I had every intention of writing this past Monday, but instead I opted for a nap. Sleep doesn’t happen often for me, and last Monday when I planned to write, I collapsed on the couch, tucking into the deep, dark corners of a dreamless sleep. I’ve been a mom of two now for a full week, and the exhaustion is brutal but worth it.

Ivy Quinn entered our lives at full speed last Thursday. I went into active labor Wednesday night/Thursday morning. By the time we made it to the hospital, my contractions were 1-3 minutes apart and the pain was pretty rough. My doctor proceeded with the C-section, though I do wonder if I  could have delivered her VBAC since my body seemed quite ready to do so. As my husband says, it wasn’t worth the risk. I will always wonder if I could have had a VBAC, but I will be grateful always that we had a safe delivery and that all is well with the baby and me.

This time around, I was MUCH more cognizant during the C-section, and I suppose I’m glad. I want to remember it. What a bizarre experience. First, I got the spinal, and thank goodness for the relief from the relentless contractions. I was shaking and muttering in pain as they administered the spinal, and the nurse holding both my hands kept repeating that I was being so stoic. I remember thinking that it was an interesting word choice for me in that moment. I felt anything but stoic in my open hospital gown while hunched over a pillow, bracing myself for the next gripping contraction. Next, they prepped my body and I was aware of how exposed I was. They painted me with something and the guy who performed the action did so with gusto. With Ember’s delivery, I was so exhausted from the 30+ hours that led up to the C-section (and more drugged up) that I didn’t notice or care that I was stripped bare on a table. This time, I was fully aware of my exposed body and the audience around me. However, I loved the entire staff that took care of me during the C-section since they made me as comfortable as possible.

Then, they began. I can spare you most of the gory details of the surgery, but I can tell you that it’s violent (though I suppose all birth is violent). This time, I was aware of all the pushing and yanking, and it seemed to carry on for much longer than the first time. I suppose it’s similar to getting work done at the dentist–you’re numb but you can still feel what’s happening, and even though you try not to think about it, you can’t help it. You’re aware that violence is happening to your body. And the sounds and the smells are other details I will spare you. One memory that lingers that I do not remember from Ember’s delivery is the counting. I heard one male voice counting over and over before, during, and after the surgery. I knew which guy it was–he was the one who made me the most comfortable before the surgery by joking with me about having a beer soon.

And then she cried. The baby cried. That moment is impossible to explain. I wish I could find the words; I wish I knew how to explain the vulnerability I felt in that raw, emotional moment. I will never have the words to do it justice.

Then, there was a flurry of activity.  Everyone around me was moving, and there I was–strapped down in what I refer to as the Jesus pose. I could hear the baby crying and Rob talking to the nurses about her. I could hear the guy counting and the doctor and assistants talking about my body. I heard heard them announce her weight. I could feel the assistant kneeling on my abdomen and pushing as hard as she could. I could feel the tug of my skin as they sewed me up.  I could hear all of it, and I was alone and held bound, and it was as if I was watching it happen to someone else.

And all I wanted was her.

The desire to hold and see her was so intense that I felt like I was going to burst into tears. Finally, Rob came to my side and I begged him to bring her to me. Finally, they did. And there she was–my dark-haired girl, the one I’d been waiting for, my Ivy Quinn.

Afterward, I was much more comfortable in the hospital than I was after Ember’s birth. It’s true (for me, at least) that everything is less nerve-wracking with the second child. The nurses and other staff members joked and said they can always tell which moms are first-timers and which ones are not. We went home Saturday and began our life as a family of four.  As for life at home, I’ll save that for another post. For now, I am going to enjoy my family and our messy house and my sleepless nights with Ivy. It’ll all be over in a blink.