The story of Brianna

This is my Brianna's Birth Story. I'm just going to do it in one really long blog post, because I want to finish these before the summer is over. Ha. I have other things to blog about.

The thing that stands out to me the most every time I really consider Brie's impact on our lives is how perfectly God works, and how much better his plan for us is than our own. It is my "go-to" example of that--when things get hard in our life, or when plans are not going as we think they should, I think of our Brie. Brie's very existence is my reminder to trust a faithful God who knows what we need better than we do. She is a testament to God's timing in our life.

Keira and Brie are 15 months apart. And, as Keira was premature, her first several months were pretty stressful and exhausting for us. So, without going into too much detail, because that would be weird, I will say that we had NO INTENTION of having another kid at that time, and we were making sure that wasn't going to happen. I look back on it, and my only conclusion can be that God knew what we needed better than we did, and in His divine wisdom, decided that we needed Brie. And, we are SO very, VERY glad He did.  Trying to imagine life without Brie and without things going exactly as they did go is just  shudder-worthy.

She is tiny and powerful. She is goofy, and random, and yet one of the most precise perfectionists I've ever met. I often find myself wondering if there's anything mechanical she can't do--just don't ask her to write a poem or tell a short story--she won't have anything to do with that. She's brilliant in the kitchen already, and I've learned to step around the stool constantly, because it's always right smack next to me. If you need a salad, or an egg fried, or pizza dough thrown together, or perhaps cookies mixed up, just ask Brie. I often say something along the lines of, "Looking at the world through Brie colored glasses." because she really does march to the beat of her own little strange and delightful drummer. She complements her big sister perfectly--I am SO glad they have each other, and are best friends. I'm so thankful that God saw fit to give her to us.

Unlike my pregnancy with Keira, which I felt great through, I was sick pretty much all the way through my pregnancy with Brianna. I think my immune system was pretty run-down from being so exhausted from Keira's birth, and etc., and I was a mess of different colds that got BAD all the way through... like I wouldn't just get a cold, I'd get a cold with a vicious sinus infection that wouldn't go away without antibiotics, and it would turn into laryngitis that would NOT go away, and chronic asthma and coughing that would keep me up all night, and would cause me to wheeze with every breath. Then I'd take multiple medicines and they'd get me well, and I'd catch another cold, and the same thing would happen again, and again, and again. It was so frustrating.

We had the additional nerve-wracking reality of my pregnancy with Keira floating around in our heads the entire pregnancy with Brianna. Because even though EVERY SINGLE doctor and nurse we communicated with indicated that pregnancy induced hypertension was usually something that occurred only in the first pregnancy and not typical after that--"usually" is not very reassuring when you're pregnant for the second time, and that's all you know from your previous experience.

We made it past Keira's arrival date. A great cause for celebration. In retrospect it seems so silly that I wasn't getting ready for Brie to be born when she was. My only excuse was that I was exhausted from being so sick the whole time, and I didn't have any clue what to expect or plan for. I'd deliberately decided that we wouldn't take childbirthing classes this time around, because who knows if they'd even be applicable. They would have been useless in the case of Keira's birth, and I didn't have time to waste. Turns out they would have been useful, but I wasn't willing to invest that time since we didn't know how this birth was going to go, and the one thing you DO know is that you'll always have nurses there to tell you what to do and how to do it. We were in uncharted territory in a really odd way. Every doctor indicated that there was no reason I shouldn't go full term, so I was planning for and hoping for that.

My due date for Brianna was December 26, 2005.

December 3rd was a beautiful, clear, crisp winter day. Not a common occurrence in Vancouver--usually drizzly and rainy and gray is the norm. It was a Saturday, and we spent the day around the house. I cleaned--not in a nesting sort of way, but because it had to be done. I HATE cleaning so I was grumpy. The only reason my home is generally kept in a state of clean (by my standards anyway)  is because I hate things being dirty just slightly MORE than I hate cleaning. So, if there's any nesting to be done, I can promise you that cleaning won't be part of it. I remember being irritable about spending my Saturday cleaning, as I was every Saturday. Because I worked full time, and cleaned on Saturdays. To this day I have no idea why I didn't just spring for a house cleaning service while I was working. That's a lost opportunity, right there. Someday, I am going to make up for it.

Since I know Brianna so well now, I'd have to say that I think she might just be furious in this picture because she didn't manage to "precisely" double her sister's birth weight. Oops! She was off by one ounce! This is completely unacceptable.

In the evening my sisters and Garrett's sister came over. They were having a slumber party with 15 month old Keira, and Garrett and I were going to his bosses house for a Christmas Party. I'd gotten everyone their favorite flavors of Ben and Jerry's ice cream as a treat for the slumber party/babysitters. Karamel Sutra is my very favorite B and J flavor, and I remember digging into it that afternoon and eating more than I should have. We were really looking forward to the evening out, since it would most likely be our last evening out before Brie was born, and since our babysitters were staying all night we were planning on making an evening of it, and possibly going out after the Christmas Party with friends too.

I got dressed into a little black dress and strappy black heels and sparkly jewelry. I was the heaviest I'd ever been at that point, and I just wasn't feeling the black dress. I felt... Ooogy. Also, the black dress didn't seem quite right for a homey Christmas Party. Garrett's ready to go, he's downstairs waiting for me, and last minute I just can't handle it. The outfit is not right, and I firmly believe that if you feel that way, you should change--that's female instinct at it's most basic right there. So, I rip the black dress and heels off, and throw on a pair of nice khaki slacks and a pretty top, with cute but more comfortable shoes. All I can say now about my outfit change for the evening is, thank. the. LORD!

We go to the party--it's not too far away from our house. We take the Rover--the heated seats feel wonderful, as it's still cold and crisp out. His boss and his wife are super nice and hospitable, and all our friends/Garrett's co-workers are there, so we know everyone really well, and Garrett settles into the usual banter and party conversation that happens.

Our hosts are from the deep south... the table is LOADED with homemade food that looks AMAZING. Dirty rice, gumbo, jambalaya, the list goes on and on. And, I just can't bring myself to eat any of it. I'm completely baffled by this, as I don't feel sick. I just cannot eat. This isn't like me at all. I never turn down good food, and I especially don't turn down food from a different locale than mine that is good, homemade food prepared by someone who knows what they're doing. I take a small amount of a few things because I felt weird not eating, but I didn't have much more than a few bites that I couldn't finish. I'm still a little annoyed that I didn't get to try that food.

I'm talking to people, and pretending to feel normal. And, I don't feel sick or anything, I just feel weird. I don't want to eat so I drink a soda, and even that doesn't really sound good--it's more like a party prop in my hand. It's like this party is going on around me, and I'm in my own odd, irritable bundle of twitchiness and vague discomfort. Sitting doesn't sound good, standing doesn't sound good, eating doesn't sound good, walking isn't an option, I can't really seem to focus on an actual conversation, I just feel weird.

Finally I take a seat on the couch with our close friends, and I'm able to pretend to be my usual self a bit. But then, as will happen a lot when you're pregnant, I realize I have to pee. So, I go to the bathroom and as I'm waiting for the bathroom to open up, I feel a trickle where a pregnant lady who has to pee does NOT want to feel any trickles.  Especially in public. The bathroom opens up, and I dive into as quickly as possible. I remember thinking that even though it appeared that I'd just wet my pants, it didn't actually feel like I HAD wet my pants. I still had to pee. I shrug, go to the bathroom, and return to my spot on the couch. The beautiful brown leather, nail heads all around, couch. And, I dive back into conversation with our friends. That's when the first contraction hits. And another trickle.

I am on a gorgeous couch. I am nervous enough about that to get up right away. I'm still not sure what's going on exactly, but I'm beginning to be suspicious. The bathroom is still free, so I think I said something about pregnant ladies and having to pee all the time, and I head back for the bathroom. I hang out in there through one gush (probably actually a trickle, but it felt like a gush) and another contraction. I've never had a contraction before. I didn't even have any Braxton-Hicks up to this point. And, I wasn't full term yet, so I wasn't exactly on the lookout for contractions and water breakage at this point. At this point things seem to be back to normal--and like doofus I head back for the couch. It takes one more contraction, and one more trickle, and I FINALLY clue in completely. I whisper to my friend next to me that I think I'm leaking amniotic fluid, and will she check and make sure my pants don't look wet when I stand up.Bless her heart, she acts like this is the most normal thing a person can whisper to someone else at a party. I stand up, and she shakes her head no--I'm still appearing to be dry to a casual observer. Thank goodness.

I head over to the other corner of the room where Garrett is engaged in some spirited conversation with his friends. So spirited that I can't break into the conversation. While I'm waiting for my moment, another contraction comes. I breathe through it, and wait. One of our friends jokes that he bets we're going to have the baby that night. Ha. I finally am able to whisper to Garrett that I'm leaking amniotic fluid--I think my water might have broken. And, I'm having contractions. Poor guy. "RIGHT NOW?!" he whisper-yells.

All of a sudden he's standing up, and we're making what has to be the most awkward, weirdest, rushed mid-party exit ever. We let our hosts know we're leaving, and we're walking to the front door with people stopping us to chat. I'm dripping like crazy at this point and walking with my legs as close together as possible so my pants catch all the fluid, and all I can think is, "THANK THE LORD I'm not wearing my dress, there would have been no way I would have made it to the door without dripping all over the floor." I'm feeling thankful that their hallway and exit is hardwood anyway, and we're moving as fast as we can. We get to the front door, and we're making up lame excuses about why we have to jet, and they're getting our jackets out of the closet. And, my pants are SOAKED at this point, and I'm hoping nobody notices and I'm thankful the entryway has low light. We try to say our goodbyes. But, these people are from the deep South. And, they have THE SLOWEST southern drawl I've ever heard. So, we're trying to get out the door, and they're taking forever to say what people who say goodbye to other people after having them in their home say. Thank y'all for coming, come back again soon now, ya hear? Y'all have a great evening, and so on, and so forth, and we're standing there being polite and inching our way backward out the door as quickly as we can without being rude.

Finally we get out the door into the freezing cold. And, I make it down their steps and almost to the driveway before I lose a HUGE gush--and I leave a puddle of frozen amniotic fluid on their walkway. And we're getting in the Land Rover, and it's freezing. Garrett, poor guy, is in a panic. I turn the seat warmer off, because it seems like with the amount of liquid I've got going on, I could electrocute myself with that. I have one sweatshirt in the Land Rover, and I sit on it. Garrett's leaving the neighborhood, and driving like a madman. "How much time do we have?" he asks, freaking out. "Do we need to go straight to the hospital?!" My husband doesn't EVER freak out about anything, so I'm cracking up at this point--everything you read when you're pregnant tells you that you should not expect your water to break like they do in sitcoms, and so far everything is sitcom about this. The water breaking at a party, the husband freaking out and driving like a madman. Slow down, I tell him, and let's go home and pack and see Keira. It's going to be hours before she's here, we're fine.  So, he does, and we do.

Our sweet little garden gnome. :-)

We get home and Garrett immediately bursts in the front door and runs upstairs to our room. I follow a bit more slowly behind. I walk in the front door, and Nina is standing across the living room, looking very puzzled at our early arrival back home. I'm just excited at this point. So, I walk in, strike a pose, and say, "Notice anything different about me, Dahling?!" She slowly looks me up and down, up and down, and then says slowly... "You wet your paaaa...?! AHHHHHHH! Your water broke!!!!"  Meanwhile Garrett had been telling the other sisters upstairs, and all of a sudden the whole condo is full of screaming and dancing and jumping sisters. Everyone is yelling and running up and down the stairs, and people are calling other people and yelling into their phones over other people who are yelling into their phones, and it's all just completely nuts. Keira's slightly puzzled by all of it, but since it's happy and excited noises, she's happy and excited too, and joins in.

We pack. It seems odd to pack a going home outfit for Brianna that Keira had already worn and goobered all over, so I decide not to pack anything for her--I hadn't really thought that through since I already had a bunch of newborn clothes I didn't even think to buy a new one for Brie's coming home. I ponder it for a split-second, and decide that I will ask my mom to pick up a going home outfit for Brie so she has her own un-goobered outfit.

We change and pack as quickly as we can, and kiss and squeeze our Keira goodbye, and get out the door. We had decided to stick with the same hospital where Keira was born--since they had such a great team of Perinatologists we wanted that extra security blanket and also the NICU, just in case anything went awry with Brianna. So, we drove the 40 minutes down to St. Vincents. Garrett calls his co-worker/friend on the way and lets him know that he's right, we are actually having our baby tonight.

When we arrive at the hospital, it is a ZOO. When we arrived the first time for Keira, the parking garage was empty and cavernous and echo-ey and orange lights and quiet. This time there are people everywhere and no parking. So, Garrett drops me and our backpack off at the door and I wait for him inside the breezeway while he goes to park in whatever spot he can find. I wrap my sweatshirt around my waist, as my yoga pants are soaked through. My sweatshirt is wet in minutes. My contractions are irregular, but constant. Between 5 and 8 minutes, mostly, but sometimes 3 minutes and a few times more like 10 minutes. But always strong.

Garrett finally runs in from the back-forty parking lot, and we head up the stairs. It is SO weird to return to this place like this. The same waiting room, the same desk, completely different circumstances and experience, things are just off-kilter enough and changed in the past 15 months to be the same, but different, and it feels trippy. I say who I am, and that I'm there because my water broke and I'm having contractions. We wait for a few minutes, and they escort me back to triage. The nurse comes in and starts asking questions. We explain what happened, and I can tell that she's skeptical. She doesn't quite seem to believe that my water has broken, she seems to think that I'm just leaking a bit of amniotic fluid. She's skeptical about the contractions since I can't tell her EXACTLY how far apart they are with one number, but she goes ahead and sends me into the attached bathroom for a urine test. Side note: Does anyone who actually sets up these stupid pee tests realize how hard it is to collect when you're hugely pregnant?!

Keira got her molars the same week we brought Brianna home. Poor sweet baby. We didn't realize it for a while and thought she was just being grumpy because of Brie--so we were much more impatient with her than we should have been. We were all a horrible mess that week.

While I'm in the bathroom I lose another huge gush of liquid-biggest one yet. And at this point, to be quite frank, I'm shocked there's anything left to lose. I leave a HUGE puddle on the floor, collect my stupid pee sample, hang onto the sink through a contraction because it's so strong my knees are not quite sure they're willing to hold me up, and then I come out slightly smug, because surely there is NO WAY she can question that enormous puddle.

When I go back into the room I let her know they're going to need someone to clean that bathroom before anyone else goes in there, as the floor is a mess and I would prefer that someone not slip and fall into my amniotic fluid. She walks into the bathroom and bursts out laughing. Let's get you into a room! She says, Your water definitely has broken.  Yep. I told you so.

So, we get escorted to a room, introduced to nurses and the doctor on duty, and since I'm a prior c-section, all manner of people are called in review, check my file over, etc., to see if they're willing to let me proceed with a VBAC, or if they want to do a c-section.

I'm desperately hoping they'll let me do a VBAC. Obviously, my prior experience with the c-section is totally a bad-case scenario, but I DO NOT want another one based on that experience and I'm prepared to put up a fight, especially since I've gone into labor naturally, which none of my doctors had thought would happen. Everyone, all pregnancy long had just sort of assumed they'd do another c-section between 38-39 weeks--there wasn't ever much talk about me going into labor naturally.  Finally one of the doctors on duty comes in and talks to us. He explains the risks of a VBAC, (all of which I was aware) and that especially since my c-section was not that long ago, that puts me at a slightly higher risk for all those worst-case-scenarios. But, he's willing to proceed since I've gone into labor naturally, and at this point I'm hooked up to the contraction monitor thingy, and they know that they're happening, and they're strong. He then says his only request would be that that I get an epidural when it's time, because that way they can rush me into a c-section if anything goes wrong. This is a reasonable request--especially since he was so nice about it, I have no issue with that. His bedside manner totally worked in his favor in this case.  So, Garrett and I fill out stacks of paperwork--he gets the insurance stuff and I get the gobs of VBAC disclosures.

They check me, and I'm not very dilated... I want to say I was a three, but I can't quite remember for sure. I just remember not being very far along in the process. The way everyone is talking, it sounds like we're going to be there in labor through the next day. Everyone keeps saying things like you need to get rest because tomorrow afternoon you're going to need it, and stuff like that.  Somehow I know this is not right--It's obviously going to be hours--but I just know that it's not going to take that long. Since the contractions are manageable at this point, they settle me in with an IV drip for pain management, and since I haven't had my strep-B test yet, I ask approximately 42 times if they've got me on antibiotics--strep B completely freaks me out, and I'm not an antibiotic pusher in any case, but always and most definitely in the case of strep B. They settle me down to sleep for the night, which is completely ridiculous, as anyone whose ever been in labor will tell you. But, we try to snooze regardless, and the next couple hours pass fitfully as my contractions get more intense.  

The hours go by, and at around 4am the nurse checks me, and it's time for the epidural--she's surprised and everyone is saying I'm going faster than they expected me to. I'm not surprised at all--I'm like, duh. Ha. It's amazing how obvious the signs of labor progressing are when you're in the midst of it. The anesthesiologist comes in and goes through the standard disclaimers and tells me what she's going to do. I sit up for the epidural insert into my back, and she tells me she needs me to be absolutely, 100%, perfectly still. NO MOVING whatsoever while she inserts it between contractions. So, in the most critical part of her inserting it, I realize beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am going to throw up, right at that very moment, and that letting it out and holding still would be easier than trying to hold it in and hold still. I somehow manage to puke in my own lap while holding perfectly still. It shocks the nurse and she grabs a little puke bowl for me and manages to catch about half of it. The anesthesiologist and the nurse can't believe it... they've never seen anyone hold perfectly still while puking before, apparently. All I knew is that I wanted to be able to walk at the end of all this, and I wasn't moving when someone was messing with my spine, regardless of a little throw up.

It's amazing what a time-warp labor and delivery is. The moments are agonizingly long, but the hours are fleeting. By the time they're done with the epidural it's around 5 am, and the nurse checks me--I'm dilated to 6--and leaves the room, letting me know she'll check on me periodically, but it could be hours before it's time to push. Somehow I know this isn't true, and I look at her like she's lost her mind, but she's gone and she's the expert, what do I know? So I focus on breathing through the contractions as they come. The contractions are both easier and harder to deal with once the epidural is in. Because I can still feel that intense, crazy pressure, but I can't move now, so in a way it's harder--because I deal with pain by moving, and that crutch has been taken away from me. I can't really move anyway because they've got me on IV's for insulin and the antibiotics too. I wish desperately to be able to walk through the contractions.

At 6am I have to push. And what I mean by that is that all of a sudden I go from laying there and enduring contractions to desperately MUST PUSH. I frantically press the nurse call button and tell the answering nurse I have to push. She acts surprised, then says to NOT push, of course, and she will send my nurse in right away. It feels like it takes an eternity, but my nurse finally meanders in and checks me. Her face is shocked when she looks up at me and says, "Yep! It's time for you to push!! 4 cm in an hour!! WOW!!" I'm all, "Really. I'd have never guessed". Then she's running out the door, yelling for the doctor (I think he was just down the hall.) and returning with carts and gadgets and metal things and cloths and who knows what else. They introduce the doctor who'd just come on shift, and there's a student nurse they ask if I care if she's present for the delivery. I don't give a crap who is in the room at this point, I just need to push. Seems rude to wait until the last minute to ask a lady delivering a baby these sorts of questions.

What happens when you have a big sister who was obsessed at the time with the gadget drawer in the kitchen. :-)

Giving birth vaginally is the coolest thing, ever. I'm so glad for the experience. And, as I've had a c-section, a VBAC with an epidural, and now with Daria a VBAC without an epidural, I have to say the thing about the epidural is that I still felt everything about that delivery... the contractions, the pressure, the urges to push. It's still one of the most painful things I've ever experienced, but also the awesomest experience ever. The thing about the epidural is that it widened my circle of awareness... easing the pain and the pressure just enough that I could be aware of what was going on around me and enjoy the experience a bit more thoroughly as it was happening. The mirror they wheeled in so I could see what was going on looked like it was made in a middle school shop class, and it's funny because the doctor is standing in front of it the whole time, so every time I glance that way, all I see is his back. I catch one glimpse and decide the mirror is completely weird and otherworldly. If I want to see what's going on I'm perfectly capable of bending over to look, thankyouverymuch. Somehow that is so much less weird. The cloth that medical facilities are obsessed with placing over girl's knees--like if it's there we can't feel that something's going on and some stranger is messing with our bottom half, so stupid, slides up and becomes useless. The nurse pants with me and fine-tunes my pushing technique with each contraction. Tuck your chin. Curl your body up with the contraction. Push down, not up. (Not something anyone ever thinks about until they give birth, I think, but really makes a difference and is so cool when you figure it out.) And I'm pushing, and focusing on my husband's face. He looks a little baffled/horrified/amazed by everything. Finally he grins at me and says, "She has hair!! Dark hair!!" and she's out, and the doctor is asking Garrett if he wants to cut the umbilical cord and she's snuggled on my chest and screaming, praise the Lord. And she's wiggling and squirmy and slimy, and we're saying hi and loving her angry little self.  We can look at her and recognize her, if that makes sense--she looks like our kid. Then the contractions/cramps are back, and they take her away to weigh and clean her up and run tests, and I'm cramping and trying to get rid of the placenta. I remember that it felt really really strange to have the nurse grab my stomach and just start kneading--like she was putting together some french bread for Sunday dinner. Even though I knew it was going to happen, I wasn't prepared for that. But, it goes fairly quickly, and we're done with that, thankfully fast.

It takes me a bit to come down from that epidural--all in all I am not a fan. Itching, and not being able to move is annoying. While I'm laying there wishing it would go away so I could get up and walk around a nurse walks in with a bottle, takes Brie from me and sits down and starts feeding it to her. SERIOUSLY?! I freak out. What are you doing?! I want to breastfeed her! She brushes my concerns aside. Brie's blood sugar is just a little low, and they want to get food in her right now. This makes completely sense, I've got no problem with that. But I tried SO HARD to breastfeed Keira and couldn't because she would never suck hard enough or get used to a new nipple after being taught to bottle feed with an easy-flow nipple in the NICU. I (politely and respectfully) ask her if there's any way they can syringe feed her or gavage her, or at least consult me before they go doing crazy things, and she acts like I'm totally being silly, and over-reacting. She assures me that I'm not going to have any trouble breastfeeding, and I'm welcome to put Brie to breast whenever I want during our hospital stay, but her primary nutrition while in the hospital will be via formula by bottle. I still feel furious every time I think of that nurse and that infuriating conversation.

Garrett is gone at some point in this to get Keira. I get into a wheel chair and get loaded up with all our stuff to move to a different room. I'm stressed out because I can't call him, and I'm afraid he's not going to be able to find me when he comes back. But, they had someone in labor waiting for my room so it's not like I could stay there. We get moved all the way up to the 8th floor. While I'm getting moved I find out that it was an absolutely insane night for the birthing center at the hospital--more babies were born there on that night than ever before in the hospital--in fact it had blown their previous record out of the water. They didn't have enough rooms for birthing, and they don't have enough rooms now to keep all of the mommas and babies in. So, up to the 8th floor overflow area we go... and we end up in the SMALLEST room I've ever seen. There's not enough room to change your mind in there, seriously. You can hardly fit around the bed on two sides, and then on the other side where there's slightly more room they've put a HUGE rocking chair, so you can't be over there either. It feels like we've been sent to a dungeon, even though it's on the top floor. And the nurses are hurried and harried, and hardly even bother with being polite, much less basic needs. I happen to hear that there's a c-section next door that is taking up A LOT of time and resources. I get this--I was that c-section patient last time, unfortunately. But, literally hours go by at a time through my whole stay where I didn't see a nurse, and they were so rushed and thoughtless when they did come in, it was like my very presence annoyed them. And I am NOT a demanding patient, I can promise you that. I go out of my way to be easy going and not demanding.
  
Garrett comes and brings Keira to meet her new sister. She has no idea what's going on... at 15 months there wasn't much we could say or do that would prepare her for a sibling. She points at Brie and yells, "MY!!!" And, for a few months after that Brie is known of as Keira's "My." Family comes to visit. We all cram into that tiny, tiny, tiny room, it's so ridiculous, they don't stay too long. My mom brings a cute going-home outfit for Brie. I already cannot wait to get out of there.

I am thankfully off the insulin IV now. I pump regularly to get my breastmilk to come in as fast as possible so we can get Brie off that stupid bottle, and as a result I am STARVING. When Naomi is pregnant, she doesn't have too much in the way of cravings. With the exception of my pregnancy with Brianna, where I craved watermelon, which I've always hated. Now I love it. All those crazy cravings come when I am coming down off pregnancy hormones and making breastmilk. Then I am a ravenous nutso woman with regards to food. I am losing my mind with the hunger.  My lunch sits out in the hallway for over an hour--I hear them deliver it. I can hear them going into every room around me and giving lunch and medicine, except mine. I try to be respectful of the hospital's policy with regards to diabetes management and all that, but I AM STARVING, and my food is right there and has been for almost an hour and a half, and I've buzzed the nurses station to ask if someone can please administer insulin and feed me a few times and they say things like, "Yes, when we can get to it." Finally, I am done waiting, and I pull out my insulin and tester from my purse and give myself my injection, retrieve my measly, gravy coated lunch and eat. I'm still starving when I finish, but at least it's something.

That afternoon I take Brie and snuggle in with her to admire her sweetness. I end up falling asleep with her curled next to me. I didn't mean to, but I was pretty worn out at this point, and quite frankly, I didn't trust anyone who came into my room at this point. A nurse actually pops into our room to check on us, and freaks out over Brie being next to me. I get the "you can't sleep with your baby" lecture... fine. Whatever. I just want to go home at this point. You ignore me and my needs for hours and are borderline rude and then finally pop into my room, and freak out on me. She takes Brie and starts wheeling her out of the room... I am like, NO. I have been as polite and respectful as possible, but quite frankly I don't trust any of these people any farther than I can throw them, and I don't care what they say, I HATE the whole "nursery" thing in the maternity wards--my baby IS NOT leaving my room. Trained medical professionals or not, I don't leave my kids like that. They're my treasures, and my responsibility--and that starts at birth (before actually), not when we leave the hospital. I leave her in her crib, and I take a nap. I wake up at one point to the nurse in the room and she tells me she's just checking on Brie's vitals, but when I wake up again, Brie is GONE. I run down to the nurses station, panicking. Full blown freaking out. Apparently it's not even safe to take a nap in this hospital. The nurse at the nurses station tells me that Brie's in the nursery. What the heck?! I didn't say she could go in there!! So, I go over to the door she'd gestured to--the one marked "SUPPLIES-Hospital Staff Only", and it is locked!!!! I bang on the door, but then another nurse stops me really fast, and explains that the door is locked because there is a Jewish circumcision ceremony going on in there.

I sit my sore self down on the floor next to the door and wait. The nurses look at me like I'm a crazy person, and I don't even care. I don't know when I've ever been so pissed off or scared or felt myself in the midst of some strange conspiracy, ever. Dean Koontz wrote a book called "The House of Thunder" that I'd read a long time before any hospital stays, but I remember thinking about it while I was there... Dean Koontz writes really great thrillers that will Freak. You. Out. completely--if you ever want to sit on the edge of your seat and feel freaked out on creepiness for a whole book, pick one of his. They're fun. Anyway, in this book a woman wakes up in a hospital and slowly, over a period of time realizes that her head is being messed with and she starts piecing together this huge extravagant conspiracy theory that will blow your mind at the end. It's a bit dated politically speaking because it was written in the 80's I think, but it's a fun read. Now, I didn't feel quite that paranoid, but there were elements to this hospital stay that really reminded me of that book. It feels even more like that when the door is finally unlocked, and your stereotypical old, robed and capped Jewish dude walks out, and the parents and extended family behind him. I'm able to go in and get her, and yes, SHE IS ACTUALLY IN A SUPPLY CLOSET. This room is LOADED with precarious stacks of toilet paper, Kleenexes, boxes of gloves, you name it.  Clear to the ceiling with steel supply shelving that looks like monkeys put it together. So, SO SO weird and creepy.  She's the only baby in there, which also freaks me out--apparently they aren't wheeling other people's babies out of their mother's rooms without permission, only mine? She's sleeping soundly, and I take her back to my room and commit myself to not sleeping until we get home.

One other weird element of "conspiracy theory creepy" was my night nurse for that night. I'm pretty sure she was the girl that I got into a car accident with in college. In fact, I'd bet GOOD money on it. Her name is the same, and it's spelled the same weird way, and she looks and talks exactly the same, and the girl I was in the car accident with was in nursing school--yep, it's totally got to be her. She walks in, looks at me, does a double-take, and then looks at my name again. We look at each other for that weird brief half-second of possible, maybe recognition, and then decide to ignore it. It was one of those weird car accidents where we were both backing up that didn't make any sense, and my insurance refused to pay, and her insurance refused to pay, and it was all a horrible battle. All that being said, she was the best nurse I had for the whole hospital stay--ironic, huh?! She took great care of me, even though I know she was just as busy as all the other nurses who I had that stay.

The next morning nurse is busy, again, and rude, again. We are on our way out the door though, so I don't even care. I have to watch the video from 1980 something about how to take care of a baby, and Brie gets the preemie car seat test... All our children have had this test. Since she was preemie (before 36 weeks) by 18 hours, Brie has to have it too.  She goes to the "nursery" aka the supply closet to get her car seat test. I'm at least able to check on her while she's in there.

And we are packing up, and leaving. We get wheeled out, Brie and me. As we go by the nurses station I notice a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I knew my work would send flowers, so I ask if we can stop and check and see if those are my flowers. The nurse laughs at me, and says, Those aren't your flowers, nobody sent you flowers. Like I'm far too worthless to get flowers for giving birth. Thankfully I don't have self-esteem issues, because this nurse really could have done a number on me if I had.

Loading your child up into the car to take them home is weird. Suddenly everything about driving seems to be horribly dangerous and scary. You sit in your quiet little bubble of a car, and the whole world moves too fast and scary around you all the way home. And, finally you walk into your home, and as much as it's a huge relief to be there, in that place of safety, suddenly the place that is always a haven and a comfort feels just a little... off. It's weird TO bring a new child home, and it's weird to NOT bring a new child home. It takes at least a few weeks for that feeling to go away, for everyone in the home to get used to the new person's presence.

That afternoon the hospital calls me to tell me that they had my flowers from my work, they'd been sitting at the nurses station, and isn't it funny, I'd wheeled right past them on my way out the door?!?!?! They want me to come pick them up, but we live 40 minutes away. I explain that I can't come, and I ask her to send me the card and give the flowers to someone who doesn't have any, or needs cheering up in some other ward. I let her know that I am LESS THAN pleased with the care I received, and she apologizes and encourages me to fill out a questionnaire. I do.

And, we settle in with our sweet Brianna. I do my best to breast feed, but by the time my milk comes in the bottle damage has been done, and I end up pumping exclusively for almost four months before I quit--2 months less than with Keira. I hate that I quit so early, but I was a bit emotionally unstable with two little ones and a job and around the clock pumping at that point, and realistically looking back, I think that it was probably what had to be done. The gift of grace is a lovely balm for mommy guilt, if you're willing to accept it.  Every time I think of my breastfeeding experiences I think of Mark 14:8-- She has done what she could. It doesn't completely appease the mommy guilt, but it helps a little.

Everyone's birth story is their own, and no one else's. And, all-in-all, other than grumpy nurses and zero support in the breastfeeding category, Brie's story is a lot of fun. I'm so thankful for it, and for her.

Stay tuned for Daria's! It'll be along shortly. :-)