As I was lying on the hospital bed, exhausted and numb, the last thing that ran through my head before Sawyer arrived was, “oh my goodness, am I really ready for all this?”

Then, that set of chubby cheeks, a button nose and two blue eyes beneath a full head of beautiful blonde hair was placed on my chest and everyone but Sawyer and David disappeared from the room. 8 Lbs and 7 Oz of little stranger was now part of our family forever. Ready or not, I was in love.

It turns out that even though I went a few days past my due date, he was doing his best the whole time to meet us. But I should start from the beginning.

Monday morning came bringing us two days past my due date. Sawyer’s head was pointed down and he was doing what he could to thin out his escape hatch (my cervix).

I just wouldn’t start contracting. At all. Other than an excruciating pinched nerve in my right leg and the discomfort that came with being a huge, ambling whale, I felt totally fine.

So the doctor introduced the need to induce. If my body still wasn’t cooperating, induction day would be August 21 at 1 a.m. Yes, you heard me right. 1 a.m. We became concerned because that day fell so close to David’s Step 2 board exam.

What came next was a very personal spiritual experience. We hit our knees as we pleaded with Heavenly Father that everything would turn out alright. Then we put our heads down and just kept going – David back to the books and I hit the road for some errands.

When I came home a little after 4, I felt something and thought my splattered bladder had done it again. Turns out it was something else. Not my water breaking, but you know, that other thing that has to come out. We were suddenly hopeful and it was easier to go about life. We went to the post office to mail some thank you cards, picked up the dry cleaning and David started a new set of practice test questions.

Even though there was a little trickle now coming out of me, I still didn’t feel any contractions until …

6 p.m. I hit the deck. Literally. Some invisible battering ram had slammed into my lower abdomen at the same time it cramped up. Holy pain batman, so that was a contraction! Then there was another. Once they started, they were immediately 2-3 minutes apart and at least 30 seconds long.

When David came out of the office and saw me cowed over on the floor, he knew what was going on. When he heard how close they were together, he also told me not to be a hero and just go into the hospital already.

When we stumbled into Labor and Delivery around 7:30, a quick check let us know we wouldn’t be leaving again.

In the midst of all that pain, a familiar face popped into the room and let me know she would be delivering our baby. I had seen this midwife twice during my prenatal appointments and she was absolutely fantastic. Midwives are throughly underrated!

After a little wait due to an evening baby boom, we got into a Labor and Delivery room where they turned the lights down and we turned some quiet music on. I had progressed quite a bit and was definitely dialated enough for an epidural. But even though I was ready, the anesthesiologist was not.

You know those birth plans that women obsessively compile while pregnant? Yeah, mine went out the window. I had sworn that I would not accept any IV pain medication other than an epidural because it would pass to the baby. But in that moment, I welcomed the Stadol with open veins – just enough to take the edge off until the epidural arrived. Yes, it passed to Sawyer. Yes, it made him sleepy and lethargic. And yes, he was just fine.

The anesthesiologist, a Western grad, was fantastic. My scoliosis made his task a tough one. According to the midwife, some doctors won’t agree to do an epidural on a tweaked spine like mine. But he was both extremely comforting and competent. Soon, I couldn’t feel the contractions. But even though the lower half of my body was numb, the rest of me was still in overdrive. Every time a contraction would come, I would start shaking like a leaf.

By about 4 a.m. gravity had poked the little crown of his head out on his own and it was time to push. I remember the midwife sitting there, whimisically twirling his locks of blonde hair in between contractions. The epidural had worn off just enough for me to make a difference pushing and I could even feel his little feet kick my upper abdomen as he wiggled his way out.

This was it. Was I really ready to be a mom? Was all this waiting finally over?

At 5:38 a.m. they placed that set of chubby cheeks, a button nose and two blue eyes beneath a full head of beautiful blonde hair on my chest. He let out a few tiny cries and then peace just came over him. He gripped David’s finger and we remarked how strong he was. And yes, I cried.

After that, everything was literally perfect. Our little one passed every test with flying colors. His cries were so little and were in the minority. I think it took him three days of life on earth to discover he had lungs.

Although I felt like I had been hit by a truck, my experience was thankfully missing most of the things women dread including tearing.

It’s over. Pregnancy is over and I am a mom. It’s still a surreal feeling and I’m not sure if I will ever get used to it. But there’s no way I could love anyone more than I love my little family.

Let the adventures begin!

One week ago the bags were packed and placed in a cranny by the door. All the lose ends with work were tied into a nice little final package. The house was spotless and my nails were done. Snickerdoodles were waiting for visiting family and the self-designed birth announcement sat on my desktop just waiting for a photo and stats to be dragged and dropped in.

“Prepared for delivery” would have been an understatement.

With a satisfied air, I grabbed a fresh pineapple, some raspberry leaf tea, hopped on the gym’s stair stepper and declared, “Ok son, you can come any time now.”

They say God laughs when you tell Him your plans.

It’s true.  After days of sweat and tears (no blood) and some comically sore thighs, I probably looked pretty ridiculous.

Based on the increased hiccups, I think our son is laughing it up from his comfy little spot in the womb too.

We’ve tried everything short of skydiving and roller coasters. Little man is taking his sweet time.

I could use this post to explore all the crazy thoughts that start taking over your mind when your child is suddenly “overdue.” But they are crazy. And I know I would look back on them and diagnose myself as temporarily nutso.

So where does that leave us? With just the facts.

• I am at 1.5 cm and 60%. Have been for two weeks.
• His little noggin is plunked down where it’s supposed to be.
• The doctor says my due date was Aug. 10. We originally calculated it as Aug. 17. We will see who is right.
• Over-zealous doses of Relaxin with bad aim are making my hip and knee feel like a knife is being wrenched in them. Other than that, I just feel like an achy whale.
• We can expect a call from the hospital sometime soon with the details for our … dun dun dun … induction. There is some flexibility with when they schedule it, but they want to aim for around the 21st.
• David takes the second biggest test of his med school career – the Step 2 CK on Aug. 23. Eight hours, in LA, no phones, high stakes. See the timing problem?

Anyone want a good slice of humble pie with a side of helplessness? We’ve got plenty of both around here these days. We have learned well that we can’t always control the circumstances, but we can control our thoughts about them.

So today while David continued to study, I put on my big girl pants, re-cleaned the house, re-packed the bags and re-did my grown out nails. I make no promises about replacement snickerdoodles.

After two weeks of stair stepping, fruit eating, bouncing squats, long walks and everything else under the sun it’s clear that this is out of my hands. Sorry family and friends. 🙁 I’m sure trying and I’ll sure keep trying. But somewhere in that trying I’m now going to sneak in a nice book and a few more naps.

Now if you will excuse me, I think the little neighborhood kids in the pool need their resident whale.

As I loaded the groceries onto the conveyor belt at the local Food 4 Less, my aching body prayed this would be the last time I’d have to schlep groceries home for a few weeks.

The kid who hopped in line behind me couldn’t have been more than 17 – clean cut with a gallon of milk and a carton of eggs. With a smile that was just infectious he struck up a conversation and asked if he could help me load my haul onto the belt. This kid was so ridiculously kind that for a moment I forgot about the searing siatica pain radiating down my leg, among other less blog-worthy symptoms.

After a brief conversation while bagging our groceries, I asked his name. Wouldn’t it be a fun story if he were named one of the names that we had prepared for our baby boy.

“It’s Nevelyn,” he said. “Like Evelyn with an N on the front and a little more oomph on the ‘Leeeen’ part. And yours? …”

Well that wasn’t what I was expecting at all.

After a little more small talk and a joke about how his parents really wanted a girl, we said our goodbyes.

Driving away, I suddenly wanted to be a better person. The family begging on the grocery store corner got what little change I had in my wallet. I never do that. I smiled.

Choosing a name for a child is stressful beyond belief. There is the ever-present fear that we could ruin him for life with the wrong joke-attracting name. But then if someone can name their kid Nevelyn and have him turn out that nice, we probably don’t have much to worry about at all.

David asked me yesterday, what is the first thing I will do after delivering our baby. Oh buddy, I got this all planned out.

1. Snuggle his adorable little guts out.

2. Feed him.

3. Clean my self up.

4. Touch my toes!

5. Take a deep breath in and fill my lungs.

6. Smile.

Repeat.

Any problems with that?

Pregnancy is creepy weird sometimes.

Raw carrots used to make my throat swell up. Generally when the tongue tingles and the throat tightens, you think “hmm, allergies.” So I kind of avoided them.

But baby wants what baby wants apparently, so when carrot bits were offered in my uncle’s awesome salad I bit that little bullet.

Nothing.

Now I eat them all the time.

Pregnancy is creepy weird.

I woke up this morning signing, “I am the champion my friend … dun dun dun … and I’ll keep on fighting ‘till the end!”
37 weeks.
Full term.
Do you know what this means!?!?!?!

Little man could bust out any day now and he would be perfectly fine.
I admittedly had a whole different post written for today, peppered with a few frustrated explatives. You might have noticed I quit posting weekly belly pics. To me, it’s just become one more week of painful fat cow disease blown out of proportion by raging hormones. Sorry for the emotional black eyes, Dave.
If you are brave, you can read it here. But then I got this in the mail for our Brooklyn-dwelling friends the Greers.

I remember walking the halls once with their baby girl in Newcastle, just a few months old. Amid the crying and nodding off to sleep, I looked at her little face and thought, “hmm, maybe one day…”
Luke could barely form full sentences, but there was this light in his eyes that could make anyone around him feel happy.
Once upon a time, they were little too. Now they are drawing me treasure maps, running around New York like they own the place and (I’m sure) sassing their momma.
So maybe I can put up with the stretch marks, swollen ankles, hormones in a blind rage, and wince-inducing waddles for a few more days. Before I know it, he’s going to be reading “But Not The Hippopotamus” to me.
Thank you Rob, Michelle, Luke and Harper for the sweet gifts. Your friendship means more than you know 🙂

Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached 37 weeks. If little guy wants to pop out now, ain’t nobody gonna stop him. Especially not me.

It’s come to the point where I am calling B.S. on the whole thing. That happy pregnancy glow? Yeah, it’s gone.

For the past two weeks I have waddled around my world cursing the red lines on my lower abdomen. If your husband/boyfriend/life partner wants to know what the last few weeks of pregnancy feels like, have him sign a waiver stating that he really DID want to know. Then kick him in the crotch.

Walk around with that aftermath for a few weeks, buddy.

My bladder is no longer a trampoline. It is a hat. A hat worn by a very picky boy who must adjust it constantly for just the right fit.

God was pretty smart when He designed this whole experience. If we could feel like we do in the second trimester, we would probably drag pregnancy out a lot longer. We are totally terrified of labor, but it’s a ways off. So we just sit getting chubby, finding excuses to take naps, feeling those cute baby kicks and keeping the nausea to a minimum. It’s nice when everyone around you from the grocery store bag boy to the grumpy old neighbor is suddenly so accommodating.

But their looks of adoration soon turn to dilated eyeballs of sheer terror when you say the words, “any day now!”

Did I mention how comical it is trying to grill a city official for work when they know you could go into labor at any time? In hindsight, it’s pretty funny.

So I’m calling B.S. That Hollywood version of pregnancy is over. I am completely prepared to have a human being the size of a bowling ball wiggle his way out of me. (I reserve all rights to take that statement back in the event of actual labor.)

It is about time to make the transition from sore waddling whale to tired stumbling cow.