I found out I was pregnant for the third time in August 2015. We'd come back from our summer vacation a few weeks earlier, and I remember that for a few days after I'd felt a little bit nauseous off and on. I assumed I was drinking too much coffee first thing in the morning and not eating enough, so I'd just scarf down a banana before my second cup of the day and go on my merry way. It wasn't until day 5 of feeling like crap that I started to wonder if maybe there was more going on. I remember I was standing at the sink washing dishes and complaining to Scott that I wasn't feeling good. "Well, you're not pregnant", he said matter of factly. But as soon as the word "pregnant" fell out of his mouth, I started wondering. Could I be? We'd been going back and forth for a few months about whether or not we wanted to add to our family, and had finally decided that we'd hold off for now because we had two family weddings coming up the following summer, one of those being out of the country, and we were in a good place with Bailey and Gerry. We figured we'd maybe start trying after the weddings and see what happened.
Unlike with Bailey and Gerry, there was no sweet moment where I came out of the bathroom after taking the test and smiled and announced the news to my husband. Instead, I took a pregnancy test later that morning in the bathroom at Target while I was picking up school supplies for Bailey and Scott was at home wrangling the kids. I honestly wasn't expecting a positive. Truly. But there it was. I floated through Target that morning with a smile on my face. When I got home, I called Scott upstairs to our bedroom and said, "Soooo...remember how we decided to wait until next year to maybe try for another baby? How do you feel about squeezing three kids in this tiny house?" This may have been the longest wait for a reaction out of him, but eventually {after the initial freak-out} that slow smile spread across his face.
I was pregnant. We were doing this again.
At 12 weeks along, I took this picture of Bailey and Gerry and posted it as our "official announcement".
Both kids were so excited when we told them they were going to have a new baby. Between Bailey starting school and me being swamped with daycare kids, the weeks almost seemed to fly by and before I knew it we'd hit week 20 and were headed to our gender ultrasound. I remember walking into the office with Scott and Gerry and climbing nervously onto the table. At that point, I hadn't been feeling as much movement as I had with Bailey and Gerry, so I was just praying for a healthy baby. The tech moved the doppler around, got a great heartbeat, took measurements, and told us that baby looked healthy and perfect. She asked us if we wanted to know the sex and I almost--almost--told her no. I had my girl and I had my boy. This time, I wanted to be surprised. But...Scott really wanted to know and we'd have to face the wrath of Bailey if we didn't come home with a definitive answer for her, and so we asked the tech to yes, please tell us. She moved the doppler wand slightly to the left and there it was, unmistakable.
We were having a little boy.
Another boy. Another little man in the house. Another protector for Bailey {not that she'll ever need one}. Another mama's boy for me. Another sports enthusiast for Scott. I spent the drive home that day imagining what it would be like to be the mother of three children. I was over the moon.
The next 5 months passed slowly. We celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I became more and more uncomfortable as the baby grew. Scott and I discussed {and argued over} baby names. We moved Bailey back into the smaller bedroom and bought her a brand new loft bed, and set up the bigger bedroom for the boys. My mom and sister threw me a sprinkle. I washed and folded and put away teeny tiny baby clothes. I rearranged the boys' bedroom 500 times. I packed and re-packed my hospital bag, sanitized bottles and pacifiers and the breast pump. I watched my belly grow and grow, and I took about a thousand pictures to document it all.
I rested as often as I could, which wasn't very often. This little guy put quite the strain on me, and by the time I'd neared my due date I was ready to be done. I still loved being pregnant, reveled in my giant belly and in the baby kicks and rolls and hiccups I felt. I took pictures of my naked belly, stretch marks and all, because this is very likely our last baby and I wanted to have as many photos as possible to look back on. I talked to Bailey and Gerry about the baby, and let them feel him kicking and rolling. I complained. A lot. I was in pain but so very, very happy.
Not surprisingly, my due date came and went. I went to bed every night, hoping to be woken sometime before dawn with contractions. I had an OB appointment on my due date, and induction was scheduled for the following week.
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| The last picture I have from my third pregnancy |
We made arrangements for Bailey and Gerry, and went in for my induction at 8 days past my due date. My mom met Scott and me at the hospital at 6am and by 7:30 I was hooked up to pitocin and ready to go. I was well past my due date. Baby was super low and heavy. A midwife came in and checked me around 7:35am. "I get off at 8am", she said, "and this baby is going to be here before then." Sweet! I could handle 25 minutes of contractions. I was ready. It was go time. We all thought he'd be here right away. My mom even offered to pick Bailey up from school at lunch time to come meet her new brother. That's how sure we all were that he was going to be here any minute.
8am came and went. No baby. My pitocin had been turned up from 2 to 10 and I was still only having moderate contractions. I got out of bed and walked around for awhile. Swayed a bit. Changed positions. My nurse brought in a birthing ball and I bounced on that thing like my life depended on it. Still, nothing happened. We'd been at the hospital for about five and a half hours when my mom and I sent Scott to get lunch. There was literally nothing happening at this point. Not a thing. While he was gone, the nurse came back in and turned my Pitocin up to 12. A few minutes went by, my mom chatting away and me lazily surfing Facebook and texting friends, when a strong contraction hit. I closed my eyes and breathed through the pain and thought, Finally. That felt like the real thing.
I thought that we'd still have a while to go, but a few minutes later another strong contraction hit. And then another and another until they were just about one on top of the other. By this point, I was closing my eyes and softly cursing until the pain crested, still undecided on whether or not I wanted an epidural. Scott wasn't back yet and, after I'd had a few more contractions and my breathing {and cursing} grew louder, my mom quietly asked if I wanted her to call the nurse.
At that point, I'd figured this was quite possibly the very last time that I would get to experience a birth. So, why exhaust myself with painful contractions when I could get the epidural and enjoy these moments this one last time?
Within minutes of making the decision, the anesthesiologist had arrived and Scott was back with a lunch that he and my mom wouldn't get to eat until much later. When I was in labor with Gerry my epidural failed and I felt every ounce of pain and pressure in the hours and minutes leading up to his birth. Because of it, I was so focused on making sure the epidural worked this time that I didn't realize how close to delivery I really was until I started shaking in transition.
The next few minutes are a blur, but before I knew it nurses and the midwife had come in, Scott and my mom were "in position", and I was pushing. With Bailey, I remember the epidural working so well that I felt almost zen during her delivery. There was virtually no pain and just the tiniest hint of pressure that let me know when I was having a contraction and could push. With Gerry, there was intense pain and an incredible amount of pressure that was almost frightening in the moment. This delivery fell somewhere in the middle. I felt no pain from contractions, but a constant pressure that was painful and a bit scary in its intensity.
I vaguely remember my mom standing by my head and counting to 10 with the nurses as I pushed. I remember the sheer exhaustion I felt and the fear that my exertion was doing nothing. I remember letting my head fall back onto the pillow between contractions and muttering, "I don't think I can do this." I remember Scott encouraging me to keep going, telling me "He's almost here." I remember the nurses instructing me, "Breathe. Push. Count to 10. Take a break." I remember, in the middle of all of that, the midwife suddenly and sternly telling me, "Stop. Don't push. Stop. Breathe through this contraction. Don't push." I remember my mom echoing her, a bit more forcefully. "Jess, don't push. Don't push." I remember the nurse's grip on my leg tightening for a brief moment, and I remember knowing in the back of my mind that something wasn't quite right but just focusing so hard on following the midwife's instructions. I remember a moment of quiet, and the look on Scott's face--a mix of confusion, fear, revulsion. The cord was wrapped around my baby's neck. Three times.
To her credit, the midwife sorted it out quickly and carried on as if nothing had happened. "Push when you're ready", she said. And I did. And just like with Bailey and Gerry, I replayed in my mind all the years that had led to that moment, from my first date with Scott to our wedding to each of our children's births. It's a wonderful thing, in that moment, to take that sweet trip down memory lane.
After what felt like forever {but Scott will be quick to point out was really only about 30 minutes} our boy came wailing into the world at 1:39pm. The nurse placed him on my chest and I got my first good look at the little person I'd been growing these last 10 months. I gazed into his eyes, counted his fingers and his toes, spoke softly to him, and snuggled him close.
He was perfect.
They took him after awhile to be weighed and measured {21 inches long, and 7lbs 12oz}, and Scott and I decided on his name. Lincoln Joseph. Lincoln, because Scott loved it {it was the name of a character in one of our favorite tv shows and we'd always said that it would be a strong contender for another baby} and Joseph, because it's my father's middle name. A bit "cool" and a bit traditional. It suits him well.
Shortly after he was born, Scott's parents brought Bailey and Gerry to meet their new baby brother. And then after that we enjoyed visitor after visitor. Lincoln and I were both exhausted but I was so, so happy that he was here.
He was a dream baby from the very beginning, and I've loved every minute of being a mom to three. He completes our family in a way that I couldn't have anticipated before he was born, and I can't wait to see the kind of person he becomes.
Welcome to the world, baby!
Lincoln Joseph.
Born April 7, 2016 at 1:39pm.
21 inches long. 7lbs. 12 oz.
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