…And Baby Makes 5

Introducing the newest member of our family (drumroll, please!)… Pink!

As you know, this little girl did not come into the world quietly. There was the mistaken gender prediction. Preterm labor. Bed rest. Cankles (which were more like “thankles” since they were closer in size to my thighs). So it was no surprise that when I went in for my NST (non-stress test) and ultrasound last Monday, my bizarrely calm doctor seemed unusually on edge.

He said, “I think you’re going to have this baby soon…”, left the room, and when I went out to use the restroom I heard him on the phone with the hospital. He came back in and said that it looked like my placenta wasn’t doing its job and—at 38 weeks—it was safer to have the baby out. I should head home to get my family set up and then go to the hospital to be induced. Today.

It shouldn’t have come as a shock. Heck, I had even considered begging him to induce me…to get this drama over with. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. So when I got in the car, it all hit me. I laughed. I cried. I panicked. I relaxed. This was it. The moment we’d been waiting for.

While I haven’t proven to handle pregnancy well, I’ve made up for it with pretty easy, uneventful labors (well, except the first when my epidural didn’t work…but that’s another story). The doctor predicted that this labor wouldn’t last more than a few hours given my history. But we should have known history meant nothing in this case. A whopping nine hours later, more IV medications than I could count and some very tired cheerleaders, little miss Pink finally joined us.

From the moment we met her, she was calm, peaceful and you’d never have known that this sweet little 6lb 11oz bundle of joy could have been a part of any of the rocky build up to this day.

The next couple days in the hospital, I couldn’t help but analyze the experience as a new mom, but also as an experienced mom. It was amazing to me how strongly I saw myself as both extremes.

As a new mom, I was in awe of this tiny little creature in my arms. She felt so fragile—and I felt surprisingly awkward re-learning to hold a newborn gently, but confidently.

As an experienced mom, her heartfelt cries sounded so sweet and undaunting. (Especially after talking to Little on the phone who was having a screaming tantrum because it was too cold to wear his uniform—athletic shorts and a t-shirt.)

As a new mom, I was amazed by how teeny tiny her toes, nose and little body were. Then again, I was amazed by how huge she was given that hours before she’d been tucked inside of me.

As an experienced mom, I knew when to ask the nurses for help…and when to ask them to leave me alone. (Apparently they appreciated that part since they kept saying how nice I was. Guessing my first-time nurses wouldn’t have agreed.)

As a new mom, I felt the overwhelming dread of three little words: “More frequent feedings.”

As an experienced mom, I found the SNL-like humor in the nurses celebrating my beautifully shrinking fundus and discussing everything about my care in acronyms that meant nothing to me, but telling me to chime in if they got anything wrong.

As a new mom, I found myself utterly exhausted and sleeping through just about anything…including a feeding or two. (Panic!)

As an experienced mom, I knew that through the sleepless hours, repeated bilirubin tests, big brothers’ adjustment period, huge construction project literally right outside my window (which was a huge bonus for the boys) and the need to start formula (gasp!), everything would be ok. More than ok, really. Wonderful. Because this baby girl—our sweet little Pink—was exactly who we’d been waiting for.

And she was definitely worth the wait.