The birth of Oliver Scout

From the beginning everyone told me Scout’s birth was going to go fast—in some ways it was fast, but in others it took forever.

I started having semi light contractions on Christmas. Enough to know it was a contraction, but not enough to actually think anything was happening (and this is right around the time the plague hit the Krumm house, so I was praying that he would just stay put for a little bit longer). And as much as I really, really wanted a January baby, I reached the point that I couldn’t breathe, would forget to eat because I basically didn’t have a stomach anymore not to mention the fact that we wouldn’t have to pay another deductible (but I really, really wanted a January baby, so God basically knew what he was doing making me wait).

Fast forward a few weeks to January 10th. Sister’s birthday. Another one of those “this would be a cool day for baby to come” — he didn’t come, but my parents kept E and D over night “just in case” and to give me Saturday to sleep in (re: not cram 4 1/2 people into a queen sized bed) and get any last minute stuff done that I needed to get done. Andy took off work because we had a feeling that it was getting close and he really didn’t want to be out on a call and not be able to get home or to the hospital on time (which I’m super grateful for because honestly? I don’t think I could do it without him). We slept way in (like until 1  — this doesn’t happen . . . I’m pretty sure the last time I slept in that late I was in college . . . and not married). We got up, got around, and went to eat lunch. We thought we would go watch a movie after, but during lunch I thought it might be a good idea to go walk around instead of sitting around watching a movie. We walked for three hours. In and out of stores, getting last minute “have to haves” and just having fun being together.

After walking, we went and picked up the kids, came home and did the nightly routine thing (baths, teeth  brush, bed, Netflix marathon on the couch for mom and dad). Around 11 PM I looked at Andy — just a feeling I had — and said “I think it worked. I think tonight may be the night.” (and then I hit my forehead because I was sure I jinxed the entire thing). I think we went to bed around midnight, maybe a little after. Around 3 AM I woke up with a pretty dang good contraction, but thought to myself . . . Nope. Not it. and went back to sleep.  At 5 AM I woke up with contractions 2 minutes apart for about 10-20 minutes . . . but they weren’t “bad”  just annoying. They started spacing out — 6-8 minutes apart, but crazy intense (which I thought crazy weird because that was backwards). I got up anyways walking around, pulling out outfits for the kids for church later, making sure everything was good to go all the while trying to decide if it was “time” to call my mom to come over and head to the hospital. I tinkered around on the computer getting something done for work that I remembered I had forgot to do saying I’d call my mom at 6 AM, but contractions went back to around 8-10 minutes apart and not that intense at all so I figured I was just having that “fake labor” that people talk about having (yes, I realize that this is my third kid, but I promise I will be in denial about having a baby or being in labor with every kid until that baby is actually out). I went to lay back down to try to go back to sleep. About 6:20 I had a contraction so intense I woke Andy up and told him he needed to get ready to go. I tried to get up to go to the bathroom, but had to all but crawl . . .same thing happened again when I tried to move from the bathroom to the living room. I settled in on the couch, Andy jumped in the shower, I called my mom and then I just waited.

Mom got there pretty fast (thankfully). I was telling her I still wasn’t sure if it was time to go to the hospital because contractions were around 10 minutes apart. To which she replied that I had 2 while she had been there and she hadn’t been there but 5 minutes . . . so apparently I’m really good when it comes to timing contractions.

We make it to the hospital, get checked in and into a observation room around 7:15 ish. By this time I’m dilated to a 5. I get moved into a birthing room and the nurse says she’s going to get the doctor to break my water. This is music to my ears. Break my water and my babies come within the hour. I was so past ready (I was at a 3 when they broke my water with Drew and he came 50 minutes later). We wait. And wait. And wait. I’m getting pretty frustrated (and some colorful things about said doctor may had came out of my mouth. . .maybe). Apparently the doctor wasn’t at the hospital yet, so they had to call him . . . 9:45 he finally shows up to break my water (yes, about an hour and fifteen minutes after the nurse said she was going to go get him so he could break my water . . . I was dilated to a 6 by now . . .) In the meantime I was almost killed by some blood-drawer. Note: if you aren’t good at drawing blood, digging around in a gal’s veins when she is in labor is not a good idea. Talk about hyperventilating and tears. Andy had his work cut out for me getting me calmed down after that one (and she still didn’t get what she needed so another nurse came in for more blood drawing. Thankfully she was smart enough to get a peds needle — she was in and out . . . no tears . . . well, almost no tears).

On the doctor’s way out my husband says “You might wanna stick around she’s gonna go pretty fast now.” Doctor’s response? “Ok, whatever.” (needless to say he wasn’t our favorite doctor ever — and note this was the doctor on call, not my normal, happy, cheerful, most likely overdosed on caffeine, chipper doctor). Apparently the nurse didn’t even believe us either. About 10:15 I mentioned something about feeling like I was laying on a heating pad and asking why in the world someone turned it on (my nurse informed me I was going through transition). I remember laying there feeling like my body was being covered in icy hot thinking “I wonder if this is what menopause is gonna feel like” (yes, I would think this). The nurse decided to check my progress and my heart fell when she said I was maybe only an 8 1/2. There was much “I can’t do this anymore” comments directed at Andy, and the champ that he is, reminded me that it was almost over . . . and then he forced ice down my throat and Chapstick on my lips.

Two minutes later I felt the need to push — or the baby coming — either way the nurse didn’t believe me and checked me again — only there was a baby right there and there was no more checking to be done. She ran to get the doctor. He came in, put one glove on, and reached out to hold Oliver in so the nurse could grab the birth cart.

My body did all the work. I took 1/2 a push and felt his head come out so I stopped. “Keep pushing, Sweetheart, you have to get his shoulders out.” the doctor told me. One more push and he was out. 10:24 AM.

In a way he was faster — my body did all the push work I really didn’t do any of the “push-breathe-push” stuff. From start to finish it was about the length as Drew’s labor (5 hours). It just felt longer since my water didn’t get broken until 9:45.

Two weeks in we are overly smitten. He’s an amazingly content awesome baby. We’re so glad he’s finally here.