Baby's Here 2.0!

Take a deep breath, here we go...

Last Sunday I started having contractions. They were about 5 minutes apart and weren't very hard and lasted about 2 hours. They stopped after that and I was grateful. There were still a lot of things I needed to get done before baby decided it was time to come. We were hoping to make it until Friday, when Jeff was finished with work and my mom got here.

Tuesday I got out of my sweats for the first time in days and decided I better take a picture. It had been a while. So, here's my last pregnant picture.


At this point, I was plus 30 pounds from the beginning of pregnancy, and I weighed the same as I did when I delivered Carter.

On Wednesday, I went in to my doctor's appointment and I was dilated to 2+. We decided to go ahead and schedule an induction for Monday morning if we needed it. I was still hoping to go on my own during the weekend. For the rest of the day on Wednesday, I was having contractions off and on, about every 10 minutes. They were harder than the ones I had on Monday night, but they weren't very consistent and still not THAT hard (I was lying on the couch watching American Idol and described them as "uncomfortable" to Jeff). I took a bath and got in bed around 11:30, hoping that they would taper off enough so I could go to sleep. I think I fell asleep around 12:00. At 2:00, I woke up with a hard contraction. I knew that feeling. I had had it before with Allie, and I got up.

By 2:30, the contractions were coming every 2 minutes and they were the hardest yet. I had to stop and breathe (and ride the "wave") to get through them. I woke Jeff up and told him we needed to go to the hospital. He got up and got himself together and I tried to busy myself around the house, setting out the kids' St Patrick's Day outfits I had bought for them. Damon woke up and I told him we were going to the hospital. I wonder how much he remembers. My cousin, Monique, was on Spring Break and was actually still awake when I called. She got here just before 3:00 and my contractions were now every minute and lasting a minute. Yep, no turning back.

We got to the hospital and they wasted no time in getting me back and changed. When she checked me at 3:20, I was completely dilated and ready to push. Deja vu all over again. The nurse called my doctor and asked if I wanted an epidural. I told her I didn't think I needed it, but let's get the babies here.

My doctor got there around 4;00, broke my water, and we were off. I started pushing, but the little stinker was face up (like all my babies), and not descending into the birth canal. I was really in a lot of pain and could see that things weren't going to be as quick as I hoped. The nurses assured me I was doing great, and remarked that they were going to get me to swear before it was over. To which I quickly responded, "Get this damn baby out of me!" My doctor said, "the damn baby doesn't want to come down!"

I pushed for about 30 minutes (I would guess) and nothing was happening. I was getting so tired and was in a tremendous amount of pain. I would have said 10 out of 10 on the pain scale. But I didn't know the pain could get worse. The doc attempted to use forceps to help get the baby down farther, and that was the low point for me. I felt like I was literally going to be ripped apart from the inside. If someone ever wanted to torture another human being, that would be the way I would suggest they do it. Quickly, we could see that that wasn't going to work. The baby's heart rate was not tolerating all the pushing very well and the doctor had me "rest" on every other contraction, instead of pushing, to give the babe a chance to recover. Not pushing on a contraction is significantly harder than pushing, and I really was just finished with the whole thing. I decided that if the doctor said C-section, I was on board. I just wanted the baby to be okay and I wanted it over!

My doctor suggested I get an epidural and let my uterus do some of the pushing. We were hoping that the baby's heart rate would tolerate that a little better. I agreed. As I was getting the epidural, I still had the feeling that I was being prepped for a C-section if necessary, and I asked the nurse, "what do you think my chances are of having this baby without a C-section?" She said, "if anyone can get this baby out, it's Dr. Judd. He can do amazing things with forceps." I was a little hopeful again.

After about 30 minutes, I was finally feeling some relief. Actually, I was completely numb from the waist down and was feeling light headed. The epidural was spreading up my back and arms and I really wanted to sit up so I could feel better. But the baby's heart didn't like that very much, and started decelerating again. My doctor came right in and had me start pushing again. After a couple of pushes, he said, "I think I can get this kid out." And I started to really feel hopeful. About 20 minutes later, with a lot of pushing that I couldn't feel, the doctor said, "look down, there's your baby!" As I was looking down, Jeff said, "It's definitely a boy!"

After that, things were a blur. I know the baby was covered in green poop (for St Patrick's Day, of course) when he came out, but he was perfect. He started crying right away and didn't stop for a good 30-45 minutes. I guess he wasn't quite ready to be ripped from his cozy home. I know I cried with relief and happiness and that Jeff was grinning from ear to ear, knowing he had another baby boy.



Poor Jeff, though, he had to get to work by 8:00. He had 29 kids waiting to get their braces off, and he didn't want to have to reschedule them all. He had a long day, but I had a hard time feeling TOO sympathetic for him after what I had been through. He had told me before he left that he liked McKay and Austin as first names and that I could choose. John was going to be his middle name, after his great-grandpa John Thygerson. As I spent the morning holding him and loving him (and finally getting him to stop crying so I could see him), I just felt that McKay felt right. I also decided that, if Jeff didn't mind, I was going to spell him middle name Jon, not only after his great-grandpa, but also after my brother Jonathan. Jeff said that was okay with him, so McKay Jon Trapnell he became.


He weighed 8 lbs 3 oz (almost a pound bigger than my biggest baby, and probably the biggest reason he wouldn't descend into the birth canal) and was 20 inches long. Big boy. And a good reason why I shouldn't have any more. I'm convinced I'd end up with a C-section next time (and I don't think there will be a next time. I feel complete).


I got some pretty flowers from the girls at Jeff's office, probably as a thank you for sending him to work on time (haha).

So far, McKay has been such a sweet, perfect baby. From pictures, he seems to look a little like Kyla, but not really too similar to anyone. Here is a pic of Kyla at a few days old.

And here are a couple more from the last few days. Lots more to come...