Two weeks ago West was born.

I'm not sure how to properly tell the story of the birth of our second son. When I try to organize everything in my head, it's like looking through a fogged-up lens to take a photograph (an experience I've had several times now living in Houston's summer humidity). West is two weeks old & already - everything is a little fuzzy.

The haze that a newborn puts you in! There has to be a purpose for it, doesn't there? Maybe it's a forced-centering process? Perhaps it's nature telling you that really, you just need to stay put for a little bit & take some deep breaths, something that isn't actually that hard to do since sleep deprivation + poor clothing choices those first few weeks make actually leaving the house a fairly unattractive (figuratively & literally) option anyway. To force you to stay put, & to just focus on the really basic, necessary components of survival & happiness - food, sleep, family - maybe that's what the haze is for. 

Our house has been quiet for the most part these past two weeks. My mom was here & kept Quinn happily occupied, & now that she's gone & it's just us - we're working on figuring it all out on our own (why can't my mom just live with us?). We've got a relatively peaceful thing going on - walks around the park trying to spot ducks, Quinn spending lots of time with his Dad & West just now starting to wake up to the world.

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If you would have asked me several weeks ago, I would have said that West was going to be born the weekend of Q's birthday. Dilated to a three for several weeks (I went into labor with Q at a 2), & then a four at my following appointment, I really felt like he was going to come any day. I was having constant contractions for weeks, had already been sent to the hospital once by my doctor to get checked out in labor & delivery (they sent me home, of course), & couldn't fathom when I was in fact supposed to go to the hospital given that I was having contractions every 4 minutes by the time I was 36 weeks. Frustrated, I asked my doctor When do I go?! If I go by your rules [consistent contractions 3-5 minutes apart] then I'd have been in a dozen times by now. Her response: go when you're crying & can't talk through them. I thought that this was terrible advice. 

In the meantime, she scheduled an induction for 39 weeks, for the morning of September 20th. Since I was early with Q, had a fairly speedy delivery & was already making progress, she wanted to induce me to ensure that I got an epidural & didn't have a baby in the car on the way to the hospital, if I hadn't gone into labor on my own already by then. Good idea!

I was ready for him to come. Overly ready, even - making up projects to do that were nice to get done but certainly not essential. Still - The go! go! go! part of me wanted a bit more time - time to throw a baby shower, time to give Q a simple birthday party, & just a few extra days to finish up all of the admittedly frivolous projects & ideas that I had before saying hello to a newborn. I loved the idea of being induced on the 20th because it was a definite date, & I could plan for it (I like plans). Really though, I never thought I'd make it that far, nor did my mom, so she hopped on an airplane & got here on the 13th (of course, had she not, West would have been born that very weekend - because that's how it all works, right?). 

He didn't come that weekend. Or on Monday. Or on Tuesday (I definitely thought that he would come Tuesday, especially after walking around the zoo all morning). On Wednesday, my doctor's nurse called & said that a voluntary induction was likely to get bumped for the following morning, given how busy the hospital was, but that there was still a chance I'd get in & they'd keep me posted. At 5pm, they called to tell me that there was no way that I was getting in. 

(I was frustrated, but knew better than to be overly upset about something of which I had absolutely zero control.)

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On Thursday, I went in to see my doctor. 39 weeks. At the end of my appointment she said See you this weekend! & sent me on my way. She was on call for the weekend at the hospital starting the following morning. I knew I wouldn't see her when my baby was born. 

I swung by Target & picked up some last minute things. I went to Anthropologie where they asked me when I was due & I responded with In about 5 hours, I think! I ran a few more errands, vacuumed my floors when I got home, made some cookies, went through my hospital bag one last time & tied up various loose ends. Laundry was done, house was clean, nursery was finished & everything was ready. We went to the park, had a simple dinner & Mike went upstairs to put Quinn to bed. My mom looked a little anxious, & we talked about what we would do if I ended up needing to go to the hospital in the middle of the night. We wanted her there - in the room with us, especially since she didn't make it to New York on time when Quinn was born (my early babies ruin concrete plans) - so I called friend Megan & asked if I could come over & set up a crib for him, just in case, to save my mom the time of potentially going over there by herself in the middle of the night with a very confused toddler. By the time I got home, I'd decided that going to the hospital was probably a good idea, as had Mike. Mike swooped Quinn out of his crib, & ran over to Megan's house to tuck him in for his very first sleepover while I showered & got ready to go. I sent a text to our photographer & let her know that we were on our way to the hospital. We'd keep her posted.

We got in the car & I thought, This is dumb. My contractions are not strong enough. They'll send me home. But they were consistent, felt different enough & I knew. 

We walked through the hospital doors at 9:17pm. It was quiet & dark, & when I checked in at the triage desk the woman said, How can I help you? 

Um, I'm in labor. Obviously?! 

She wasn't convinced, but I went & sat on the bench reserved for laboring mothers nonetheless. My contractions started kicking in.

A nurse came a few minutes later & brought me back to my triage room. The Big Bang Theory was playing on the TV, & by then I was uncomfortable enough that I had Mike turn it off. The hooked me up to the monitors, & left us there, waiting. The nurse didn't come back into the room until Mike went & got her, after my contractions were getting stronger & my eyes were starting to water. She let us know that they wanted to send me home, because my contractions just weren't strong enough. I told her that they were, & that I was having the baby, & that I needed an epidural really soon before it was too late. She agreed to watch me for another hour. I was livid. Less than a few minutes later - at 10:05pm, Mike went out into the hall again & said You have to admit her. They checked me again. Dilated to a 5. Fine. At 10:17pm, I sent a text to my mom & photographer (who lived at least 45 minutes away) & told them that they were finally letting me stay. And that I was praying for a speedy epidural.

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The next hour zoomed by - or maybe was the longest hour of my life. They brought me to my room, & Mike went & got my mom from the waiting area. My contractions suddenly started barreling down on me, & quickly moved to the overlapping stage where I wasn't getting any breaks. The nurses started moving more quickly. The doctor on call - not at the hospital - was called, but was still 40 minutes away. They took my blood for the labs required for an epidural, made me sign far too many forms in between contractions & seemed to take me a bit more seriously when I said that the baby was coming fast.  My mom kept looking at the contraction monitor & saying, Oh wow. Oh wow. I finally told her that I knew how bad they were & she needed to stop saying that.

My water broke around 11pm, I think. We were all too focused at that point to pay attention to the clock, but I remember that as soon as it broke, I looked at my mom & said This is really, really bad. At this point, I was scared (understatement?). I'd been through a similar experience with Q & knew what the contractions heading my way were going to feel like, but that story had a happy & pain-free ending, at least. At that point, I don't remember doing a whole lot of anything except immediately accepting that I couldn't change my circumstances, climbing into a quiet place in my brain, trying to be obedient to my mom coaching me through each contraction, & focusing on a little dot on the cart next to me that I decided looked like a little fish.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

At some point, I told my mom I needed to push. I really, really needed to push. She looked at the monitor, recognized that I wasn't kidding, & ran out into the hall & told the nurse that I needed to have this baby.

Everyone came rushing in - three nurses. When they checked me & said, She's complete I knew it was bad. Where was the doctor?! Where was my epidural? Why was there a bag of pitocin sitting next to my bed?! The next question to the nurses - naturally - was whether or not anyone in the room knew how to deliver a baby. I remember asking in an Excuse me, will everything be okay when this baby shows up before the doctor? kind of way. Mike & my mom tell me it was more of a Does anyone in here even know what they're doing?! kind of way. I meant well. 

I vaguely remember the anesthesiologist walking in with the cart & everyone sort of looking at it like, Um, yeah - that ship sailed a long time ago.

Our sweet photographer walked into the hospital at 11:17pm (she sent me a text - I didn't see that until much later, of course), managed to avoid checking in with or getting hassled by  anyone & was lucky enough to see my name on the door as she walked down the hall. When she walked in I said, I'm glad that we met & had lunch last week because I'm not wearing any pants! I thought I was so funny, but I don't think anyone laughed. 

The doctor walked in a few minutes later (leisurely at first - until he realized what was going on, so I'm told), & West was born within minutes.  

I had bruises on my legs for a week from grabbing onto them. Mike said my entire body shook.

Three pushes. Less than a minute or two. Finally out, & sweet relief. 11:32pm.

They put West on my chest & I felt... in shock. For a while.

(The first things I asked for while they were taking care of me + washing & measuring him were my favorite chapstick & Cheerios. I was starving.)

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There were sweet, small miracles that night.

That friend Megan (9 months pregnant & two kids of her own) was so willing to take Quinn for the night.

That friend Erin called as I was driving over to Megan's house & after talking to me for a few minutes (& knowing that I'm stubborn), telling me to Go to the hospital. 

That my mom was here. I needed two people to support me during labor, & I needed my mom.

That Ann Marie was able to get there on time, because I think some of her photographs capture what I'll never be able to fully describe - namely, the support of my mother, & the love from my husband. The feeling of my mom's steady hand on my shoulder & back is something that I will never, ever forget - & really, it's representative of how she's been my entire life. I love her. And then my good, sweet husband. No words.

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People always say that you forget the discomfort of pregnancy, the pain of labor & delivery, the sleepless nights with a newborn. That absolutely hasn't been true for me - any of it, really - nor did or do I expect it this second time. I hadn't forgotten those months of sickness I had with Quinn (& had even worse with West), & I certainly hadn't forgotten what labor felt like (hence that first conversation with my doctor about just avoiding it altogether this time around). If I think too hard about the pain I experienced with West being born, my stomach drops, my eyes start to water & my heart beats really fast. 

But the miracle of creating a child, welcoming a new human being into the world, being part of the absolute miracle that is acting as a co-creator with a God who loves us, & experiencing the amazing blessing of being a mother - oh my goodness! It's worth it. Every second.

You have nothing in this world more precious than your children. When you grow old, when your hair turns white & your body grows weary, when you are prone to sit in a rocker & meditate on the things of your life, nothing will be so important as the question of how your children have turned out ... Do not trade your birthright as a mother for some bauble of passing value ... The baby you hold in your arms will grow as quickly as the sunrise & the sunset of the rushing days.

|| Gordon B. Hinckley ||

These photos are personal treasures, along with the others that I've chosen not to share. I'm okay with looking puffy & exhausted.