Many years ago, Husband and I had fertility issues and it took several years to get our firstborn. We were quiet about it. I mourned that day but I read my patriarchal blessing and it comforted me and I never worried again. Kids would come somehow.
Surprisingly, even though I was quite sick for half the pregnancy, I loved being a mom to the first.
So we thought, let's try again, not knowing if we would have fertility issues or not. Not knowing if it would take years to get another.
I got pregnant right off. Within hours I was sick.
I had to wait a few weeks to be able to take a test. All while sick. I knew I was pregnant because there is no sickness like HG sickness but I wanted to be sure before I told my husband. At six weeks I took a test. Yep. Pregnant. At 6 1/2 weeks, I was hospitalized for the first time. And over the next two weeks, I was in and out of the hospital for iv's. Hyperemesis Gravidarum sucks. They had me on strong anti-emetic drugs but I still threw up. At eight weeks, I admitted defeat and was grateful to go live with my in-laws so they could take care of me and Spencer.
My in-laws were really put to the test. My mother-in-law learned how to change my iv's and flush my lines. My father-in-law helped with a rambunctious twenty month old and brought me breakfast every morning, because we learned that if I woke up and took the medicine with food and then went back to sleep, it would give my body time to absorb the medicine before I was fully awake. It helped. I was too sick to read much so I spent a lot of time sitting still while trying not to throw up.
At eleven weeks or so, I returned home.
Our new ward immediately helped set up childcare for two weeks while I adjusted and Husband would come home for lunch to feed me and Spencer.
The illness lifted around 22 weeks with the first pregnancy. It lasted 41 weeks with the second. I learned how to eat, throw up, brush my teeth, and go back to eating. It was the most disturbing, challenging, overwhelming nine months of my life.
And I knew early on it would be my last pregnancy. The sickness ravaged me and I told my husband I couldn't do it again. I will love him forever for his response. He was totally supportive. And it was the first time that we seriously talked about adoption to finish our family.
Even though I was on strong medication, I was still throwing up well into thirty-something weeks. I remember calling my sister and crying, telling her that I could not do another day, let alone another minute of the sickness. She talked me through it and told me that I could do it.
I made a chain and pulled one off for every day left of the pregnancy. Up to forty weeks.
My first labor was drug free until baby went into distress when I was pushing and they ordered a c-section. Hello spinal.
But the c-section was difficult for me to recover from. The doctor cut himself open while he was opening me and I still don't know who actually sewed me up but the scar was very painful. (The eight mile hike at 10 weeks post birth to the devil's punch bowl probably did not help either...) Anyway, I wanted to avoid another c-section, if possible.
So they said that whatever doctor was on call would make the decision and they set up a c-section date for October 27th. I was due the 19th and that was as far as they were willing to go.
Since my first was born right on his due date, I figured this second kid could do me the same courtesy, or even come early if he wanted.
He had other plans.
On October 25th, I went into labor. I labored at home for a while - no two labors could have been different - and then in the evening we went to the hospital. The doctor on call was a woman. She agreed to let me try for a vbac but recommended an epidural in case she needed to do a crash c-section. Sounded good to me. The pain was intense and I have no idea how I did the firstborn all day labor drug free. Hello epidural.
I eventually fell asleep. They woke me at three in the morning to push. I tried to tell them that I was fine and would just sleep a little longer. Epidurals are the best. They told me to push. Fifteen minutes later, a weird looking baby was born. I looked at him. He looked nothing like the other baby I had made. Which is ironic if you see Spencer and Riley today. They look very similar.
And after giving birth, I immediately felt better. Goodbye sickness. At 6am, they brought around a food tray with rubbery hospital pancakes. I didn't care. I ate like crazy. It was good to eat without feeling like my gag reflex was in constant stress.
My last born was a whole different kid. He didn't like to cuddle. He was fussier. He held grudges against me. I got mastitis with him twice. But I loved him and we learned to get along. He is still one of the prickliest pears I have ever met, personality wise, but I love the fact that he doesn't follow the crowd, that he stands for things (no matter how unnecessary). He is truly my rebel without a cause.
This is Spencer showing his new brother all the features of his crib.
See how different they used to look?
Back when I used to make costumes and we would go with a theme for Halloween.
Riley's birthday several years ago. I love his face!
And here he is today. He is the only one of my children that got my hazel eyes. (The rest have blue like my husband and sisters.) He also has my dark sense of humor. Our favorite ABC book is The Gashlycrumb Tinies. A is for Alice who fell down the stairs, B is Basil assaulted by Bears... and let's just say that Naughty Neville was more than inspired by his naughty sense of humor.
I cannot imagine life without any of my sons. They all came to us in very different ways but we love them all and I am so glad that Riley is one of them.
Happy birthday!
