Hello Mr. Anderson
Anderson Columbus Storrs was born on August 4, 2014 at 1:49 p.m. He weighed 7 pounds and 6 ounces and measured 19 and a half inches long. He was exactly 2 pounds larger, yet only a half-inch longer, than his sister, but there was a world of difference between their stories.
The Long Wait
I had labor on the brain the last Monday afternoon in July. A work colleague had just shared with me that she was surprised by how quickly her second birth came after only mild but consistent contractions. "If the contractions start coming regularly, then go to the hospital. You're really in labor." I had noticed these exact signs for most of that afternoon, so it seemed like go-time. We might really be having our baby soon! As I hoped, an evening walk kicked things into higher gear. Excited and oh-so-ready, I went to sleep, prepared for the prospect of waking in the night with full blown labor pains.
Tuesday morning came quietly enough. Gentle wiggles from the baby assured me that he was doing well, but all signs of labor subsided until I started moving around again. I actually had a doctor's appointment scheduled, so Phil and I went together on the chance that she might send me over to labor and delivery. My morning walk clocked contractions every 3-5 minutes, but they were not very strong and slowed dramatically once I stopped to rest. Still, I was dilated 3-4 centimeters, and Dr. Bickman asked what I wanted to do. This is actually rather funny to me now, because I think if I had said, "please just let me have this baby now," she would have sent me in, hooked me up, and gotten it over with. But our goal was to allow the birth process to happen as naturally as possible, so we opted to go home until labor became more active. By the end of the day, it hadn't.
On Wednesday, I decided to get serious. Another long walk brought more contractions. An afternoon nap slowed them to a halt. More walking and more contractions. Then rest and nothing. We clocked over 11 miles of walking that day while Eloïse played happily at a friend's house. This time we were hitting the intensity and frequency...but again, it would slow and stop once I sat down for a rest. Sleep again, and again a pause.
Come to Jesus
Thursday morning was a familiar breakdown. 38 weeks into this challenging pregnancy, I expected my patience to be sharpened. Between the nausea, the heartburn, the sleeplessness and utter exhaustion, I had so many opportunities to practice it. So many nights wondering whether I could bear this any further. So many aches and pains and the forever question, "How long Oh Lord...?"
I'd begged for the baby to come quickly, but as with so many trials and seasons in my life, God had something more important in mind. Plans to prosper and not to harm. Plans for a hope and a future. Tearfully, I confessed my selfishness once more. I had hijacked this labor for my own purposes, trying in whatever way I could to manipulate this baby out of me. I turned from trusting God with the timing of our child's birth and instead ran the ship aground.
With peace that truly passes understanding, we spent the morning with our daughter, watching planes land and take off in the quiet of Santa Monica airport.
Friday and Saturday brought increasingly painful, although irregular, contractions. We ran errands and tried to enjoy these final days together as a family of three. More opportunity to struggle with control. More opportunity to confess my impatience. Return and return again to the truth.
A Party
On Sunday, our neighbor's birthday party (and actually a water main breakage on our street) provided an elaborate distraction. By this point, any movement at all would bring on pretty painful contractions, so I stayed close to home. Eloïse passed the afternoon in a purple, princess-themed bouncy house. We noshed on party snacks and enjoyed socialization. After a week of hunkering down, expecting a baby, it was nice to see our friends. Finally, under the cover of night, and from an immobilized seat on my couch, I hit the target - contractions were 6 to 8 minutes apart and painful enough that I couldn't talk through them. Enough to call it the real deal. We phoned the doctor who said she'd meet us at the hospital.
You Can Stay
I would be lying if I didn't admit that one of the most beautiful moments (second only to the birth itself) was hearing the nurses at UCLA Santa Monica tell us that I was dilated and progressing enough for them to check us in. After what felt like the longest 9 months, and then perhaps the longest week of my life, I finally had some real confirmation. Within the next 24 hours, I would be holding our baby.
They plugged in our personal information, set up my IV, and fired up the monitors. Sometime around midnight, with contractions nearing my pain threshold, we called for the epidural, looking forward to the prospect of some sleep.
And, oh the sweet rest that came next! I couldn't remember the last time I had felt such comfort. It had been nearly a week of slowly growing contractions, but even before that, the back pain and heartburn was relentless. Now, thanks to the precision and expertise of the UCLA hospital staff, I could lay back and relax.
Sleeping to Dream
Hospital noises, no matter how luxurious the birthing rooms, are still not quite like home noises. Instead of an occasional helicopter overhead, the gentle hum of the 405, or the soft footsteps of our friends upstairs, I woke every ten minutes to the sound and squeezing of the blood pressure monitor on my arm. Still, it was bliss. When Eloïse was born, I felt a sort of guilty disappointment about needing an induction. We had prepared for a natural birth, so when my water broke, but labor never started, I was a mess of emotions. Did I do something wrong? Will the baby be ok? Will I end up in the operating room for a c-section? But this time, with the confidence of a veteran mom, all I felt was pure joy. It was amazing to watch my body slowly progress toward birth - faster and stronger contractions that I barely felt - confident in the brilliantly designed labor process. I must have confessed to Phil a dozen times, my face beaming, "I am so full of joy."
The Sunny Side
The next morning, Dr. Bickman came in to check on our progress. She broke my water to move things along, but still, no one rushed. No one stressed. I napped and napped again. It was nice not to be on the clock - baby was still doing great, contractions were moving along just fine. What a world of difference from the brigade of nurses and NICU staff that waited on the perimeter for Eloïse to arrive!
Just after lunch, they checked me again. Almost to ten. A little pitocin to knock me over the edge, and now it was time to push. Just me, a nurse, the doctor, and Phil. The scene was quiet, happy...hard, but peaceful still. Everything up until this point had gone very differently than I thought, yet I still had one remaining expectation to be dashed. Everyone says the second time goes so fast, 3-4 pushes max, so of course it took me more than a dozen. Bickman left periodically to check on the delivery next door. Phil kept me focused on our progress, giving me permission to take my time. I was a muddle of patience and perseverance. Just a few more deep breaths. Just a few more deep breaths?
But then, eventually, there he was. Face up. Ready to greet the world.
In a blur, I held him. And though they checked a few things and wrapped up the delivery process, our child stayed there in my arms for more than an hour. The weighing, the tests, they all got to wait while we reveled in the phenomenal blessing of a brand new human being. A son. A precious gift. A new adventure. A transformation to our family, come down from the Father of lights, who in His perfect plan determined that this little boy should grow with us.