Before I really begin, there’s something you should know about me. Prior to Ollie, I washed, dried, and straightened my hair everyday. It’s a process, but it makes me feel like I’m a real person that day. The day I went into labor…I hadn’t washed my hair.

Another thing you should know: We went to a birth class, and I barely made it. I went from struggling to keep a straight face during the labor exercises…to being shocked at just how much the videos showed of the labor process. SO just know this is all coming from a novice, amateur, and someone who never believed she’d make it through the process. And I’ve got to say, (and I said this only an hour after he was born), it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

Okay…here we go :]

I woke up to a snowball hitting our bedroom window. Because my sweet husband threw it at the second story of our house while taking the dogs out 🙂 We had slept in a bit, because it was a snow day! Work was cancelled and classes were cancelled and campus was closed. The snow storm had shut down our little town. But we kept the car dug out. Just in case. We were 3 days out from my due date. And this was the third time we had to keep the car dug out “just in case.” My entire pregnancy we thought I’d deliver early. Since mid January we’d been waiting, and waiting. Just a few days previously, I was told I was 0 cm dilated. Nowhere near close. The obgyn told me the process for scheduling induction in two weeks. It felt as if I’d always be pregnant. Forever. But it was good we kept the car dug out that day.

David and I ate breakfast and watched Shark Tank on the couch that morning. His “treat” before working on a paper all day. Some snow day. Right before he started working, I told him I really didn’t want to shower. “Then don’t! You’re inside all day.” (Yeah, I didn’t even go out in the snow. Too pregnant. No coats big enough.) “but what if I go into labor?” “Good point. Just skip washing your hair.” And I listened.

After a long blissful shower, I laid in bed for close to two hours, reading away. Only to move downstairs to the couch and keep reading. Until I finished my book. And fell asleep for awhile. Then I made David watch Doctor Who as a reward for all his hard work on school. And because I was 9 months pregnant. He agreed. At this point it’s close to 6:30 pm, the sun has set, and David’s planned out his paper for the last few hours. And I’m starting to feel weird. Really weird. Like consistent lower back pain that I’m trying desperately to ignore type of weird. I tell David. But not before ignoring it for the full hour we were watching Doctor Who and secretly checking my phone to time it out. And then I insist that we HAVE TO cook the burrito bowls we planned on making because the avocados will go bad.

David cooks while I mash up avocados and try to ignore my “lower back pain.” At some point, we get the pregnancy book from our birth class. I skim signs of labor and the description of contractions. This can’t be it. Even though I have to pause every so often as I’m walking around the kitchen because the pain is getting worse. I start timing the pain. It’s wildly inconsistent. This can’t be it. Wouldn’t I know if I was in labor?! David asks if we should call the hospital. And if we should really be making burrito bowls. No, we don’t need to call. Yes, for some reason these burrito bowls are desperately important.

Eventually I call my friend Maddy. I describe what’s going on. She says it sounds like labor and to call the hospital to let them know what’s going on. My friend Brittany texts me “any chance Ollie is coming tonight?” “Well…I’m timing contractions so possibly.”  I make David call once we finish making dinner. Because I clearly had priorities. (I don’t notice that David skimps on the chicken…weary of what I could very well be throwing up) They tell us to wait it out. Keep timing the contractions. We sit on the couch and eat. David pays bills. And then tried for what felt like forever to get a livestream of the Grammys to work. I tried to eat all of the guac that I could because I didn’t want it to go bad. (and because they won’t let you eat once you get to the hospital. priorities.) It was all so normal. Minus the pain. We made a little bed on the couch so I could be more comfortable. David brought down all my pillows and Mr Dog (the stuffed animal he gave me when we first started dating) for comfort. He even gives me Neville to cuddle. And we just sit and watch the choppy live stream of the Grammys.

At some point I get concerned. We need to finish packing! Now! I had a “last minute list” written out. So I slowly climbed the stairs and started directing David around. We listen to Adele sing and I ask him to start helping me with contractions. It’s getting bad at this point. He pushes on my lower back each time and runs around packing in between. My sister shows up around 11:30pm and starts running around making snacks for us to take to the hospital. I keep wondering if I’m wearing the right clothes for “going into labor.”

Eventually, the bags are packed, the hospital has given us the okay, and it’s time to go. I sit and hold Neville and wait as Kelsey and David pack the car. Trying not to cry. Because I really don’t want to go to the hospital. At all. And I especially don’t want to leave Neville. And I hadn’t washed my hair. And I’m thinking about how the leftover burrito bowls will go bad if we’re gone for three days. And next time we come home everything will be different. The car is packed and Kelsey makes us take a family picture. They help me to the car because the ground is solid ice. Solid ice. Kelsey says “love you! Yayyyy!!” And we’re off.

We call my mom from the car and keep her on speaker. The drive to the hospital normally takes 10 minutes. Tonight, because the roads are SOLID ICE, it takes 30. My mom wishes us luck. I’m crying the whole way in fear. Also because I’m having to deal with the contractions on my own because David’s driving. David prays.

We finally get there, and as David’s helping me out of the car, he almost wipes out. Looking back, this would’ve been both hilarious and disastrous. We walk very slowly into the Birthplace. It’s 12:30am.

I just remember being shocked at how deserted it was in there. The lights were dim and we were shown immediately to a triage room by a nurse named Ann. She gets me hooked up and asks me to get into a gown. I guess I didn’t need to be so concerned about wearing the right “labor clothes.” The time in the triage room was the worst of the entire process. Instead of getting to move through the contractions, I had to lay in the bed for about two hours. Two different nurses had trouble figuring out how far along I was. (um, OW!) And then after they told me I was probably only 2 or 3 cm along, and we waited for the Doctor to come in and confirm it. The nurses also told me they might have to make me take laps around the hospital until I progressed. (I was not game for that) We watch Friends on David’s phone to try and distract me. And I stressed about how I would not be able to get a refund for my manicure that had essentially peeled off within two days. (i’m telling ya, everything felt tragic. having terrible nails during birth? oh the horror.) And then my favorite Doctor in a crisis, Dr Roberts walked in, and waits to check me until I’m done with a contraction. (praise God) Quickly he says I was either 6 or 8cm. WHAT?! It’s time to get checked in.

And this, friends, means it’s time to get my epidural(!!!!). And also that I didn’t have to take laps (!!!!). The process of getting checked into our room takes about an hour. They do lots of checking vitals, hooking me up to things. David goes out to the car to get all of our carefully packed bags. There’s a small portion of time that I’m left in the room alone. And I’m pacing, walking on my tiptoes, wondering how much longer I can take it. I’m pretty positive I was at my limit. Finally, the anesthesiologist walks in with Ann and it’s time for medicine. Yay 😀 I’m officially 8cm dilated when they start this process. They have me sit up on the table while they numb me. It’s hard to be still when the contractions are coming so quickly. David stands up facing me so I can squeeze his hands during contractions. He falls asleep standing up. I’m not joking. The grace of God must’ve been present because I laugh it off. Or maybe that’s when the epidural started working.

Once they figure out the epidural, everything changes. I’m not feeling contractions anymore. I can breathe normally. I’m praising God for modern medicine. (for real, you ladies who go all natural are the true heroes. I can’t even think about it.) After everything’s all set, the nurses leave us to get some sleep. Ann tells me she’ll “be back when his ears are out.” That was a terrifying image to me, so I decided not to think about it. I made David take a picture of us because I was feeling fineeee minus the tinging in my arm and feeling all shivery. And then we tried to get some sleep from 5-7AM.

David was out immediately. And I just couldn’t sleep. I kept hearing the nurses on nightshift chatting. I drifted in and out as I prayed for what would come later in the day. Time passed so slowly. And the beeps of all the machines seemed to be a ticking clock for me. Ann came in and out to check mine and Ollie’s vitals.

The nurses and my doctor changed shifts at 7:30AM. And Rhonda, our new nurse came in and woke both me and David up. (Guys, I’m going to brag on Rhonda later, but just know that she’s the absolute best. I’m convinced I couldn’t have made it without her.) They checked to see how far along I was…9cm! Eek! Rhonda told me to let her know if I had the urge to push. Nope. No thank you, I’m fine the way I am right now. My sister, Kelsey, came in at some point in the morning to visit us. She said she woke up all night long checking her phone, thinking that Oliver had arrived! Not yet, though. My friend Brittany came in and brought David breakfast from the coffee shop. We then watched her take in all the machinery for about an hour. Brittany’s a nurse who’s dream job is working labor and delivery. This was like a dream for her. :] We basically just hung out and waited. Nurses came in and out. My friend Krysta shows up at some point. David keeps our families updated. I text my college girls and tell them I won’t be making it to campus today and to pray, pray, pray. Eventually they bring me a popsicle. Good times, that was the best popsicle I’d ever tasted.

Mid morning, Becca (my new midwife) and Rhonda start saying that labor has slowed down greatly. They’re suggesting pitocin to pick up the speed of things. And suggesting to break my water. Did I have the urge to push? Nope, still nothing. I wasn’t excited about more drugs so they moved me to a sitting position instead, letting gravity do the work for me. At some point, they broke my water. Around 12pm they told me it wouldn’t be long now, the change of position had worked! For an hour or so during that time frame, I kept talking about my epidural wearing off. I was feeling pain. “Pain or pressure?” they kept asking. And I just kept saying PAIN. And then they’d ask again. I was at a loss. I was definitely starting to feel contractions again. It was that “pressure” they kept talking about, but I didn’t know that yet.

Slowly they moved medical equipment into the room. I didn’t notice. I tried to chat with David and with my friends. But it was hard to be present. I tried to be cheery. But I was starting to feel scared again. David left the room for a moment to update some family or get me ice or something. And Krysta and Brittany came over to pray for me. And then Rhonda and Becca bust in declaring that I’m at 10cm! It’s time to push! WHAT?! I was in disbelief. Are you sure?! And this is when I got scared. My eyes were wide and I was a little shaky as my friends said goodbye and that they’d be waiting in the waiting room. I made David go get my contacts before I started so I wouldn’t have my glasses on. And this is where Rhonda just made. it. happen.

Friends, I’ll spare you most of the details of the pushing. It was the weirdest experience of my life. They kept asking me if I wanted a mirror, or if I wanted to feel his head. I most certainly did not. It was a very long, very draining two hours. Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically. Like this legitimately took so long that Becca left to deliver another baby and then came back and I was still pushing. And I kept thinking how the amount of time I’d spent pushing was equal to a decently long movie. And I kept telling everyone how much I regretted not exercising for the last 6 months. David, Rhonda, and I were on a journey together. One in which I made David play the same song by Attalus over and over again. And I think it accurately describes how I felt about labor and having a baby and becoming a mom.

“Dive into the sea, could be the end of me, get lost in Your undertow, get lost in Your undertow. Don’t care what it costs, just let my soul be washed, let it drown in the overflow, let it drown in the overflow.”

The last half hour was rough. I was finally getting the hang of what it was to “push,” but I was also so, so exhausted. I hadn’t slept in a day and a half. My hair was now on day 2 without being washed. I was starting to cry. I was physically at my limit. And emotionally ready to give up. Rhonda would not let me. She kept telling me that I couldn’t give up. That I was almost there. That I had to push even though I didn’t want to. She let me skip pushing every couple minutes or so to rest, but the rest of the time she was a whirlwind of fierce encouragement. And David was a rockstar. He was unfazed by the craziness of this reality. He kept his cold hands on my neck to cool me down. He brushed my hair off my face. He rubbed my shoulders between pushes. And he locked eyes with me the whole time.

Finally, they assured me that it wouldn’t be long now. “Keep going. You’re doing so good.” I was convinced they were lying, because they’d been saying that for over an hour now. But David assured me it was true. He was coming! Just a little longer.

And then inexplicably, unbelievably. There he was. Crying and tiny and perfect. And the first thing David and I did was make wide eyes at each other. “He’s real!” All this time it was easy to believe I was pregnant, but impossible to believe we were having a baby. But there he was! All 7 pounds and 11 oz. 9 months of pregnancy. 18 hours of labor. 2 hours of pushing, and there he was. They brought him over to the warming tray and David was reminded he could come watch as they cleaned him off. He looked so shocked and surprised and in awe. And then they brought him right over to me to lay him on my chest. And Ollie looked right in my eyes.

It wasn’t the kind of soul crushing love that I feel for him now, that took time to grow. But I was smitten. We both were. He was adorable. And he wouldn’t stop staring at me.

There were lots of labor-y aftermath things going on, but it didn’t really matter. Because Ollie was real and he was ours. And that’s the part that we still can’t believe. He’s ours and he’s real and he’s made from both of us. What a weird, beautiful thing.

Our time at the hospital with him was lovely. Kelsey came in to meet him first, and then it was a flurry of family and friend , in and out for the next two days. We got lots of blissful Ollie time and little sleep. We even ate ice cream and watched an episode of New Girl one night because I was insisting on doing something “normal.” My favorite morning was our last one. Ollie stretched out next to me and fell right asleep in my arms.

Going home was definitely a reality check. Things were definitely not going to be like they were in the hospital. But that’s a story for another time. What you really need to know…is that it was all worth it. Even though I’d never dreamed dreams of being a mom when I was a little girl. Even though I was (and still am) so unsure of how to do this parenting thing. Sitting on the couch at home, listening to worship music, with tears rolling down my face, I admitted, “God was right. This is perfect.”