***Happy birthday Carson! Your birthday post will be up next week--we have some more celebrating to do today!***
A few of the things we are thankful for this Thanksgiving:
1. Our beautiful baby boy Declan (DECK-luhn) Thomas Bean arrived in time to celebrate Thanksgiving with us! He is healthy, handsome, and already an amazing part of our family.
2. Our families, who were able to drop everything in the middle of their Saturdays to help us get to the hospital and welcome baby Declan.
3. Our sweet girl Carson, who has stepped into her big sister role with grace and thoughtfulness and compassion, as she does most things in her life. She loves "her baby" to pieces; he is the first thing she asks about when she wakes up and the last person she wants to see before she goes to sleep. We are so very very blessed to have such an amazing sweetie on our hands.
4. Our families again, who brought the Thanksgiving celebrations to us when we got home from the hospital. While it was a bit crazy having company the first few days we were home from the hospital, we wouldn't have had it any other way. They fed us, loved us, and spent time with us and our kids, which is all we could want.
5. I am thankful I was able to eat Thanksgiving dinner without heartburn! Yay for small victories, too!
6. Our friends who visited us in the hospital, checked on us after we got home, and have made sure we know they are thinking of us. We are so unbelievably blessed in every way, and we appreciate all of you so much.
Here is the long version of how Declan's birth-day happened:
The week leading up to Declan being born, I had a BIG week at work. My c-section was scheduled for the Monday after Thanksgiving, November 26, so I knew I wouldn't be returning before the baby was born. I had an open house late one night, some other late nights getting things ready for my long-term substitute, lots of meetings, lots of worry about how much the kids had or hadn't learned before my departure.....and I got a cold/cough/laryngitis just to keep things interesting.
Back when we were 31 weeks pregnant, the doctor sent us to the hospital, thinking I was in labor (they stopped the contractions & everything was fine). However, ever since then, a long day would jump-start the contractions again.
So, we were not surprised when I woke up Saturday morning having lots of contractions. I took it easy that morning, took a nap that afternoon, and Brandon went about his to-do list of getting the house ready for a baby. It would be an understatement to say that we left a lot to the last minute with baby #2. On this particular morning, November 17, Brandon was working on the closets at our house. This means that every item in our closet and the closet of the soon-to-be-nursery was strewn around the house in some form or fashion while Brandon installed new shelving and organizing systems.
When I woke up from my nap, the contractions were still coming steadily, so I began to time and count them. You are supposed to call the doctor if you have more than 8 in an hour. I had 15 the first hour I counted, so we reluctantly decided to call. The contractions weren't any stronger or longer than any I'd had before, although they were coming EXACTLY 4 minutes apart, which was strange.
The doctor asked me if I thought I was in labor, and I said no. It just felt like a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions. Of course, the doctor told us to go in to the hospital for monitoring anyway. So we called our families, packed an overnight bag in case they wanted to monitor me more than a couple hours, and headed out. We asked Brandon's mom to pack an overnight bag and come stay with Carson, and my family was "on call", waiting for further developments.
On the way to the hospital, I told Brandon I felt a little silly going in, because I knew they would just give me fluids, see that the contractions were nothing major, and send me home. I didn't want them to think I was some sort of hypochondriac, always thinking she was in labor. Plus, there was the closet-bomb at our house that would now have to wait until Sunday to be remedied.
Once there, I got all hooked up to monitors and fluids and blood pressure machines. The doctor checked me and I was not dilated at all ("Duh," I thought to myself). He said he'd check again in an hour, and if there was any change, we'd have to do the c-section. I nodded seriously, but in my head I was thinking, "Geez, I'm hungry! I hope we can get out of here fast and go grab some dinner." Brandon and I began discussing where we would eat when we were released.
Suddenly, I had 4 back-to-back contractions that peaked off the chart on the monitor and actually kind of hurt. Nurses nonchalantly came in and asked me to change my position to see if that helped reduce the contractions. I wish I had a picture of Brandon's face at that point though--it was like it hit him for the first time that we might not actually go home that night. That we might actually have a BABY that night.
After that, the contractions remained more frequent and intense. The doctor came in to check me, and I held my breath, waiting for the moment of truth. He stood back and calmly said, "I'd say you're one and a half cm and 50% effaced."
Holy crap.
From there, things began to move a bit faster. More machines, fluids, and a call to the anesthesiologist. Brandon quickly updated family and friends that the c-section would be within the hour. Everything began to blur together. With Carson, we had lots of down time while we waited for the c-section. We got pushed for an emergency surgery and there was no rush for me because I wasn't in labor. Apparently, they handle it differently (read: faster) when you are.
Once the epidural was in, my pulse shot up (to 156), and my blood pressure plummeted (to 77/55). And then the nurses and doctors began doing things VERY quickly but still reassuring us that everything was "ok". We couldn't help but notice a bit of a frazzled tone in their hurried voices as they sped around our little room, hooking things up, communicating in code, and waiting anxiously for the epidural to take full effect. It was one of those situations where the words didn't match the actions, and we just had to take a deep breath and know none of it was in our control. All of this left very little time for any mental preparation for Brandon and I. We just went with the flow and trusted it would all be okay.
A little after 9:00pm, my parents, Anna, and Jon arrived. They were instructed to give quick hugs, as the nurses were ready to get me into surgery. As soon as my family left, they began wheeling my bed to the operating room. They transferred me to the operating table and hooked up more monitors and tubes, while Brandon finished getting his sterile gear on. The doctor asked if I wanted him to tell us the sex of the baby or if I wanted Brandon to tell me. I decided Brandon, and once he was back by my side, they began the process of delivering our baby!
Brandon sat next to my head and talked to me the whole time. When I got nauseous or light-headed, I'd tell him and he'd let the anesthesiologist know. If I had questions, he would ask the doctor. He continuously reassured me that everything was going well, that he could hear what the doctors were saying, and it was all positive and nothing of concern. I have to admit, every once in awhile, I'd catch a piece of conversation on the other side of the curtain that involved, "...a LOT of blood..." or, "....scarring...." and I'd get a little freaked. But Brandon always calmly put my fears to rest and helped to keep me in the moment. Another one of the countless reasons I love him.
Eventually, the doctor let Brandon know our baby was out and he could peek over the curtain to see if it was a boy or a girl and take some pictures. Brandon stood up, started clicking away, and I lay on my back, waiting to hear if we had a boy or a girl....and waiting....I heard the doctor say, "Can you see what it is, Brandon?" And he excitedly replied, "Yes!" And then he kept taking pictures. The doctor and nurses shouted, "Well, TELL her!!"
Poor Brandon got so caught up in the moment, he forgot I didn't know yet. He knelt next to me and whispered, "It's a boy! We have a SON!" Tears filled both our eyes as he showed me the first precious pictures of our newborn child. I whispered back, "He's perfect."
Once the cord was cut and they began working on cleaning the baby up, we could hear him screaming loudly from across the room--a welcome and reassuring sound. Brandon stayed with the baby while they finished my surgery, and we were all reunited again in the recovery room.
Also while I was finishing up, Brandon called Carson to tell her the news. Gram woke her up, and Brandon told her she had a little brother. With tears in her eyes, she turned to Brandon's mom and told her she had a baby brother. Carson's emotion and love were present from the moment she knew he existed.
One thing that was very different and pleasant about this birth was that, because it wasn't scheduled, it was happening at a very quiet time at the hospital. No one schedules a c-section for 9:00 pm on a Saturday. So we were literally the only ones in the recovery room. It was calm, peaceful, and we were able to really take some time to reflect and enjoy and wonder together before being rushed out to make space for the next mother and baby. I am grateful I have clear, strong memories of holding him for the first time, watching his first bath, and talking with Brandon about all of it.
Brandon asked one of the nurses to go let my family know everything was going well--but NOT to tell them if it was a boy or a girl. Despite attempts at bribery and threats, my family had to wait for Brandon to come deliver the news. When he did, my mom and sister screamed so loudly it scared my brother Jon to death.
In addition to all the other ways we were unprepared for this baby, we also had not officially and completely decided on a name, should it happen to be a boy. People kept asking us what his name was, and each time we would hesitantly say Declan. Brandon was in love with the name, but I was a bit less sure. At this point, I am positive it is a fantastic name for our little one--Irish in origin, like parts of both Brandon's and my families, unique, as we hope our son will be, and with a funny story in which I was sure Brandon had flat-out made up the name the first time he said it to me.
We knew a boy baby's middle name was going to be Thomas no matter what. This name too has significance for both of our families. It was a last name and then a middle name with my Scottish ancestors, it is my brother's name, and it is his mother's maiden name. Declan Thomas Bean is our son.
Once Declan was bathed and fully checked out (and they got the pain pump for my epidural running), we were allowed to go to our hospital room, where my mom, dad, sister, and brother were also able to meet Declan.
After some visiting time and getting settled in, they left to go home, and Brandon, Declan and I were left alone.
We stayed up until about 3am, talking, reliving, reflecting on the day. We laughed about how we'd planned a day of closet-organizing and football-watching (and a week of preparation for the baby coming), only to have God steer our lives in a slightly different direction.
There is so much more to say about the next few days--and all of the days between then and now--but I'll wrap it up for this post.
We are so thankful for our sweet boy, who is seriously perfection as far as we can tell. He sleeps during the night, rarely fusses, makes a million funny faces in his dreams....we can't wait to keep getting to know you, Declan!
Here is a link to the rest of the pictures from the hospital:
https://plus.google.com/photos/116719683582872528226/albums/5816420889228787169?authkey=CM71kLSol72OEw
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