The birthing story...
Mostly because I don't want to forget.
And I still have to wait another hour to pump and I need something to do because, you guessed it, our TV broke yesterday.
You'll recall that the last time our TV broke was just a few days after Carolyn was born...worst timing in the world because really, what else am I supposed to do in the middle of the night (or the middle of the day for that matter) when you have a baby who won't sleep and all you can do is wallow in pain on the couch and wish that you had a nanny?
Tate was born by c-section on the 21st. It was scheduled. Because apparently once you've had one c-section in Beaumont, all of your babies are born by c-section from then on whether you want them to be or not.
And, having already had a c-section, I was terrified, because let's face it, it's major surgery and the recovery is pretty much like hell.
The nurse who did my IV was horrible - it hurt from the moment she put it in until the moment I convinced the nurse to take it out. So....I was traumatized before anything actually got under way.
They wheel you in to the operating room and they tell you to be calm and stuff. When people tell me to be calm, that pretty much assures I will freak out.
What I really, really don't understand is that they won't let your significant other in the room until you are completely prepped for surgery. I mean, I get the whole sterile environment thing, but I need Husband in there during the epidural. Because epidurals hurt. The numbing shot hurts, the placing hurts. And yes, I cried and they told me I had to breathe and be brave and stuff and I was all like, "I hate all of you."
But, the epidural did work well and almost immediately, so I guess I can't complain too much.
There was an extra lot of pulling and tugging this time that I don't remember from last time. And I really mean pulling and tugging. And at one point, I'm pretty sure the nurse had her entire body weight on my diaphragm, trying to push Tate farther down so the doctor could reach his head.
Then someone exclaimed, "Look at his head! That is a huge baby!"
Except he wasn't huge, he just has a huge head, because after all, he is a Peters.
They wheeled me to recovery and apparently took Tate directly to the NICU due to some breathing issues (which they described to Husband as "he didn't pink up the way we wanted him to").
I don't remember anyone actually telling me he was in NICU, so several hours later, when I still hadn't seen my kid and was still pretty much out of it, I was all like, "Um, when are they going to bring me my kid?" And everyone else was all like, "Dude, he's in the NICU." And I was all like, "Was anyone going to tell me that?!"
Tate spent the first 36 hours in the NICU. I didn't see him or hold him until the afternoon of the 22nd. They provided me with a hospital grade breast pump and I fretted and fretted over the fact that I wasn't producing anything for my kid to eat and that he was getting formula and this was not the plan.
They let us come home this afternoon after a gajillion tests, three sleepless nights (hospital beds are like torture devices and even if they weren't, do they really have to draw my blood at 3am or check my blood pressure every 4 hours? REALLY?!)
I am in mucho pain. Well, not pain. Burning is more like it. I'm walking like an old lady and cursing the fact that I had convinced myself that recovery this time would be easier due to the fact that I exercised up until the day before birth. You are a liar, myself!
Tate is still in the sleepy newborness that comes with a c-section baby. So, he sleeps pretty much all day and is awake at night and it's awesome for the mother in pain. If he's anything like Carolyn, he will really wake up in a couple of days and then there will be hell to pay for all the sleeping he's doing now.
Despite all of this, I'm super happy he's here. And yes, I might be a little smitten, because I'm sorry, but he's the cutest baby ever born (and besides, how is it not possible to be smitten with a baby who sleeps all the time?) He looks just like his sister did. And just like his daddy did. And that means that in one year, if things follow history, he will look just like....me.