Catcher Thomas Morrill
8 pounds, 21 inches long
Catcher is here. Through all odds, he made it. I made it. We've made it. I am afraid that the birth story is not one I've really wanted to delve too much into, except for the best part: Catcher Thomas Morrill is here and we cannot stop kissing him. Seriously, he is getting kiss acne. He's dreamy. Every baby girl born this year should want to be betrothed to him.
The birth and aftermath were...difficult.
I have been in intense recovery. Doing better everyday, but the following information I am sharing should explain just enough.
Here we go. I'm going to try...
The birth started out very well. My water broke at 4am on Nov 23rd (ironically, 6 hours after my last blog post about being miserably pregnant was written). We alerted our mothers to begin flying in from Texas. We were trembling and a little angry that we didn't finish cleaning the closet. That is what you call, frivolous.
I labored for a while at the hospital. Thought I'd be done in a few hours for how quickly the nurses said we were progressing. Instead, we labored for 21 hours, mom and baby got into a little bit of distress. A C-section seemed imminent. My body was exhausted and felt like it was slowly breaking. By the time we were pushing, we pushed for nearly 2 hours. No drugs, because my body wouldn't accept them. I felt like I was slipping away just a little bit, but I knew - prayed to every deity- that he was close, and we pushed a few more times.
Please let it suffice to say, my body took a serious beating. My baby was born, placed on top of me (purple from a cord around his neck and cone-headed). I had a fever and high blood pressure (and did you guys know that I have asthma? Hmm, I wonder if I should make that my URL or something). Catcher had a fever too. They whisked him away and all I knew was that he wasn't crying or making any noise. They took him from the room and told us nothing. They painstakingly 'repaired me' while we frantically waited on any news. Finally the pediatrician came into tell us that our little guy had serious blood sugar issues. Most babies should be in the 40s or higher, and Catcher was a 17. And then a 6. They called him 'floppy'. That's a real medical term apparently, and not something from Beatrix Potter. They put him on IV's and told us they would try to get him stabilized. We didn't get to hold him until the next day. We stayed in the hospital for several days while Catcher was in the NICU and tried to stabalize (PS: there is no such thing as recovering in a hospital we've learned. Too much stress and too many interruptions).
Poor, poor kid
We stayed for 4 days. 4 hard days. And he was finally stable enough to come home on Thanksgiving Eve. But, with the horrible caveat that we would have to check his blood sugar (poke his foot) every 3 hours, to make sure his levels stayed above 40. This lasted about a week.
Catcher is now known for his stink-eye
Words can't express the emotional aspects of these experiences. No one in the world wants to see, much less put their ethereal newborn baby in pain. But we have done it...Tom has done it. I have not been able to do that particular job, but I have been able to feed him, and that's been a major thing. Wonderful actually.
He is getting better, if not completely better, as the days have gone by. He sleeps like a bear and we hate having to wake him for his feedings... OK, and we are pretty tired, too.
They like each other
Since I have not been mobile for the last two weeks due to my own rough recovery, the help and love of my Mom and my Tom have been...of divine intervention. I could not have lifted myself up off of the hospital bed, much less tended to this tiny Tom replica without them.
First real bath
I have never known such love. That includes my love for my husband, my mother and mother in-law, and of course, the tiny human we created who is all of the sudden...here.
It has been pretty emotional around here but I think we are all healing.
Thank you everyone for your love, support, kind words, gifts, prayers, humor, advice, and most importantly, to all mothers out there: Labor and delivery are bat feces crazy! How and why do we keep doing it?
Well, I guess he's a pretty good reason...