We had a surprise fifth baby. Not a surprise to us. A surprise to everyone else, though. It only seemed fitting that no one knew, because we knew it wouldn’t make a difference if they did anyway. It has been a hard couple of years as it has slowly sunk in that we have no physical support system. Sure, I have several friends that I talk to regularly and can vent to, but no friends or family who are actually THERE. I’ve gotten accustomed to responding to “tell us when you need help” with “I always need help”.
But that’s not the truth now, is it?
The truth is that I don’t NEED help. I’ve never needed help. I’ve always been the strong one who handles it all and doesn’t complain because I just want people to be proud of me, and my value has always hinged on showing up for others and putting myself aside for what I can do for others. I have always made it work, and I continue to. I can juggle it all. I do. But I WANT help. I want to have family and friends that I can rely on. Ones that don’t say they’ll show up and then not. Ones that actually show up when they say they’re going to. I’ve started not showing up or telling people important things or sharing pictures with them, and no one even notices. No one notices me withdrawing because they aren’t reliable or supportive.
Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, let’s get back to the baby. When I gave birth last time, I felt like I had to beg for support, to the point where Joe almost missed the birth. This time, I sat with it for months and just decided that it was less stressful to not tell anyone and give birth completely alone while Joe watched the kids. How fucking sad is that? Not to mention trying to avoid the backhanded comments. The ones I knew would come. You know the ones, if you have a larger family.
So we didn’t tell anyone except a select few of my closest friends. I went months dreading giving birth alone. But I did it. We hit 39 weeks, and labor started in the middle of the night. By 7 AM, I couldn’t take it anymore and started thinking about going to the hospital. Shortly after, we made the call that the kids were missing school or going late because Joe had to drive me to the hospital during school drop-off. It sucked.
I got to the hospital and struggled my way up to the labor and delivery floor by myself, where the intercom went off, and I muttered, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m in labor”. At this time, I was STRUGGLING. This was shaping up to be the worst labor I had ever had. I waddled myself into the triage room quickly after they heard it was my fifth baby. The nurse and midwife sprang into action. I was 6 cm dilated with a bulging bag. I was then officially admitted and put into my room.
“What are you doing for pain relief?” “Epidural”. Then it began. The wait and struggle. From 8 to about 10/10:30, I was ass out on all fours, head in the hospital bed, coping the best I could. (When I got down to the mother and baby floor someone said, “Oh yeah I saw you up in labor and delivery while I was preparing your room.” Well that’s great cause I have no idea who you are you probably saw my whole ass and everything else with who knows how many other people came into my room.) The nurse kept asking me questions and was putting an IV in both hands. When she got to the point of covering up the second IV, I just barked, “CAN YOU STOP TOUCHING ME?!” She said, “I get it, but I have to cover this so we can get the penicillin going and if this falls out I’m going to have to stick you again.” At that point getting stuck again seemed like a walk in the park comparatively to what was already happening.
The midwife came in to check me. At 9 cm with a bulging bag, she asked if I just wanted her to break my water and start pushing. I’m going to once again give props to moms who don’t get an epidural because it could not be me. Anesthesia walked in right then, and I was like “no. I want the epidural. Now.” Having contractions while getting an epidural is a special kind of hell, but we got it done.
I don’t remember the exact time, but after the epidural, it was sometime between 11 and 12. I decided that instead of breaking my water, I was going to take a nap and get some rest after being up all night with contractions before pushing. Being honest with myself, looking back, though, I was holding out hope that we would have a support system pull through and Joe would somehow miraculously show up for the birth. It didn’t happen.
When I finally felt like I needed to push, I felt so defeated. I pushed for an hour while the nurses and midwife seemed slightly disappointed that I wasn’t delivering as fast as I probably should of for a fifth baby. I remember at one point they asked me if I had a support person, and I said, “No, I’m alone,” and the midwife said, “No, you’re not. We’re your support.” I then proceeded to try to awkwardly fill the silence with questions about whether the midwife liked her job and how long she had been doing it. In addition to apologizing for yelling at my first nurse, who never came back in after that. In between pushes, I apologized for not doing a good job. I pushed on all fours. I pushed on my sides. I had the peanut ball. I pushed squatting. I played tug of war with the nurse using the squat bar to push. Finally, the midwife played tug of war with me, and things got moving. The head was in sight. Soon after our sweet little baby was born.
The nurse was so nice and took my phone to take pictures of me and the baby while we waited for the placenta. The placenta didn’t come out, though. After several failed pushes, they had to go in and grab it. This was horrible and 10/10 don’t recommend, but the alternative was surgery to get it out, so all in all thankful for it.
Then the wait to find out if he had PKU came. I began anxiously informing any and all nurses that we have a history of PKU in the family. (He doesn’t have PKU.)
Joe and the two little ones came to visit each day while the big two were in school. They brought me coffee, snuggled, and were so sweet to the baby. The postpartum period really didn’t suck, which is awesome after that labor and how embarrassed I was, aside from not being able to pee and hearing again, “We’ll have to do surgery if you don’t pee.” At this point, this comment seemed more like a threat, but I digress. My next days were filled with Joe and the kids, school club meetings, finals, reading, and the deafening silence at night of being alone. If the nurses hadn’t been so sweet and taken the baby to the nursery, I wouldn’t have slept and would have cried for hours.
After all that, I still don’t have a physical support system. No one shows up. So, if I have another secret baby, no one should be surprised.
Signing off for now,
Mommy Needs A Hug