Bryker's Birth: A Short Story

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.  

Bryker's Turn!

Tomorrow marks your actual due date. Wow! How did we get here so quickly? Despite the fact that mommy is told daily that I "must be about to pop!" I'm holding out for you to decide when you're ready to join the world. Sounds like everyone thought you were coming early because I keep getting calls and emails making sure nothing has happened. I'm so anxious to see your face and let it all settle in, but you're sittin' tight.  :)   Running after your sister doesn't give us much time to meditate on what it will be like when you get here, so it still seems half-real. We've finally gotten the nursery (mostly) ready, though, and I hope you like it. You won't really be living in there right away, but mommy wanted to be sure you had your own space just like your big sister did when she was born so you know how special you are to us, too. I understand that kind of stuff doesn't matter as much to boys, but it is important to me. ;) 

Aunt Heidi got those cool letters for you for Christmas (before you were born!)

I've been popping Zantac and/or Tums most days for the past 2 & 1/2 months, so yay for you: you probably have hair!! Other than the heartburn, you haven't been plagueing me much from the inside save an itchy belly once in a while and the inability to fit into my clothes.

In fact, I've noticed a strange phenomenon. My skin has been miraculously clear and my legs have stayed smoother longer, when the opposite seemed to be the case with your sister. It may or may not be due to the hormones that come with having a boy, and may or may not just be me, but it's kind of nice. Thanks, baby B!

You also move around like crazy—something your sister never so much did on the inside (now that she's out, it's a bit of a different story... ;)

Your favorite position is semi-bilateral (i.e. head down to one side, butt up to the other). I'm sure you'll straighten out eventually.

Unfortunately, the curse of the clumsy pregnant lady struck again last month, and mommy had two more accidents within a couple-week span. The first happened on a rainy day as I scurried back to my car after dropping off your sister. Mommy lost her footing, stumbled a few steps and—instinctively hugging you like a football in protection mode—dropped to my knees and shoulder, finally stopping the fall with my face. This resulted in two chipped front teeth, very bruised knees and a scrape on my face that is still trying to heal. I called my doctor, dentist and daddy (in that order) before I was able to breathe correctly.

[Whenever you do something bad, 

I'm going to show you this picture to

remind you what you put me through. 

Jk]

The next week I was heading out to the garden to join Ansley and daddy when I stepped wrong on one of the cement circles and again twisted my trick ankle pretty badly. To make matters worse, it happened in the midst of an outgrowth of poison ivy that was heavily infused with ivy poison (daddy attempting to kill it off), so after carrying mommy inside and stripping me down to the bare essentials, daddy grabbed a CLOROX WIPE and scrubbed me off thoroughly - starting with the severe scrape on my shin. Since I wasn't thinking clearly and was crying profusely anyway, I allowed this to happen (but holy mother of #$%! did it hurt) and followed daddy's further instruction to get in the tub and soap up in continuation of the ivy detox. It was comical the next day, and I was able to hobble around somewhat. Although limping around with a huge belly and wrapped ankle was not so fun. I may have been more angry (at myself. for doing that again) than hurt after the initial trauma.

But hopefully you'll get here soon (if nothing else, so that mommy doesn't have any more accidents.

I kid, I kid).

I'm looking forward to meeting you, B. Daddy is just as excited, though he claims that it's the week of "vacation" he can't wait for. When you think about it, I suppose it is kind of like a vacation, though. A babycation. We get to take time off just to hold and snuggle and get to know you after you arrive. I already know I'll love you; it's just hard to imagine how much. You were only a dream 9 short months ago, and now you're almost here. Actually holding you in my arms will be the culmination of a thousand thoughts and prayers.

See you soon, my darling.  :)

JAM(B)

{16 months just the other day}

 

The A Report

Present dislikes are:
wiping your hands and face after a meal
changing clothes
getting your hair washed
brushing your hair
putting your hair up
pretty much anything having to do with your hair
being woken up
cutting new teeth (we all dislike that one)
cold milk

Likes:
shaking your head vehemently in indication of dislikes
grabbing Hanna's tail
feeding yourself
green beans, mashed potatoes, sweet tea
playing with the hairdryer
pacifiers

soft things (like blankets & "bobo"s)
taking the dogs out (i.e. letting you grasp part of Hannabelle's leash while we do the corralling)
being held when you're upset or not feeling well
grape Tylenol
daddy

Your happy dance is my current favorite personality trait. When you're super-excited about something (like, for instance, stealing a sip of chocolate shake for the first time), you cock a smile, start with a shoulder wiggle and then quick-jog tap dance in place. You only do this when extra-specially pleased, so it's a treat to catch.

Since one of your favorite things is being tickled by daddy, you've actually begun requesting it by eyeing daddy suspiciously, backing up and snickering in anticipation of the attack. You even say a version of "tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle!" like daddy does when tickling. Then you try to do it to him. Presh.

Yesterday mommy was getting you ready for school and had only managed to remove the top half of your pjs when you began flailing your arms wildly. Daddy found this highly amusing and starting singing "I'm so excited, I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it" in accompaniment (a la the Pointer Sisters - or Saved by the Bell - depending on your generational preference ;)  You then worked yourself up into even more of a tizzy and got down with a whole body shake. It was so funny to us that we just sat there laughing and singing as much as we could remember to keep you boppin. I'll have to remind daddy that encouraging you to dance topless is perhaps not the most intelligent of ideas in the future...
 

I just think you really like music. Wheels on the bus might be your favorite, since you can do most of the movements that go along with it (kind of like dancing). Sometimes you even get your dollies in on the action by shaking them to the beat (daddy taught you how). We have two "groovy girls" dolls, their bed and stroller that we purchased at a garage sale down the street. Interestingly, you most enjoy sitting on the bed yourself and persuading us to push you around in the stroller.
Yes, it's built for dolls.
No, that doesn't stop you.
Or us (like I've said before: enablers).



You can now feed yourself alarmingly well, if not with complete accuracy. The dogs are looking mighty plump as a result.
But you are a great eater, and you sign for hungry and all done (you could probably say it, but actions are more fun, right?). Most of the time, however, you just sign for "more." In relation to everything. I like to think that when I'm holding you or giving you kisses, you're signing for "more mommy love." Usually it ends up being food or a paci. Or daddy.

You are finding your voice, though, and have been repeating certain words we say. Helping me fold the laundry one weekend, you uttered a perfect "shirt." Crystal clear. 

Hasn't been repeated since.

Other things come up more often. When Mia drove you around one day and you heard her tell the other cars to "go, go, go!" you locked it in your memory and have been shouting "go, go, go!" every time we're in the car (and sometimes when we're not). You've recently changed it to "ho, ho, ho" in honor of the holidays.  :)

I guess the repetitive stuff is easier for you, because after watching the "grasshopper" episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, you began singing "bop, bop, bop" in response to "do the grasshopper..." That or we have just watched certain on-demand episodes waaaay to many times. You're even parroting the advertisement that comes on in between stuff when the moose says "ya-yuh... sweet!" Your imitation of him is spot-on.

For some reason, most of your memorable incidents happen at school. Though you've regressed to the scream-cry when I leave (save the few times I've managed to sneak out during snack), we are often greeted by one or more of your friends attempting to crawl into mommy's lap with you or bring you a toy. One particular morning, I sat you down and doggone it if every boy in class didn't flock to you en masse. I though it was just precious, if slightly alarming. Quite the greeting, little princess. You must have smelled of syrup...

On a random Thursday, Mia dropped you off and disclosed that you and Chase had slow-danced that day. While holding hands. It's probably best I didn't see it in person, 'cause I fully believe my heart would have shorted out for a minute over all that sweetness.

We've been giving in on the no-pacis-except-at-bedtime rule a bit due to your recent tooth resurgence. It just seems to comfort you, so we leave an emergency paci (or "e-pac") at school just in case. One morning after we washed our hands, you walked right over to a (somewhat hidden) spare toys bin, reached down between a few things, and plucked out YOUR paci. I looked at you incredulously and said "There's no way you hid that there purposely... right?" The paci-filled Cheshire cat smirk you shot back was confirmation enough.

Unfortunately, not all your school time is filled with cuteness and pleasantly entertaining stories of play. I'm sad to report that your class officially has a serial biter. We're pretty sure we know who it is, but when they call and send home the note, the euphemistic and PC phrase is "your child was bitten by a friend." Well apparently, your little friend decided to become a cannibal and go in for the kill by biting the crud out of your plump little rosy cheek. The red marks lingered for days. Not that I blame his desire to aim there, but a kiss would have been preferable. You poor, poor baby. As it says on the sheet VK sent home, the course of action after such an occurrence was to apply ice, hugs and kisses, but I bet that hurt and scared you something fierce. The next day when I dropped you off, we found your friend Chelsea with a matching red mark on her puffy cheek and the kids separated into two groups. When mommy told Ms. Alecia that I hate for you to have been a victim, but I was a little glad you weren't the biter, she said "Yeah, Ansley doesn't really bite. She tends to slap."
*sigh* Exactly. 

(I should at least mention here, though, that your swatting/slapping instinct does seem to have lessened. Conceivably, we've rounding that corner and with any luck it will soon pass. Though it's sure to resurface sometime around May 5th..)

I am happy to report that we've finally turned your carseat around, since you exceeded the weight limit just recently. I really don't think it was comfortable having to scrunch your long legs up against the back anyway, so the timing was good.

We're almost ready for the holidays now. You can tell by the guest room dedicated solely to your presents. And by the ornaments strewn about hung on the tree (daddy had the amazing idea to have you help us put up decorations, which has resulted in your constant desire to remove an ornament and then unsuccessfully "put it back"). And the fact that there was snow on the ground for a few days just a couple weeks ago. Mommy and daddy took you out to play briefly, but it was mighty cold and your boots were not of the "snow" variety—they left you slipping and sliding with a buildup of sticky flakes on the soles. You sure did look darling nonetheless.

 

And now on to your brother, baby B... or should I say baby Bryker because...

iT's A BoY!

Or, as Dr. Cousins so delicately puts it, "It's a penis!"

Good thing, too, because daddy says when he thinks about it, he's not sure he could've handled more hormone-filled balls of emotion like you and mommy without reinforcement.

I have to admit, it does feel like the pressure is off at least a little with this blog, because I know he simply will not be as interested to hear about his paci-flinging, potty training, daycare days of our lives as much as you (being a girl) probably will. But I'll try to keep it up all the same and devote parts to both you and him.

So here's the update on you, little mister Bryker Jon:

Around the 10 week mark, mommy went and had her eyes checked. My prescription hadn't changed, so they rewrote it and sent me on my merry way. Lo and behold, about a month later I was driving to work and something just didn't seem right. I couldn't focus, and things looked blurry. So I sucked it up and wore my (very old) glasses for a couple weeks before they could get me in to re-check. Come to find out, a little baby was messing with my head and somehow affected mommy's vision! The doc said it isn't very common, but he'd seen it before. Hopefully it will go back after you're born, but you never know. Maybe you just wanted to ensure that I saw the world differently with you.  ;)   Most definitely, baby.

Speaking of appearances, everybody says they can see you much more, and noticed you much earlier than your sister (since you're #2, I'm not surprised). Daddy thinks you're sitting lower down, thus perpetuating that "boys are carried lower" wives tale.

I felt your first movement around 17 weeks or so. You've been quite active since then; reassuring me when I get a little nervous and reminding me of your presence. I like the swirls and rolls. They're probably the thing I missed most about being pregnant when I wasn't. But having a sweet baby to actually hold in your arms remedies that pretty well. It's quite possible we'll get to the point where you're taking up a bit more space and the jabbing starts to hurt, but I'll just enjoy the mini-flips and twists for now. Literally, you're doing them as I type. Awwww. My little fishie.

After your anatomy ultrasound, mommy and daddy had a date night at Red Lobster to celebrate and conjecture about the teeball games and campouts of the future. Daddy is very excited about these things, so even if you're not really into them, if you wouldn't mind just pretending for a while, that would be great. Thanks, B. You're off the hook if your sister likes them. ;)

We took a few bets on what you'd be, but I'd had a boy feeling for a while. Of course, this convinced me that I was actually having a girl and something was trying to throw me off, but you, my sweet little one, have been blessedly easy on mommy. I don't know what it was that made me think I'd be violently ill with a wee lad (ok, I do know - it was my mom and the difficult time she had). Let's just say I know how lucky I am, and I'm thankful for it every day.

Maybe (to quote a clever friend) if He only gives you what you can handle, I can't handle much. I like to think that I'm just meant to have your daddy's babies, and perhaps several of them, so God is taking it easy on me. I know that's not necessarily true because tons of people who deserve to have the easiest pregnancies have really tough ones, but that's what I'll choose to believe for now. It's ok if I'm delusional, cause I'm pregnant.

Just last week, there were a flurry of events (outside the womb) that had mommy and daddy on full alert, but turned out to be relatively minor. After our annual friend holiday party, mommy was walking (yes just walking) to the car, stepped off the curb wrong and sprained my ankle. I fell to my hands and knees—mostly because I was carrying stuff and couldn't put any weight on the foot, and daddy came running. It's still just a little sore, but the worst part was not being able to carry and chase after your sister. She so did not understand that.  ;) 

And then two days later, coming home from work, mommy was rear-ended on Wendover. When I finally got ahold of daddy (on the one day he left his phone at the office) to tell him I was not hurt, but they were towing my car just in case the airbag deployed late, he stopped listening after "towing my car," decided it was totaled, then proceeded to call his entire family to let them know. I felt fine, save a small amount of whiplash, but we did want to be sure you were ok so daddy and Mia took me to the hospital to get everything checked out. You will not be allowed on Wendover during rush-hour until you're 25, by the way.

But now we're past the half-way mark and everything (that can be checked) checks out. Mommy was way too giddy about getting a few small Christmas presents just for you. Ansley will be opening them in your stead, since your own hands are kinda small and tucked inside mommy's belly right now (probably shielding your face, as you like to do during ultrasounds).

We are so overjoyed to add another bundle of love to the family in several short months. I sometimes think I'm still in shock and not really processing it. Daddy often forgets I'm pregnant (ok I'm not going to hide it; I do too. Only 'cause you're so wonderful and quiet. Just know that it's a too-good-to-be-true kind of scenario, kid). We can't wait to welcome you into the world. Hopefully not until April/May, though. Just sit tight till then ;)