Avery Brooke

Well, I guess it’s time to take the notes off of my phone and write a post about the Avery’s birth. Better late than never, right? Here it is in all its gory details, so be forewarned! 

My birth plan was that I would be induced at 39 weeks. My doctors wanted to do it at 38 weeks, but I felt that I wanted to wait a week so that the baby could develop further. I thought that 39 weeks was a good compromise. The baby could develop as long as possible and we would still have control over the birth in case something went wrong. (I have a family history of problems during delivery and with Faith I had a very concerning heart condition).

The party started on April 13^th. The day before I had an OB appointment and was told I was maybe at a 1 and something like 50%. What a bummer. I was hoping for more action. I didn’t think I was going to survive any longer being pregnant. YOU try lifting a very large 14^th month old all day being pregnant with a very large baby! I thought I was going to die. I had kicked JD out of our bed because I thought it was safer than me losing my wits in the middle of the night from insomnia and chucking him out the window because I wanted more room. He was a trooper. 

On the 13^th, I went to a stake Relief Society meeting. There was something wrong with the AC. With all of those women in that building, I was VERY uncomfortable. Being too hot turned into contractions.  After finally deciding that my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, I left early and we headed to the ER to figure out what was going on. In about an hour, I went from a 1 to a 5 and 70ish %. The doctor decided to try to give me fluids to see if the contractions would stop, but admitted me when I was measured at a 6 an hour later. I was at 37 weeks, so they didn’t want to do anything to keep the labor progressing, but felt that the baby would come anyway. When I actually realized the fact that I might have the baby early, I really didn’t want her to come. I wanted her to develop further. It had taken a lot of courage for me to go against my doctors and trust my desires to wait to induce until 39 weeks and once I made the decision, I really wanted it to happen that way.

After being admitted and in the hospital all night, and with an IV in the most uncomfortable place in my wrist (so tempted to rip that sucker out!) my labor stopped. AND it turned out that the nurse measured me wrong and I was still at a 5. I should have been sent home that night. As we left the next morning, the doctor told me that I needed to get into the hospital if I started with contractions again because of how dilated I was. Given how fast my labor progressed from a 1 to a 5, I could go quick.

The next 2 weeks, I had bouts of contractions in the evenings. But I was in denial and didn’t want to go in. I didn’t want to go through the whole hospital thing if the contractions were just going to stop. And every night they did.

Fast forward to 25^th. I go in for my OB appointment. I’m at a 6. Doctor is shocked I am not in labor and tells me “this kid has got to be hanging on by her toes!” He tells me that the next time I have contractions to get my hind parts to the hospital. The nurse tells me to call on the way- don’t wait! I “failed” to mention how I had been in labor several times over the last 2 weeks. But their message stuck. I really didn’t want to have a baby on hwy 495. That would be bad.

That night contractions came again. I decided that I better go in. I thought that there was probably a good chance they would stop, but I decided that I’d listen to the doc this time.We went strolling into the hospital at about 7pm. I was feeling a little embarrassed that they would send me home again. They checked me and I was still at a 6 and 70%. Nurse confirms that there’s no way I’m going home. I was in labor and this baby was coming. I was a little confused. Why did I get sent home last time and not this time? What’s the difference? The difference was that at midnight, I would be 38 weeks and the hospital was authorized in my situation to help the labor along. They were afraid to send me home as far along as I was and so they decided to have me wait.

I’ve discovered something interesting about myself. I don’t feel labor pain until my water is broken. Literally none.  Light cramping, but nothing that takes my breath away. I am very grateful for that blessing. The nurses were shocked. I didn’t realize how abnormal this is when I had Faith, but with Avery, all of my nurses and my doctor were quite fascinated. Because I felt nothing, it added to my confusion as to if I was in labor or not. Many women feel horrible labor pains at a 1. I thought you had to be in pain to be in labor. Clearly not. 

At 1:22 am, I was checked again. I was at an 8. Still very little pain. I was contemplating that maybe I should go natural. If I was at an 8 and I know that for me the pushing stage is pretty fast, why not gut it out? But I quickly changed my mind. I was too scared. I decided to get an epidural before the doctor broke my water since I knew the pain would kick soon after. 

The moment I was given the epidural, I knew something was wrong. It didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t articulate what it was. I called the anesthesiologist in and he insisted that it was in correctly. Not wanting to have it removed and put in again, I hoped for the best. The epidural only worked on my left side. I felt everything on my right side. They had me lay on my right side and gave me more meds, but it didn’t work. Once the pain started after the doctor broke my water, things became very intense and progressed very quickly. (Who am I kidding!? “Intense” is a sore understatement!) Contractions were coming all at once and I soon was yelling at the nurses. Apparently (and I don’t really remember much) I gave the nurses a piece of my mind about the crappy epidural. Everything in me wanted to leap out of bed and move, but half of me was numb. It wasn’t pretty. Soon, I felt the baby ready to come out. The nurse nonchalantly checked me- I don’t know if she believed me or not. As soon as she discovered the baby was ready, she ran after the doctor and instructed JD to close me legs and not let me push. 

The pushing phase went by quickly. Whatever pain relief I felt on my right side was gone and like it or not, I was feeling it all. At 3:26 am, Avery Brooke was born at 9 lbs 10 oz and 21 inches long. Thank goodness she was early! Had she been any bigger, I would have had to have a C-section.

The hospital was very full that night, so we had to wait a while before going to recovery. We used that time to go in a completely different direction name-wise. Over the last several weeks, I came to the realization that Bella wasn't the right name. It totally stressed me out because I couldn't figure out another name. I wanted something that I loved as much as Faith. I looked and looked and looked online for names, went back through family history, and downloaded baby name apps. Nothing. I was getting really worried about it as we were getting closer to her birth. So while waiting for a room, JD whipped open the laptop, looked at a baby names list and about 10 seconds flat asked, "What about Avery?" Love!! Instantly! 

And that's the story of how Avery Brooke came to be!