Eleanor Elizabeth, a Birth Story

Check. Her. Out! No really check out her hands.

You know how when you do something once, and it was a great experience, you assume you're good at said thing and that the next time you will do it it will be a similar experience?  That was me, regarding giving birth to a baby.  Here's the thing.  Pregnancies, births, babies -- they all different, mama.  They all different.









Eleanor, "El Chill," was in no hurry to give up her cozy one-bedroom, but Doc said it was time for eviction. So, on Wednesday, March 16th, I went to visit my Dr. to start the induction process.  The thought was I would go into labor sometime overnight, but if not, we would head to the hospital the next morning to break my water and remove said tenant from property.  The process started at 5pm, after which I headed to my mom's for our weekly girl's night/American Idol party, where I started feeling a little uncomfortable.  Like, pace mindlessly around the kitchen half listening to the conversation, hoping-my-two-year-old-is-occupied uncomfortable. I called Eric (Wednesdays = volleyball and wings) and told him we were likely on the fast track to having a baby, please don't come home smelling like a bar. He complied.

I took Grace home and got her ready for bed, reading stories with many dramatic pauses and deep breaths, praying I could get through the routine so she could have a good night's rest before her world got turned upside down.  We succeeded, but not without my water breaking, in her bed, while reading Dora Saves the Snow Princess.  Thanks to all my good yoga-ing I was able to maintain a bridge pose and keep the bed mostly dry and the kid asleep.  Fun stuff, huh?!

We called the hospital and they said give it an hour, you may have just peed your pants.  And I was like who the F do they think I am?  Grace?  Who are these yahoos on the night shift?  Oh, we would soon find out. So we gave it an hour and, since I DID NOT PEE MY PANTS, we went to the hospital.  I was uncomfortable. These contractions were intense. Like, more so than the last time I did this.  I wanted an epidural. I was focused on THE EPIDURAL.  You see, with Grace, I didn't really think I wanted an epidural, but after checking into the hospital and laboring for 2 hours with no progress, my very sweet, very doting nurse said, Get the epidural, get some rest, and then you can have your baby.  Ok, I said.  Ok.

BEST IDEA EVER.  Talk about instant relaxation.  After that, the whole experience was tranquil.  I remember laughing between contractions, trading stories with the nurses, talking with my Dr. about her daughters, I swear Morning from Peer Gynt was playing in the background.  It was lovely.  I literally said "that was fun" moments after Grace entered the world.  I loved giving birth. I thought I loved giving birth, anyway.

This time around...this time around, I got contractions from hell, and I got the B Team. By the time I was admitted and checked, I was 5 centimeters and had asked 18 million times for an epidural.  I got answers like, yep, just a few more minutes while I continue to type words, call the doctor, call the lab, floss my teeth, rearrange the furniture, and say a few Hail Mary's, and then I will definitely order you an epidural. Definitely. Huh, someone has you entered into our system as Hispanic.  Are you Hispanic?

.....!

(Disclaimer here:  I understand I got some seriously great care, both times around.  The kind of care mamas around the world dream about, and I consider myself beyond lucky to have been in such great hands.  It's just Elle's birth was so different from Grace's, I can't help but laugh, and shake my head just a little.)

By the time the nurse anesthetist (let's call him Dave) came, I asked to be checked again (6.5 cm), and then flashed Dave a bright, hopeful smile, turned over and willingly surrendered my spine. Please Dave, I'm hoping for tranquility.  I'd like peace.  I'd like to not scream at everyone in this room tonight, OK DAVE?

Meet Dave.

Dave was dealing with some sensitive real estate, right?  You don't mess around with a spine.  I get it.  But after twenty minutes of tapping my back and lots of shuffling papers and throat clearing, I got the sense something was not right with my man Dave.  I kept looking at Eric like, WTF IS GOING ON BACK THERE, and he would shrug and squeeze my hand and sort of raise his eyebrows like, hang tight babe. Turns out all that shuffling was Dave READING THE INSTRUCTIONS.

HEAVEN HELP ME.

"Dave, my man," I say, after he got the catheter in my back, "Give me some good news."

"Well, you should definitely be getting some relief in 15-20 minutes."

After all that? 15 MORE MINUTES? Are you KIDDING ME Dave?

Meanwhile, back in my uterus, things remained stormy and intense...so intense that before I got any sweet epidural relief, I said, "Nurse.  I think it's go time.  Can you check me? Oh and get Dave the EFF OUT OF MY ROOM."
Jk, I simply thought that last bit.

Nurse: "Sure enough! Wow! I didn't think you would...wow! Ok, we just need you to hang tight while I check on Dr.'s status."

Me: "I have a human threatening to rip my body in half and you want me to HANG TIGHT?!"
Jk, I simply thought that last bit.

At this point, another nurse had joined the crowd, I think to assist in the event that the Doc didn't make it in time.  In one perfect moment, she caught my eye after Dave made yet another asinine remark about how the epidural should be working soon, and this lovely woman kind of raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders like, it's not you honey, it's them.  It's really them.

Thank God.

A few minutes later my Doc showed up and I don't think I've ever been quite so glad to see another human in all my life. Save me from these amateurs Doc, save me.  She did.  By this time I had gotten my head right, that there would be no relief from the earth shattering contractions, and I needed to just deliver. Literally.  And you know what? It worked.  I womaned-up and after fifteen intense minutes of pushing and one primal scream from mama, baby girl entered the world at 2:40 am with the most gloriously relieving sound I've ever heard, a big giant wail of a cry.  They held her up for me to see and I said, "She looks like Pops!" (When they held Grace up I said, "She looks like Nana!"  Apparently my girls look like my paternal grandparents?) They placed her on my chest and I didn't even cry...I laughed with relief and pure joy that she was here! I laughed and smiled and asked the nurse to move the blanket to make sure she was a girl (I had manynightmares dreams that she was a boy).  Baby looked at me and I looked at her and my heart grew by 6 lbs, 15 oz and 21 1/2" super long inches.

Looks like a carbon copy of her big sister here.

What's her name? They asked.  I don't know! I said. Let me stare at her a little longer.

Seriously someone needs to get Dave out of my room. Seriously.

This post is getting long.  But I have more to say.  Feel free to pause here and refill your coffee.

The next few hours were a blur of check ups and check ins and dozing, and one very chatty housekeeper who suggested the name "Savannah after the movie Savannah Smiles where a little girl gets kidnapped and her kidnappers buy her a puppy" (wtf is with these people).  After I politely nodded and closed my eyes since it was ONLY 7 AM she also suggested, maybe, Kendra?  And I just kept my eyes closed and tried not to giggle.



Later that morning big sis Grace came to visit, and I am once again left speechless trying to describe what it's like to see your big baby after bringing a little baby into the world.  Heartbreaking, elating, exciting, some combination of those? Grace was anxious to hold her baby sister, and she was even more anxious to open the presents her crafty little sister had pulled together.  I was anxious to get my hands on my big girl, and moments after she arrived I was down on the floor, playing with her new Mickey Mouse Clubhouse set.  A nurse walked in and said, "I don't think I've ever seen a post partum mom on the floor before!" Yeah, well, I don't think I've ever met a nurse anesthetist who had to READ INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO GIVE AN EPIDURAL BUT THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING, HUH.



Later that evening we realized we did, in fact, have to name our daughter.  I thought, for many months, her name was Elle.  But there was a tiny little part of me who thought her name could possibly be Frankie. I thought looking at her would give me my answer.  Unfortunately, babies resemble tiny old people and looking at them is not really a source of naming inspiration.  After much hemming and hawing, I realized her name was indeed Elle, like I thought all those months ago. Now, the question was, is she an Elle (my choice), or is she an Eleanor (Eric's choice. Formal.  Because we're formal people, obviously.)?  It was ultimately my decision, since Grace's name (which was a slam dunk by the way) was Eric's choice.  I'm one of the most indecisive people in the world, and I didn't really trust myself to make a solid decision just hours after giving birth...so I did what any sane and rational person would do in that scenario.  I let a two year old choose.  Ok Grace, what's her name? Elle or Eleanor? Or Frankie? Or Frances?Or I don't know do you have any other great ideas?
(wtf is wrong with me?)


"Leleanor. Leleanor, momma." Could a face like this tell anything but truth?

And there you have it.  Eleanor.  Eleanor.  I never thought I would have a daughter named Eleanor, and sometimes I feel like I'm still trying out the name, rolling it around to see how it sticks.  It's sweet, it's vintage, it's classic...it's inspired by Eleanor Roosevelt who was one of the most important feminists in history, and her daily name, Elle, is inspired by one of my most favorite supermodels of all time.  Basically a win win.

One of her Grandpa's thought it was just 'L.'  LOL.

Are you still with me?  You're sweet.  The rest of our stay at the hospital looked something like this:

And this.  What can I say? Second kid. We made the hospital room work for us.

See nurse, I'M not the one in the family who pees my pants.

And here I am, 11 days later, just astounded that we have transitioned into a new routine so smoothly. I am humbled and grateful. Thanks readers, for letting me share this with you, in it's lengthy entirety.  Thanks family, for your constant support, thanks Eric for working from home and for taking such great pictures, thanks Grace for keeping me on my toes and not making this too easy, thanks Elle, for being such a wonderfully, perfectly sweet baby.  Mostly thank you for sleeping so well at night.  Mama loves you!