Marching Forth

First Matter of Business:
Here he is.

Roger Lake Cropper
March 4, 2008 at 2:54 p.m.
8 lbs. 20.5 in.

(And you haven't lived until you've heard Blaine call him "Baby Rog.")



Second matter of business:


Thank you all a million times for your well wishes and congratulations. The birth of a new babe is extremely joyful, and is followed by many difficult challenges and an array of emotions. I feel blessed to have so much support.


Third matter of business. If you want to hear all the deets (a la TLC), here they are (note: it is LONG. I don't keep a journal besides this blog, so consider yourself warned):


On Tuesday morning I had an appointment with my OB. Judging by how much pressure I was feeling on my pelvis, I was feeling fairly certain that I was probably dilated even farther than the 4 cm of the week before. For several nights I had gone to bed fearing that I would go into labor in the middle of the night and that we would not make it to the hospital in time. (Not only was I starting at 4+, but I go quickly.) On Tuesday I told Taylor that if I was indeed dilated more, I would like to discuss induction with the doctor. Wanting to be in on that discussion, Taylor came with me (we left Blaine with our friends Lori and Wes). And the verdict? Dilated 5 centimeters. FIVE CENTIMETERS! I told the doctor about my concerns and that I thought I ought to be induced and he agreed. "I don't want to pressure you," he said. "But I would feel really bad if I sent you home today and then found out later that you had your baby in the car." Then came the crazy part. He called over to the hospital and they had a bed so he said we could go right over and have the baby. It was such a bizarre feeling, and rather anti-climactic in a way. Taylor drove home to pick up our things and I marched myself up to labor and delivery.

Me: "Hi. I'm here to have a baby."

Nurse: "Are you the woman who's dilated to a five??!!"

And so she showed me to my room. Here's what I loved about being induced: feeling in control! I took time to fold up my clothes before putting on my gown. I even washed my feet because one of my serious flaws is that I have had stinky feet ever since my mission and what doctor wants to smell those awful feet when delivering a baby? Then I sat on my bed and looked out the window at an incredible view of the blue sky and snowy rocky mountains. I love Utah, by the way. As I waited for the nurse to come in I decided this would be a good time to say a little prayer. So I just looked out the window at those beautiful mountains and told Heavenly Father my thankfuls. Thankful for my health and that I could have another baby. Thankful for my body which had been laboring effortlessly for weeks. Thankful for my husband. Thankful that I had time for an epidural. Thankful that I felt so emotionally in control (I'm a bit of a control freak, you know). Thankful that I had time to put make-up on that morning (ah, vanity). Thankful that Blaine was safe and sound and infinitely happy with his favorite friend, Lucy, and her mother, Lori, who Blaine loves more than just about anyone. It was a fun moment to reflect and be grateful.


Enter Judy, my nurse. She is sweet as honey. She started getting me prepped and as she was asking me all the standard "any medication allergies?"-type questions, she kept apologizing for having to be so impersonal. CUTE.


Then Taylor arrived. He pulled out his laptop and began Wikipedia-ing March 4th--you know, to discover what important things happened on that day in history. There he read, "Marth 4th is the only day of the year that is also a command--MARCH FORTH." "I love it!" I exclaimed.


Next guest: Matt, the anesthesiologist. Dear Matt, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love that you looked a bit like my brother, the anesthesiologist. I love the way you explained everything you were doing, exactly what it would feel like, etc. And most of all I love the way my delivery went because of your magical drugs. Love, me.

At 1 p.m. the doctor came over and broke my water. (Have you ever seen one of those amni-hooks? It's essentially a tiny crochet hook.) And I was in labor. For the first 30 minutes I wasn't doing much, but then they put me on a bit of pitocin and we were in business. The contractions picked up and on the monitor the nurse noticed that the baby was having little variables in his heart rate during contractions so she had me turn on my side and put an oxygen mask on me. (That plus an IV, an epidural in the back, being cathed, and having a baby monitor on, is probably why so many of my friends and family members opt for a home birth. But I gotta tell ya--I love it. I really like the security I feel delivering in the hospital.) Judy checked me and I was a 7. Only minutes later I could feel that it was almost time for baby. Here's what I loved about my epidural: I could feel the pressure of the contractions and the baby moving down, but not the pain. Judy had to go help the woman next door deliver, so Jeannie came in. Looking at the computer she said, "It looks like Judy just checked you and you were at 7." Checking me she said, "Whoa--you're not at 7 anymore. The baby's right here." So she called the doctor and started prepping for the baby. Out the window Taylor watched the doctor running over from his office. I pushed about 6 times and there he was. The doctor gave him to me immediately. I love those rush-of-emotion moments in life. I just kind of laughed and cried as I held this sweet, warm, brand new little babe. It was heaven.
So yes. Less than 2 hours. Pretty fabulous. And no cuts, and essentially no tearing. Which is one of the reasons I'm as in love with my OB as I am with the epidural man.
The rest of the day was spent teaching the babe to nurse, snuggling with him, and receiving visitors. Danielle was the first. She came bearing fruit tarts and cinnamon bread. Smart girl. Beloved friend. Later we had a surprise visit from Aunt Sherri and...Grandma Tillie! That was a real treat. And that evening Lori, Wes, Lucy, and Blaine arrived. Lori made me unbelievably delish chocolate cake and Blaine made me and the baby a card. Melt.
Taylor and Blaine went home that night and I hung out in the hospital with the baby and CNN. Hillary took Ohio and Texas. McCain took the nomination. (I thought that might be an interesting historical bit for my son to know.) By the next morning I was ready to go home. The after part is the part that makes home birth appealing. Spare me being woken up at 3 a.m. to take my blood pressure and give me a break from all that paperwork. I just wanted to get out of that gown, out of that bed, and on with my life! (Note: the after part after an episiotomy is so painful that it was a different story with Blaine. I felt like a MILLION BUCKS this time. It has been an enormously different (better) experience this time.) Finally that evening they had finished testing his ears and pricking his heal, and they let us go home. And finally by that evening we had chosen his name. He is named after my father, Roger, and his middle name is also a family name. James Lake, one of my ancestors, helped build the Kirtland LDS temple. Kirtland is where I served much of my mission, so that connection was particularly meaningful to me.

Now we are in the throes of night shifts, sore boosies, a goopy eye, post-partum cramping, and figuring out how to give equal time to both of my children (I have children. Plural. Whoa.). If you know anything about the first several months after Blaine was born, you know that nursing was a huge struggle, I was in a lot of pain, my baby was quite fussy, and quite frankly, I was an emotional mess who wasn't sure why she'd signed up for this. This time everything is better. EVERYTHING. I feel so blessed that things are going more smoothly and that I am so genuinely happy to be a mother of two. And so we are marching forth.