Well Saturday night was going to be no different.
Right on schedule around 1030, the first fairly uncomfortable contraction started. After lying there for half an hour and determining sleep wasn't going to happen...again... I got up and started making preparations for going into the hospital. For some reason I thought things were going to go that way. I wrote down directions to church for my mum, packed the kids church bag, had a snack, did some last minute things... After 3 hours they were 5 to 6 mins apart and starting to take my breath away. Because I was GBS positive and would need some IV antibiotics before delivery I was told to go in after an hour or so of regular painful contractions. I decided to stick it out for one more hour to see if they stayed that way, and at 230 I was waking Gordon up to go.
Pause here to remind you of what happened the night before Isaac was born.
I had also had very little sleep that week because of bad acid reflux and indigestion. Late Friday night we ended up going into the hospital but I was still 2cm. So all day Saturday things kind of stopped and started. Then after 5 hours of regular contractions that were becoming increasingly uncomfortable (although I was a little naive as to how uncomfortable they were going to eventually be), we went back to the hospital around midnight and I was still 2cm. I walked for an hour to push me to 3cm and then was admitted, although I could tell the nurse thought I should wait and go home. She was probably right. Slow labour, meant oxytocin, meant no sleep for the second night in a row and on and on in a cascade of events that didn't make for a very pleasant experience.
That night at the hospital was a small dose of deja vu. I was still only 2cm. I did stairs and walked for an hour and a half. No change. I knew it would be better for me to go home and try and get some sleep than force myself to be admitted. As if my body knew it was defeated, the contractions slowed down around 6, and by the time we got home at 7am I was an emotional exhausted and literally hot mess. After two nights of no sleep I was so spent. I felt betrayed by my body. I felt guilty for taking Gordon's sleep away, guilty that my mum (who was battling her own cold) had to take care of our kids (who were not being very angelic that morning as it happens), and guilty that they would try and force me to sleep at their own expense.
Both Mia and Scarlett were fairly straightforward in their labours, with contractions starting and increasing in intensity and frequency until they were born. No false alarms. No late night round trips to the hospital. I was fully expecting this time to be the same, which only added to my feelings of confusion and disappointment. We joked that she was waiting to be born on my dad's birthday (Monday the 16th), and was shaping up to be just as stubborn as him.
All through Sunday I had random bouts of contractions, but nothing regular enough to grab my attention. We decided to go for a walk, but in the nearly 30 degree heat, it didn't last very long. After the events of the previous night we all opted for early bedtime. Then as if my body knew that bedtime was actually scheduled to begin 2 hrs earlier than normal, the first regular contractions started at 8pm. They were still 7-8 mins apart and not too painful so I just tried to rest and read.
After two hours they started picking up to the point where I couldn't really rest through them anymore. Cue Mia waking up in tears with sore legs (she gets restless legs like me). It took almost an hour for me to get her settled, and by the end of that hour, I knew that if she didn't go to bed someone was going to have to get up and take care of her. The contractions were getting a little too painful to stay still, but I was determined that I was not going to the hospital to be told I was 2cm. I just kept saying one more hour, just one more hour.
Two hours later they were painful enough that I needed to go in the shower to try and relax, and I could no longer breathe through them. They were the kind that I needed to hum through or physically make some noise to deal with. With both the girls that was where I was at 6-7 cm but who knew with this baby? 30 minutes in the shower started to make me feel light headed, so I hopped out, and was only able to get through a few more contractions before I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. There was still a 20 minute drive to the hospital and at least 20 mins in triage. I just hoped I had held out long enough to not be sent walking stairs.
I told Gordon the drive to the hospital to have a baby and the drive home after are the two worst drives ever. Dealing with contractions in the car when you can't move around however you want is no joke. I was digging my fists into the seat and humming noisily while Gordon says "Well it sure sounds like you're in labour this time." He dropped me off at emerg so he could find some free parking (we are still cheap even in times like these haha), and I got myself registered and waited for a porter to come with a wheelchair to bring me up.
This part is what Gordon has dubbed "the battle of the wheelchair". Right behind me another labouring woman had come, being pushed in a wheelchair by her husband. The lady at admitting told them that I was already waiting for a porter to take me up, and that he could just follow the porter up behind us. When the porter showed up, he stopped in front of this lady already in the wheelchair and she started to get up. I got up and told him he was there for me. He looked confused and kind of side-eyed me, and I said again "that wheelchair is for me". He then asked "Well can you walk there?". Um you have two pregnant women in labour. One is already sitting in a wheelchair, one is not. "No I can't." and plopped myself down in the chair.
I had had a few more contractions by that point and was silently praying with all my might that this was it. You'd think I'd know by now, but this girl had made me question all my previous experience with labour. After another very uncomfortable 20 minutes spent on the monitor, only being able to squeeze Gordon's hand during the contractions, I was told I was 4cm.
When it's your 4th baby, the nurses tend to treat you like that baby is going to come shooting out of you, at any moment, like a penguin on a slip and slide. Generally your labours do get faster each time, but mine still are nowhere near "fast". The fact that I'd been in active labour for about 4 hours already with contractions as painful as they were, and was only 4cm was slightly discouraging but also weirdly comforting in the fact that this was consistent with how long my other labours were, and that I should have lots of time to get the two doses of antibiotics required.
My IV and antibiotics were going by 315 and I was more than ready for my epidural. I was shaking so bad from the adrenaline, the contractions, and the lack of sleep, I felt like I was on a vibrating machine. By 345 the epidural was in place, and I was ready for the first bit of pain relief in almost 8 hours.
Being GBS positive was probably the best thing that happened to me in a way, because they didn't want me to have the baby any faster than necessary. They literally told me they weren't going to intervene in any way and they were just going to let me sleep. So I slept, as much as I could with a blood pressure cuff going off regularly, and people padding in and out of the room. But it was so much more rest than I had had for the last several nights and it was incredible.
I was able to update all my family, since none of them actually knew we were at the hospital. We didn't even wake my mum up to tell her we were going. I kept it a secret from my dad though, so that he could have a special birthday surprise.
After my second dose finished at 745, they asked if I wanted some oxytocin. Obviously they were expecting me to have had the baby by now. I did warn them my labours were notoriously slow. I refused and said I'd rather have my progress checked first (since I hadn't been checked since admission), and then have my water broken, which I would compare to a rocket booster when it comes to my labours. Well after having had regular contractions for 4 more hours, I was only 6cm. "Shocker" was the word that came out of my mouth. They broke my water at 8am, and almost with the next contraction the intensity dramatically increased. Even with my epidural I could feel the huge increase in pressure with the contractions, which I both love and hate.
My nurse was going on break at 9, and joked with me to not have the baby. I told her not to worry, but within the next 15 minutes I was regretting my promise. By 930 I knew it would be close to push time, and my nurse confirmed that as soon as she got back. They had me do a couple test pushes but asked me to stop so they could make sure they would have someone there for delivery. The chief obstetric resident, who I had already met, came in for delivery. Her name was Ginevra, just like Ginny in Harry Potter, and the Potterhead in me felt like this was a good sign. I started pushing just after 945, and after about 5 or 6 contractions my little girl emerged at 959.
She needed lots of encouragement to cry but she gave a meager squeak and they put her on my chest. I knew she was going to be almost exactly the same size as her siblings (who only have a different of 5 ounces between all three of them). And she was-6lbs 2oz. She joins our other 6lbs, 6lbs3oz, and 6lbs5oz babies. She definitely won in the hair department. She was so much fuzzier than the others.
The nurse asked us her name and we just looked at each other and said we didn't know. We had 2 names left on our list, and Gordon piped up that he didn't like the one that I had been leaning towards, and didn't really seem keen on the other one. Then he says out of left field "I like Brooklyn".
We had tossed around Brooke as a name, but I thought it sounded too clunky having a one syllable first and last name so we decided against it. I started throwing out names he had previously rejected, just on the off chance one seemed to fit our little girl. I just wasn't sure about Brooklyn. I hadn't had time to try it out and mull it over. But Gordon was kind of insistent about how much he liked it. It was also one of the areas he lived in on his mission, so I knew it had at least a small amount of sentimental value as well.
We went to postpartum with an unnamed little girl and got settled. The more I thought about it and studied my little one, the more Brooklyn started to grow on me, until it just felt right. I already knew I wanted her middle name to be after my Grandma Jolie whose name is Laurel Ann. We just had to decide whether Laurel or Ann would become her middle name. We thought Ann might sound a bit better, but it's such a generic middle name that I didn't feel like it really connected her to my Grandma. So she became Brooklyn Laurel.
She is so adored by her big brother and sisters. Scarlett has named her "baby broccoli" and becomes concerned whenever she hears baby broccoli crying or fussing. She also keeps asking me if baby got out of my tummy and if she's going back in. Mia's first question was "she has no teeth?!". She loves fawning over her and rubbing her head. Isaac has been a good big brother, holding her gently and responsibly when I need him to.
We are so happy she is finally here and are so excited to watch her learn and grow as part of our family.
