Valentine's Day '05

My daughter was due on February 8, 2005 but she was determined to wait it out for warmer weather. By February 1st, the doctors had decided that she was going to be late and I should schedule an induction. The date that was scheduled was February 14th.

The night before our daughter was to be born, my husband and I went to my parents' house. None of us could believe that 41 weeks of waiting and worrying would be coming to an end and that we would be holding our daughter the next day. We went home, ready to head for the hospital at the crack of dawn the next day.

We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 am (I was actually EARLY for something for once in my life!). On the way to check into the hospital, it was my husband who was sick to his stomach. Me - I was hungry (I hadn't eaten since midnight) and was dying of thirst. It took me a while to get checked in - two women came in before me who were in labor. I got into a room at 8:30. I still was in some sort of denial - they were hooking machines up to me (fetal monitors and the pitocin, which jump started labor) and I was in my own little world.

As the nurse was trying to start an IV, it hit me - my baby was coming. I was going to give birth. All of my nervousness and anxiety hit at the same time the vein the nurse was working on collapsed. I went into a panic attack and they had to stop. Thankfully, it didn't last long and the nurses were able to start the IV and I was told to sit back and relax.

Since I was being induced, I had to lay on the bed and was attached to a fetal monitor. If the baby went into distress, the monitor would go off. The baby did NOT like the monitor and she would move away from it. Finally, we discovered that if I laid on my side in a very uncomfortable way, she wouldn't have any place to move to.

It was now 9:30. I had been given medicine to induce my labor about 45 minutes ago. And man, did it kick in. I started to have intense pain. I tried to be strong and hold out. The OB had told me that I would be in labor most of the day and that I probably would have the baby that night (he was WAY off!). He went ahead and broke my bags of water. This was when we discovered the first problem with my baby. She had been in the womb a week longer than usual and had a bowel movement. There was danger to her lungs if she took a breath right after she was born - she could inhale some of the bowel movement and have serious compliciations. The OB reassured me that this was common in overdue babies and that the neonatal unit would be on hand to saline lavage her lungs to get out any meconium before she took a breath. My dream of having my newborn cry and placed on my chest after birth was over.

My fear was that I would get an epidural too early and it would wear off before I gave birth. I hung on until I couldn't hold off the tears. I started begging the nurse for an epidural. She called the wonderful man who would give me an epidural. He arrived at 10 am and by 10:15, I was feeling no pain.

The nurse decided to check on my progress at about 10:30. To her surprise, I was dilated 8 cm. She called the OB, who told me to labor another 30 minutes and then we would check my progress. Those were thirty of the longest minutes of my life. When the nurse came back at 11 am, I was fully dilated and ready to go. Then everything happened fast. The OB was telling me to push, my husband was standing on one side of me and a nurse on the other side of me, a cart was being set up for the baby. "Here we go", I thought and started to push.

11:30 - still pushing. Little girl's head was too big to get out. The doctor decided to use the vacuum to help bring her into the world. At 12:11, Samantha Elizabeth Mooney arrived. She was gray. She was rushed over to a warming table and the nurses began filling her lungs with warm water to flush out the possible meconium. I wanted to see her, to hold her, to touch her, but I couldn't. My husband was with her at the warming table. Adrelin kicked in and I was both overly excited and nervous. Finally, I heard a cry. She was bundled up and handed to me - this little hot, bright pink baby. My baby.

My baby. The words, 4 1/2 months later, still bring me to tears. My baby. My life has changed in ways that I would have never imagined. I have a mothering instinct that is so strong. I hear a child cry "Mommy" or "Mama" or "Mom" and I turn around. I see a child fall and I want to run to him or her and kiss their little hurts away. I watch in horror as a mother or father cries on the television for the return of their child who was taken away from them. I laugh at my daughter as she discovers her hands and feet and plays with them for hours.

My baby. I have never been so happy in all of my life to say those 2 words. My baby. My angel. My reason for being.