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Friday, December 2, 2016

Jaxon's Birth Story | Part Two

The story of Jaxon, part two...

At around 1:00am on Thursday morning, I was told that I was dilated to 10 but the doctor wanted to wait for the baby's head to move down a little more before I started to push. Shortly after, I couldn't wait anymore. I started pushing at around 2:00am with little progress. This baby didn't want out. After three hours of on and off pushing, I didn't think I could do it anymore. Physically, I was exhausted. Mentally, I was resigned. Every push left me more and more convinced that I couldn't do this. I couldn't get the baby out. I begged for a c-section... and was told no. While this was typically the cut off point of pushing, the baby was stuck too far down and we would both be at risk if they tried the c-section. I had to keep pushing. At some point (time is a hazy concept during all of this), the on-call doctors switched and a new one came in. She was amazing. With her, a whole team of techs and nurses, and my own support team of my husband, my mom and my mother-in-law, things finally happened. My husband and his mom were behind me, pushing me up. My mom and a nurse had my legs and were pushing them back. And finally, the baby started moving down. After what could have been minutes or hours, I really have no idea, my not-so-little baby was finally coming out. 

Side note: Remember that epidural? It wore off for the last hour... I. Felt. Everything. 

At 8:31am on Thursday, September 29th, after nearly forty hours of induced labor and six hours of on and off pushing, I heard the words "it's a boy" and I cried. I only got to hold him for a few seconds because after all of that, he'd gone to the bathroom at some point and they had to make sure that he was okay and get him on precautionary antibiotics, just in case. A few minutes later, I was told that my beautiful boy was 9 pounds 5 ounces and 21 inches long and his head was 14 inches around. All I could think was that yes, I believe it. I felt every inch and every pound. 

He was worth it. Every hour. Every contraction. Every failed epidural. He was worth it all. Aside from the hell he gave me while coming out, he has been perfect ever since. He's healthy and happy and only cries when he needs something. At two months old, he is sleeping for eight hours at night. He is perfect. 

As for me, I was left severely anemic after having him. This has lead to an ER visit the night after we brought him home, where I was diagnosed with heart palpitations. I've been seeing a doctor and taking iron and they're getting better. I was also not able to breastfeed. I tried, but quickly discovered that he was getting very little from me. For a few weeks, I tried to both nurse and supplement with formula while getting my anemia under control, hoping that I'd be able to maintain my small supply and eventually increase it. But that didn't happen. By the time he was one month, my supply was non-existent. It was disappointing, but I try not to be too hard on myself for it. There's nothing wrong with formula, he's healthy and happy, and there was nothing that I could have done that I didn't already try.

Life is better now than we ever could have dreamed of.

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