Despite the expectation of everyone and my brother that you'd want to join the party early, Cinco de Mayo (aka "d day") came and went and you sat tight in your incubation chamber. Mommy even tried the Ansley trick and got a mani/pedi on your due date (at the same place). But alas, you were stubborn and stayed put.
On Friday (the 6th), I cleaned like a crazywoman in an attempt to get the house at least semi-presentable and ready for your arrival (and maybe also slightly in hopes of inducing labor...). Mia and Zade brought ice cream for the same reason. Just before bed, I told daddy that I thought I may have had a contraction. He responded with "Aw, man. I was really hoping to get some sleep tonight." Though mommy remembers some tossing and turning (as much as can be done with a giant belly) and general restlessness, I didn't fully wake until around 5:30, when you startled me with a strong kick followed closely by a familiar rush. The dam had been breached. Your water was broken.
It was a bit unbelievable, having waited for so long, to know you'd be here within 24 hours, but I remember saying to your dad that it was "time." He roused fairly easily [which you will learn is a bit of an anomaly with your father] and went to call the g-rents while I took a quick shower. I had a minor 30-second contraction while rinsing off. When I got out, I was anxious to record it with my recently-downloaded full term contraction timer app, being the giant nerd that I am.
But then I had another one. And according to my calculations, it was only about 3 minutes behind the last. I vaguely remembered something about Dr. Cousins having said to page her when the contractions were 10 minutes apart. Whoops. After a couple more hits just a few minutes from one another, mommy and daddy began to wonder if you could be coming with a quickness.
Grandpa Mac was on his way to take over Ansley duties and Mia had been notified and would meet us at the hospital. Unfortunately, Granny had to work that day and Bumpa was setting up for a big garage sale as they were in the midst of a major move. No one was in a huge hurry since, clearly, these things take time. I mean mommy's first labor was around 16 hours. Surely this one would take a while as well, right?
Ha.
As we readied the car, mommy had a painful contraction. They were getting longer and.. was that correct?.. even closer together. I'd tried to page Dr. C before we left, but had a feeling I didn't do it right. Was I supposed to enter the area code? Do I press pound after or just hang up? 'How does a pager even work these days??! Why do people still have pagers? Wouldn't a text be easier?! Pagers are ridiculous and irrelevant and should be summarily rounded up and nuked.' [Thus was my thinking in mid-pain]. I told your father I was pretty sure it was a fail and somehow amongst the commotion he made a successful second attempt.
We sped down Wendover with the hazard lights full on Nascar-style. Daddy told me later that the odometer was at a pretty constant 80 and he'd run four red lights (and he totally felt like a race car driver). I didn't even notice. It had taken us just under 15 minutes to get to the hospital. In that time, mommy's contractions were so close together and so painful that I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I did my lamaze breaths like a pro - as though they would actually ease the discomfort. But I'm pretty sure they just give you something else to focus on so you don't go blind from the sheer agony of a small human attempting to exit your body. No offense.
Just before we arrived, I recall feeling the urge to push. When we finally rolled up to admissions, I could barely walk. Thank you God I'd had the sense to pre-register because as soon as we sat down to check in, I clenched my teeth with the pain of yet another contraction. Daddy attempted to impress upon the admissions nurse that time was of the essence here, but I'm not sure she got it until she saw how long the megacramp lasted and we informed her that they were about a minute apart.
Though we'd begun to fill out paperwork (and by we I mean your dad as I was willing you to stop banging on the escape hatch and literally attempting to hold you in at that point), the nurse ultimately recognized the urgency of our situation and ushered us into an exam room. I almost disrobed with the door open. When they had to wait for the contractions to stop in order to examine mommy, I got a little panicked (don't tell your dad). The nurse announced I was at an 8-9 (10 being "push") and we were off to a birthing suite.
And bless your daddy's heart for being so sweet: he actually had the decency to ask at that moment "I know this may be a stupid question, but.. are we too late for the epidural?" The nurse didn't even answer. I did. That would be a resounding "no."
Just to recap here, we'd gone from nothing to water breaking to contractions three minutes apart and about 30 seconds long, then one minute apart and one minute long in around 30 minutes. It was go-time. I knew this.
Apparently, we should have taken the doc a bit more literally when she said, "Just make sure you have your bag packed and are ready to go, because I have a feeling when this baby comes, he's coming like a bat outta hell." Holy goodness she was right.. though I prefer to rephrase it and say you swooped down like an angel from heaven.
As we rounded the corner, I saw Dr. Cousins rushing in and was slightly comforted (for approximately 5 seconds until the next contraction kicked in). They'd told us it would likely be the other doc on call. But evidently, Dr. C had a patient in the room next door that had been there all night. She went to check on her while they stuck mommy with an IV (just once; that nurse was a champ) and prepped me for (holy crap) delivery.
When Cousins came back a few short minutes later, she did a quick check and asked if mommy wanted to push. Next thing I knew it was wheels up and 'let's do this.'
And yes, since everyone asks and it's hard to recall even now, it hurt. It hurt like nothing else has hurt in my life and I was seriously terrified. Had I had more time to think about it, that fear might have been paralyzing.
But it only hurt for 10 seconds. And then it was done. Two and a half pushes (a half because the doc had me stop in the midst of one) and you were here. They laid you on my chest and you looked at me in wonder just like your sister had done. You were so tiny and perfect. I loved you instantly.
But it all happened so fast, I had trouble processing your appearance. Mia didn't even believe your dad when he called her to say you were born until he texted your picture minutes later.
We'd arrived at Women's at 6:06; you were born at 6:14.
(I know, my penchant for extremely lengthy storytelling perhaps made it seem otherwise ;)
Once you were here, the doc had to leave to fix up our neighbor (who'd delivered four minutes before), so mommy still had to endure some contractions until everything was out and officially done. In the meantime, daddy stayed at your side and they weighed, measured and cleaned you up. And the nurse asked me the rest of the questions necessary for admission (Fun fact: yes, we were actually admitted after your birth).
We couldn't figure out who you looked like, with your little round head and serious tufts of light brown hair(!!!), but we were so proud.
Bryker Jon Stevenson
6 lbs 15 oz; 20.5" of precious
Once everything was finally said and done and we had a minute to reflect, I realized how close we'd actually come to having you on the side of the highway (hm now that I think about it, dang we totally missed our chance at that Dr. Phil appearance and 15 minutes of fame! Jk). Every new nurse or doctor that came in commented on your speedy entrance. I tried to convince your dad to change your name to flash or bullet, but to no avail. Though apparently deciding on the correct middle name was akin to taking the SAT's because your father came out of the shower to change it twice while I was on the phone about your birth certificate. Daddy kept waffling between Jon and Jonathan - finally deciding on Jon so that your credit won't get confused with his down the road (yes that is the actual reason your middle name is Jon. Sorry).
So apparently you weren't ready to join us until you decided it was time. But man, when you did, you were sure! So thank you for popping out quickly and saving me hours of painful, exhausting labor. ;)
You really are such a sweet baby. Already quite proficient at eating and pooping. And you slept for like 5 hours after your man-surgery (poor thing), allowing us to sleep, too. Perhaps you felt bad about not allowing mommy enough time for medication, but honestly my recovery has been easier this time as well. Everything seems a little easier. Maybe it's somewhat because we're a little more relaxed and confident we won't break you. And we [kind of] know what we're doing now (apologies to Ansley - sorry sweetie, with you we were flying blind).
Speaking of Ansley, your big sister absolutely adores you. When they brought her in to see you at the nursery, she kept trying to get through the glass to touch you, and cried when she had to leave to see mommy. She wanted you. When they brought you in to see us, she could not kiss you (i.e. cover you in slobber) enough.
Sadly, she was a bit sick while during our hospital stay, so the grandparents kept her away until we were discharged on Monday. Obviously, mommy needed to do the laundry because your grands couldn't seem to find any clothes for her and she ended up arriving to take you home in this:
In case you can't see that shirt very well, it's a onesie with a picture of a toddler flippin' the flippin' bird! The caption reads "my dad can kick your dad's a$! at fantasy football." It was actually a hand-me-down from your "reject" pile. And it was probably a size 3 months. But I have to admit, it was awfully funny.
Ansley loves to pat your head and stroke your hair, which, clearly we can't blame her for; it is a magnificent 'do. She calls you "Buckee" or "Buckuh," and loves to greet you with a cheery "hey!" even though it will be a long time before you can respond. Her ultimate goal seems to be playing Row Row Row Your Boat and holding you, but don't worry mommy and daddy will run interference till she's old enough to do so safely. For now, she's otherwise content to help mommy toss away dirty diapers and burp you by patting your back.
