Life According to Matt and Val: The Weekend Declan Made Things Interesting

I started a draft of this blog on Saturday afternoon but got too tired to finish it. Originally it was entitled "The Weekend Declan Tried To Make Things Interesting," and it started off with this disclaimer: "Before anyone panics, I'm not writing this from a hospital, nor am I typing with a baby in my lap."

Well, as eloquently written as this was, neither statement holds true anymore, so I pretty much had to scrap that whole thing.

If you're looking for a sure fire way to make sure something happens at the most inconvenient time possible, publicly declare that it won't happen on a social media. I dare you.

I think Declan took his "groundation" as a personal challenge-- a way to show me how this mother-baby relationship was really going to work.

Matt left for Pennsylvania on Friday morning and I spent the evening hanging out with my wonderful sisters-in-law. My plan was to go home that night, but a bout of crazy weather and a power outage at our house secured my placement on Rachel's futon that night.

Around 2 AM I noticed how incredibly uncomfortable I was-- even by the typical, "I'm eight and a half months pregnant and feel approximately 2,000 pounds" standard. Around 4 AM it dawned on me that this discomfort could, in fact, be the beginning of labor. I started counting my "Braxton-Hicks contractions" and realized that they were coming at regular seven minute intervals. By 5 AM I was on the phone with Matt trying not to freak out.

After talking with the folks down at Lewis Gale Hospital, we decided there was no need for Matt to hit the road until the contractions were five minutes apart. I spent the afternoon contemplating my sanity; was I possibly imagining the whole thing? If Matt abandoned his best man duties and rushed home, would he miss his best friend's wedding for nothing?

That afternoon, after seeing a slow in the contractions, I decided to go to the hospital in Radford just to get checked out. That way I'd have something more definite to base my decision on. Well, the nurse there told me my contractions weren't regular or close together, and that I hadn't progressed at all. All signs pointed to false labor. I called Matt and told him not to even bother driving home that night.

And then the freight train started its trek through my birth canal. Pain like I'd never felt hit me in a slow wave, first twice an hour, than every twenty minutes. At that point I knew this thing was happening, but I had no idea how quickly it would occur.

I, very naively, decided I'd have Matt leave early the next morning. That would give me time to go to church, hang out a bit, and leisurely make my way to the hospital when he arrived home. Hah. Right.

Within an hour contractions had gone from every 13 minutes to every 7 minutes. The pain was so bad that I called the hospital to inform them that, despite the fact I was not five minutes apart yet, I'd be coming in now and to prepare a bed.

My sister-in-law and her husband/make shift labor coach extraordinaire graciously jumped out of bed, hopped in the car, and drove me forty minutes to the hospital. By the time I checked in, contractions were closer to four minutes apart than five and I literally cannot find words that accurately describe the pain I was in.

After talking to myself and yelling like a crazy woman for who knows how long while they asked me registration questions, I finally met my second favorite new person of the night-- the anesthesiologist. I was in so much pain that my entire body was shaking, so he had a heck of a time getting the needle in, but eventually he did.

Pure bliss. That's the only way to describe an epidural. You don't get a medal for laboring without pain medication, but you should. I would gladly forfeit the medal any day, but still.

Shortly after the epidural was administered Matt arrived (he couldn't have timed that better!) and things really started to pick up. At that point I was 6 cm dilated and they broke my water. An hour and a half later I was pushing.

Everything happened so quickly that I had to call the nurse in to frantically tell her "he's coming-- I feel it!" to which she, after a cursory check, replied "OH! You're right!"

It's sort of a blur after that. (Which is good, because Matt probably wouldn't have been getting another child if it was still vivid.) I remember being told to hold my legs and start "bearing down." I remember thinking that I was utterly incapable of pushing a baby out of myself, and literally wondering how they were getting to get my son out, because it wasn't happening the way they thought. I turned to Matt at one point and said "you don't understand; this is literally not possible." (It was, as it turns out.)

As laughable as it sounds, the thing that changed my mind about being able to push was the fact that I was incredibly thirsty. All I wanted was for the pain to stop and a drink water. My reasoning said that if I could just get through the pushing I could have some water.

I started pushing around 3:10ish and Declan James Dunham was born at 3:33 AM.

And then I got my drink of water, which made it all worth it.

Just kidding. Just like I can't find words to describe the sort of pain I experienced, I cannot find words that sum up the sort of joy I was filled with upon hearing him cry. It was so surreal. I've only been able to hold my son close for a day now, but I already can't picture life without him. Not for a second.

He's in the nursery right now so that Matt and I can finally get some sleep, but I know I won't shut my eyes soundly without him here. Not completely, anyway. (I'm entirely willing to practice; child birth is exhausting.) He's the most beautiful little thing I've ever seen, and unless you've experienced parenthood before, I can't really express what a blessing from God he is.

Take my word for it, though-- he is.