(Warning, this post is very long because I don't want to forget the details. If you want to skip straight to the pictures, they are at the end.)
Well, it was a very bumpy ride getting this little angel here. We waited to find out who this little person would be, and Owen, Lizzie, Tori and I were all pretty sure that this baby would be Charlotte Kay Peterson...but Daddy thought it was a boy, and he was right! The only problem was that we had NO idea what to name a boy. After months of searching, we had a list of names. Daddy liked Ian, Miles, and Wyatt (in that order), and Mommy liked Jonah, Isaac, and Wyatt (in no particular order). So, here's how it went down...
My due date was December 24, Christmas Eve. I hoped all through the pregnancy that this baby would come safely, and well before the due date. Since my experience with babies never once included counting contractions, I wasn't really concerned about that part. As I told people a thousand times, "My body doesn't know how to contract without pitosin." My only hope was to have my water break. I also had a hospital date on December 19 to be induced. I went to my appointment on Friday, December 2, and was only at a 2. Bummer. At least that would leave time for my sister to take some maternity photos the following Saturday. That didn't happen, but before my sweet nephew Liam was born we took a few of the prego bellies together. (Keep in mind that I still had six weeks to go at this point!)
At 2:30 AM on December 6 I woke up to horrible pain in my lower abdomen that radiated down into my thighs. Well, those obviously weren't contractions, because nobody had ever said a single thing about having contractions in your legs. I ignored them and tried to go back to sleep. No such luck. I was up for hours with these annoying (and totally inconsistent) pains, until my kids started waking up. At that point I went about my day as normal. Got all three kids ready for school, taught two preschool classes, and when kids got home from school we started homework, piano practice, etc. Somewhere in the middle of the day I called my midwife and asked her what the pains were...apparently they were contractions! Unfortunately for me, they had almost stopped by then. There had only been a few during my afternoon class.
As I sat working on the preschoolers' gifts to their parents I started to realize that the contractions were really getting bad, and I started timing them. They were still 7-10 minutes apart, so nothing to get excited about.
I got up and started making dinner. The contractions went crazy almost the minute I stood up. I tried to prepare food, but quickly gave up and opted for a meal of leftovers. I couldn't even handle that, and my precious seven year old offered to take over. She started to reheat food for each of her siblings. Every 5 minutes or so Tor would come to hold my left hand and Liz would run in to hold my right as I tried to breath through the contractions.
Tom called and asked if he ought to come home from the work event he was at. I told him that there was nothing to get excited about and not to worry about it. After all, my body doesn't know how to contract...right?
Finally I laid down in bed in an attempt to see if these contractions were really going somewhere. They slowed down right away. I waited 20 minutes for a contraction, then 15, then 7. Still slower than before. Hmmm now what? Off to presidency meeting I went. After all, being in the primary there are a million things to get done in December. I counted contractions all through the meeting, but we were looking at 8 minutes apart, so nothing to worry about yet.
When I got home from my meeting at around 10:00 I was annoyed. I had been having contractions for hours but didn't really feel like it was doing anything, and I didn't know what I was supposed to do if it was.
Finally we went to bed, but the contractions got worse. Now is it time to call the hospital? I had no idea. At around midnight I called the midwife again. The conversation went something like this:
"Jane, I am so sorry to call you so late, but I am having some pretty intense contractions."
"How far apart are they?"
"About 2-4 minutes."
"Well, do you want to deliver this baby in your living room?"
"No."
"Well, then I suggest you get to the hospital."
I called my mom to come and sit with my other kids over night while I went to the hospital. When we finally got to the hospital and checked in it was around 1 AM on December 7. Before they asked my name or told me their names, the three nurses racing around my room asked if I wanted an epidural. YES PLEASE!! My midwife came in to check me.
"Please don't send me home, Jane!!!"
"Jenn, you aren't going home. You are at an 8 1/2 almost a 9!"
HOLY CRAP!
The anesthesiologist raced in, they got me an IV, and they put a blood pressure cuff around it to get my fluids in. (I did this without an epidural the last time, and it was rough. This time I was gonna do everything in my power to get the drugs!) The epidural test dose was in and that was all I was gonna get. Three contractions worth of pushing later I looked down to see my beautiful, miraculous baby boy! (OK, so there are some details left out there, including the explosion that soaked Daddy when my water finally broke, but this is still a public blog.)
I DESPERATELY wanted a picture where I looked pretty right after the baby was born, but apparently when you have a baby on short notice, in the middle of the night, that doesn't happen. I still look happy, right?
My little man was 6 lb 15 oz when he was born, but only 6 lb 4 oz at his check three days later. He couldn't figure out how to suck, so he lost tons of weight. He is doing so much better now, thankfully!
Now onto the two difficult tasks--breaking the news to the kids that the baby was not a sister, but a brother, and finding a name for this little prince.
For several hours we fretted over what his name should be. The only name we both liked was Wyatt, but we didn't feel like that was the right name. Finally we realized that since he was our miracle, the baby that we weren't sure would ever exist, he needed to be named Isaac. Just like the Isaac in the Bible that was a miracle and a gift to his parents, this little guy was a gift and a miracle. His middle name, Allen, was easier than I expected. He was born on Pearl Harbor day, and his great grandpa Allen, who had passed away only a matter of weeks before he was born, was a veteran of WW II. We couldn't think of a better way to remember him.
Breaking the news to the siblings was much easier than anticipated. They were so happy to meet their brother that they barely even noticed that it wasn't the sister they were expecting. I love the expressions on their faces in this picture. They were so happy to meet him!!
