One Week

Almost to the minute.

One Week.

A week that has changed my life in ways that I could not have imagined or even remotely predicted.

I would not give this week back for anything.

You want the story, right?

I know you do.

Sit down, it might get long. I need to get it all out. And I am sure I will be laughing and crying while I write this post. Maybe you will be, too.

I will say, first and formost, because it will be torture if I don't. Mustang Boy is fine. No, he's PERFECT. He was born on June 28th, at 9:26 pm, and weighed in at 4 pounds, 9 oz. He is 18 1/4 inches long. He is small, but mighty. Right now he is napping on his Daddy's chest after a day of meeting his grandparents, Auntie Seattle, and Great Grandma.

So, from the beginning.....

Monday the 27th found us at our usual. Mustang Girl and I at home doing things. Mustang Man at work. He came home, and we decided it was a good time to go get groceries. Oh. And some Mexican Food for dinner before we went. Away we went. I sat down to some very excellent Enchilada Suiza that I can ALMOST still taste they were that good. Damn good. MM was paying for our fine meal, and I headed to the bathroom. Curse of the pregnant woman, you know... Halfway there, All the sudden, my pants were wet.

WET. LOTS OF WET.

Oh My God.

WET.

And I knew, it wasn't urine. Sorry if that grosses any of you out. But its what I was thinking. So, I haul to the bathroom, where I panic,laugh, and oddly, debate what I want to do. (Like I had a choice, right?). I came out, looked at Mustang Girl, and said, Get my purse. Get your Dad, my water just broke.

Oh, did I mention the full restaurant? Yeah...

We make our escape, and reality is setting in. We are all excited. We were probably all scared, too. For those of you keeping score, this meant that our boy was early. By FIVE WEEKS. Not horrible, but not really ideal.

A few minutes later found me standing at the locked door that leads to the labor department at my hospital, ringing the doorbell to get in. At change of shift, no less. Still having intermittant gushes of amniotic fluid. No doubt about it. MM was doing his best to get me attention before I started leaving puddles on the floor. I got in,got into a bed, and it was confirmed, I was indeed a PROM. (premature rupture of membranes). My good Dr. D was not on call, and a Dr. I don't really care for was. He told me that they would start an IV, some antibiotics, and watch me for the night, and Dr. D would see me in the am. He tells me he doubts anything much will happen, and as long as I am getting the antibiotics, we can let things progress.

Then, the contractions started. In my back. I had some hum dingers, too. All in my back. Time went by, and I just wasn't progressing much, despite the pain. My mom and sister came, warm showers were taken. Curse words were bandied about, tears were shed. The boy stayed rock steady throughout it all.

Then, after not progressing all freaking day, Dr. D started to mention the C word... Caesarean Section. But he had one last trick up his sleeve. One last dirty trick.

PITOCIN. Medication of the devil. Satan invented. My last chance for progression.

So they turn it on, and turn it up. And up. Then up some more. And I contract, contract cuss, and contract. And my contractions? No break between them, I was stacking five of them one on top of the other on top of the other. And that nurse turned the Pit up MORE. Damn it. She says to me that it will put me into an organized contraction pattern.

Organized my ASS.

I went from 4 cm dilated to 10 cm dilated in 1.5 hours. And because of that? I didn't get my intra-thecal for pain relief. We tried some fentanyl in my IV, but it was no use. I stopped asking for it.

And that nurse?

Told me to push. But not to make noise while doing it. Yeah, that didn't happen. I needed to make that noise. So I did.

Then that nurse?

She told me to pant, not push anymore. You see, Dr. D wasn't there, yet, and she said he would get mad if I delivered without him. She didn't want to deliver him.

20 minutes later?

That nurse delivered him.

Because I had panted a lot more than I thought I could. He was not gonna wait.

Then Dr. D walked in.

Sweet relief, all the way around.

My back pain? Gone. I got to have the baby with me, on my chest, for a good 20 minutes, he was doing so well. Then he got weighed and measured, and his Daddy got to hold him, and bring him back to me. A sweeter moment I will never have. Mustang Girl came in, pictures were taken, tears were shed. People went home, and I got up, went to the restroom, cleaned myself up, then WALKED to my post partum domain, pushing my son in his bassinette.

Yes I did. Because I am woman.

We spent 4 nights in the hospital, extra because of his tinyness. We've had evil lab tests that involve the poking and poking of his heels, my poor boy. But he has passed them all with flying colors. We have a few hurdles, mainly eating related, but we are doing well. He is growing and changing every day.

Family has come to oogle and admire and argue over who gets to hold him next. MM, MG and I have had some seriously good quality time bonding with him, both at the hospital, and at home.

Baby furniture was quickly assembled, clothing washed and sorted through for outfits that would fit his tiny frame.

Hormones have gone WILD.

more tears and curse words have been shed.

But through it all, our focus is our boy.

We are in love. He is all we couldask forin one tiny package.

And we are eternally grateful.