First, just so I don't get any grief from you, here are pictures of moi on Monday, March 10th at 39 weeks pregnant. Tada!
And here's the crap part that I'm going to skim over: On Tuesday, March 11th -- one day before I was scheduled to give birth to our daughter -- things went to shit. All three littles had terrible colds and were generally inconsolable. Roar was in terrible pain from a medication he was taking, was barely able to eat, and had lost 14 lbs in one week so we were planning to take him to the hospital that day (his pediatrician ended up getting him an emergency visit with a gastroenterologist at the hospital, so no trip to the ER was required for him). But the part of Tuesday that I still have nightmares about? I watched and felt my dad, who had flown in from Iowa the night before to help my mom take care of my kids when I went into the hospital, near death on the floor of my hallway. Making the 911 call, seeing my mom holding my dad in the hallway, and hearing dad's vitals (bp 70/30, temperature 90) that day, is not something I'm going to forget.
|Here's dad looking healthier in January|
Okay, enough with that! On Wednesday, March 12th (my mom's birthday), The Husband and I got up early to check in at a different hospital for our 7:30 am c-section. Other than nearly passing out and throwing up after an IV was inserted incorrectly (lordy, that pain was worse than anything I've experienced in my child birth experiences), pre-op went smoothly and it was nice to just sit and chat with The Husband. (Thanks again to my mom for taking such good care of my dad, and for Cindy for taking care of my kids; because of them I was able to concentrate on the beautiful thing that was going to happen that day.) The c-section went off without a hitch, and my sweet, surprise baby girl, Alessa Soundari (named after my mom), was born at 8:04 am. She was 7lbs, 5 oz, and 19 inches long.
As things were, The Husband was not able to stay with us in the hospital the whole time, and at nights, Alessa and I were on our own. But we made it through, and I was able to spend some time getting to know this little sweetie who had been kicking me for so long. She was ready and willing to nurse (but not good at latching in a way that didn't make me want to scream), she slept well when she wasn't refluxing, and very rarely cried. Despite some concerns over her reflux and my then sky-rocketing blood pressure that earned me a prescription for weeks of post-partum bedrest, we were discharged in two days.
It was sweet coming home to my other little ones who were still sick and thus unable to get close to their baby sister (thus, no pictures of them together). They were fascinated by her, and not the least bit jealous. Zachary kept saying "Mommy, she's so cute!" Inserting gratuitous pictures of Samantha and Conor here: