday morning around 2am I woke up and used the bathroom. I figured I had eaten something that really messed my system up. It's not like me to have to do that at 2am. I woke up again at 6am and had to go again. I wasn't feeling very good at all. I had so much to do, but didn't feel like it at all. So I didn't. I laid on the couch all day. I even canceled my doctor's appointment for that day. I decided that I needed to do something about dinner, so I got off the couch about 3pm, got some chili going in the crock pot and took a shower. After my shower, I sat back down on the couch and decided I felt a bit crampy. I didn't think anything of it.
Brandon came home from work(late as usual back them) around 6pm. We sat down for dinner and while we were eating, I realized that I was still having that crampy feeling. At this point it was close to 7pm. I told Brandon that I just didn't feel good or right and that I needed to go lie down so that the crampy feeling would go away. Well, after about 15 minutes it got worse.
I was only 35 weeks.
I. Was. Not. In. Labor.
We were planning on having him at home. But I hadn't ordered the birth kit yet. I was going to do that the next week. Plus, 35 weeks can go either way. I told Brandon that I should probably go get checked out. Just in case.
So I made a few phone calls and my brother came to our rescue. He worked close by and always worked late on Thursdays. He got there in minutes. While he was there we decided it would be best if he took the kids to his house. At this point, the cramping was getting stronger. Brandon ran around getting the bags packed for the boys, and I was halfheartedly packing one for myself. I seriously didn't think I was in labor.
Once we got in the car, my nerves got the best of me and I told Brandon to drive faster. It was pouring down rain, but I needed to get there fast. I needed to know that I wasn't in labor. Plus, the cramps were hurting. Kind of.
I hadn't registered at the hospital because I had no intentions of delivering there. The lady in charge of doing that took me seriously when I said that this was my fifth and that I go fast.
The nursed in triage....not so much.
We got up there to triage and the nurses just rolled their eyes when I told them I was 35 weeks pregnant and wasn't sure if I was in labor or not. They got me in a room and I changed my clothes. They hooked me up to the monitors and went out. When Brandon realized how long this was going to take he left to move the car into a real parking shot. Before the nurses left I told them I go fast. I am calm, but I go very fast and my actions don't get out of "control" until it's time to push. More eye rolling. After about 20 minutes they decided it that they should check me. She stuck her hand in me, her eyes got really big and she said, I think you're a six with a bulging bag. She said, I need so and so to check you though. They came back within 30 seconds and the other one checked me and said, "you're a nine with a bulging bag. We're going upstairs." "Ha. Ha. Ha. In your face. I TOLD YOU I GO FAST." I didn't say that, but I wanted to. I get that they deal with a lot of hormonal women who "think" they are in labor. I get it. But when you're dealing with a woman who has had four babies and her longest labor was three hours, and the shortest being less than an hour, shouldn't you at least take what she's saying a bit more seriously? Really?
So they wheeled me upstairs and the doctor was already waiting for us. He checked me and said I was a ten with a very, very, bulgy bag. At this point Brandon came running in. We were all just sitting around waiting for something to happen. Talk abut hurry up and wait. Crazy. They had called up respiratory from the NICU. Being 35 weeks pregnant with white male, they didn't leave their bases uncovered. He did finally say, that if he broke my water, I'd probably have him. At ten, there is no going back, so I agreed.
Once I realized I was in labor, and they wheeled my upstairs, I tried my hardest to freak out. I was having a preterm baby. It was not OK. But in reality, I was very calm. I really wasn't worried at all. I just felt like I should. Silly I know.
He broke my water and we just sat there. The nurse from the NICU looked at another nurse and said, "I've never seen anything like this." I can only assume she was talking about how I was just sitting there and the doctor was just sitting there, us both looking at each other. The doctor finally asked me if I thought I could push. I said, sure, why not. So I pushed and out he came. He cried right away, so I was able to hold him. He pinked right up and looked great. I asked the doctor before I pushed him out to wait to cut the cord if he was ok. He agreed. He didn't want to, but he agreed. After about a minute he asked if he could cut it. I said, Um, it's still beating. Let's wait. He sighed. Then a minute later he asked again. I said no again and he went over to the table and stared filling out his paper work. About 10 minutes later, it was finished pulsating and he came over and asked again. I said sure, and under his breath he said. "now that he's probably anemic." I just rolled my eyes. Such a different experience when you deal with doctors verses midwives.
They did eventually want to take him and run every test under the sun on him. I said yes to a sugar test but that was all. I should have said no to that one too. The blood didn't even soak into the test stick and the test came back at 42. They freaked out and said I needed to pump right away or they were going to give him formula. I said, OK, got like one drop, gave it to him, they tested him again and his sugar was 92. That one drop didn't do anything. His sugar was fine all along. The first test was wrong. The nurses drove me crazy wanting to do all kinds of tests and bath him and stuff, but other than that, the hospital experience wasn't as bad as it could have been. We survived.
He weighed in at a whooping 6lbs 1oz and was 18". To say he was tiny was an understatement. Especially considering the baby before him was 9lbs 8ozs when he was born.
Seth was a very sweet baby. He was and is a blessing that we're grateful to have in our lives. He's still a tiny little runt, but that doesn't stop him. He's very determined to get what he wants, when he wants. It's a darn good thing he's cute!
Happy Birthday Seth! We love you!
