Buck is 2!
Happy birthday, Buck!
Two years ago on this day, my little Buckaroo came into the world at 11:06 am weighing 9 lbs, 2oz, and measuring 21 inches long.
He informed me of his impending arrival earlier that morning at about 3:00 am with some mild contractions. I got out of bed and decided to walk around a little. I'd heard that walking around can alleviate the discomfort of false labor. Not so in my case-- this was the real thing. My contractions steadily increased in pain and frequency, so I did what any woman would do in my situation; I began to vacuum the floors and wash some dishes.
While at the kitchen sink, I experienced a horrible contraction, the likes of which I'd never had before. I felt as if my entire body was in the grip of a giant hand, squeezing me relentlessly so that I was paralyzed for several minutes. When I was finally able to move again, I waddled to the bedroom to wake Dewey up. I then called my doctor, who told me to go ahead and go to the hospital, and my sister, who came and watched the girls for us.
Shortly after 5:00 am, we arrived at the hospital to find the main entrance doors locked.
You would think that a hospital would be the type of place that would never close, never lock it's doors. To my misery, we had to walk all the way around to the back of the hospital and enter through the emergency room doors.
As soon as I was admitted to a delivery room and situated, a nurse came in and checked to see how much I had dilated. To my utter shock, I was already 6 centimeters. Everything seemed to happen at warp speed from that point on. I received an epidural, began having harder and faster contractions, and was checked by my OBGYN, who informed me that I seemed to have halted at 8 cm during my dilation process. He said that the baby had to come out now because he was in distress; if I couldn't push him out with only 8 cm of room to work with, he'd have to prep me immediately for a c-section. As I am terrified at the prospect of being cut open, I was determined to push the baby out with everything I had in me.
My efforts paid off; about a half hour later, Buck made his debut.
I knew almost immediately that something wasn't right.
A few more nurses and a pediatrician rushed into my room and hovered over the bassinet where our boy lay. He was barely making a sound; my doctor told me that Buck had swallowed some amniotic fluid while he was coming down the birth canal, and it had gone into his lungs. The pediatrician and nurses worked over him frantically, holding an oxygen mask over his tiny face while attempting to make him cough up as much of the fluid as he could. They only let me hold him against my chest for a brief moment before they rushed him to the nursery where he was placed under an oxygen tent. His appearance disturbed me; his lips were blue, and his eyes were wide open as he looked around, as if in shock at his new surroundings. I kissed him on his cheek and whispered in his ear that I loved him, and that I knew he was a fighter and would be O.K. Inside, I wasn't so sure.
Later, in the recovery room, Dewey and I were so scared we held each other and cried. I prayed for God to help our baby breathe and to protect him from pneumonia. Dewey went down to the nursery what seemed like every 5 minutes to check on Buck, then he'd come back and pace around the room, only to go running back to the nursery again. I've never been so scared in all my life, and I know that Dewey felt the same. At that time, I was experiencing a strange mixture of emotions: elation at the arrival of my baby, exhaustion, fear and concern about Buck's health and safety, and an underlying peace that could have only come from God. On the surface, worry pervaded my mind until I almost went crazy, but underneath, I somehow knew that everything was going to be O.K. I knew that God would protect my baby and keep him healthy.
Later in the evening, after what seemed like an agonizing eternity, a nurse finally brought our precious baby to us, bundled in his blankets, lying peacefully in his bassinet. She assured us that he was going to be fine, that he might still have a small amount of fluid in his lungs but he would eventually cough it up. They had no concerns about infection. I was so thankful, relief washed over me as I thanked God for answering my prayers.
Buck has since grown into a wild, energetic toddler who always keeps us on our toes. His energy seems boundless; some days I feel as if I may collapse from exhaustion trying to keep up with him, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm just so thankful that he came out of his crisis healthy and vibrant, with no complications.
I love my little man so much and I'm so glad he came into our lives. Even on the days when he drives me crazy, I count him as one of my many blessings, one of the many areas in my life where I have truly encountered the healing hands of God.
Happy birthday, Buckaroo! I love you more than I can say.