Remy's Birth Story

I had an easy pregnancy. The kind of pregnancy you don’t tell many women about because you know they’re suffering and you’re…just getting big. Call it my height, call it the way my body handles excess weight, I have no idea what to call it, except easy. It wasn’t until Remy started getting stronger with her kicks that I could truly believe something was happening to my body. And with an anterior placenta, I didn’t feel kicks until Week 20 and they didn’t get especially sharp until nearly the end.

Pregnancy (easy as it is or not) is l o n g. Basically 10 months of time that seems to stretch into eternity. Maybe your first feels longer than subsequent kids (ask me after I get pregnant again, huh?) with anticipation and anxiety duking it out for space front and center in the brain. I was pregnant from late August to early May.

My official due date was Friday, May 6, 2016. First babies are historically late, and especially so in my family. I worked in the office clear up to my due date with the intention of working from home until the baby came. I had myself convinced Remy would come at least a week late, and for once in my life I actually believed the thing I told myself to make sure my expectations were appropriately set.

I worked through 40w 1d, left my office in a usable place, and went home to wait. So confident I was that I had plenty of time, we purchased tickets to see Avengers: Civil War on Tuesday $6 night. (Not that it was a movie I really wanted to see, it was a just because we could.) Paul found out he’d passed the Oregon State Bar about a month before and was looking for work. So there we were with nothing to do but wait to deliver this little gamechanger.

SUNDAY, May 08

I felt very few Braxton Hicks contractions on the ramp up to the big show. So Sunday morning when I woke up, ironically on Mother’s Day, I knew something different was happening in my body. I was unsettled (and lazy) enough that I sent Paul to our 10:00 church alone. I dozed off and on and wrote a letter to my soon-to-be-born baby girl. (I also forced Paul to write one. I’ll get it posted for posterity’s sake if it’s the last thing I do.) Contractions continued off and on throughout the day and I knew they were building into the main event—I just had no idea they would go on so long. Wanting to get out of the house later in the afternoon, and wanting to have some hearty food in my system, we had dinner at Outback Steakhouse and then wandered a TJ Maxx. At this point I was timing my contractions and we put a preemptive call in to my OB to ask how we should handle things so he wasn’t surprised by a middle of the night page. Some instructions were exchanged but it was essentially a ‘wait it out.’

So wait we did. We went on a long walk in the park near our house (to speed labor along). I curb walked (to speed labor along). Eventually we went home and to bed where I had a horrific night. I hardly slept; in a middle-of-the-night conversation I told Paul I would wait it out at home until Albertsons opened at 5:00 so we could have a bagel on the way. (Clearly I was very worried about all the reading I’d done re: starving during delivery because they don’t allow you to eat once you arrive.) 

MONDAY, May 09

I grew restless and uncomfortable enough that I looked up what time the Starbucks on the way to the hospital opened. 4:00 AM, hallelujah! My whole plan had been to wait out as much of labor at home so I could just show up at the hospital (dilated at like a 4 maybe?), get a quick epidural, and like my sisters have super quick, medicated deliveries. Easy peasy, right? Stay tuuuuuuuuuned.

So we’re in the Starbucks drive-through about 4:15 in the morning. (Paul needed a shower you see.) The cashier at the window asked why we were up so early and seemed delighted when Paul told him we were heading to the hospital to have a baby. Sadly, this did not mean we got free breakfast. I ate my bagel and we rushed down to Meridian Park Hospital.

It was quiet on the floor when we arrived and I was checked into a room. A nurse did a dilation check and delivered the bad news. I was only dilated to a one. Uno. Nine inches from delivery. Oof. They let me stay for a few hours and as I wasn’t progressing any, I got the boot. Plus a shot of morphine to deal with the pain, but the boot nonetheless. Paul drove me home to sleep and wait out my ensuing dilation. BUT TROUBLE FIRST. My body was already on its way to fairly forcefully rejecting the morphine. No sleep for me; I writhed in bed for a few hours until the 1:00pm appointment Paul had been able to set up with the OB. Not sure why I had a barf bag in my hand on the drive, but it came in handy as I threw up everything in my system before we got to the doctor’s.

I’m clearly in pain slash distress at the doctor’s and I’m dilated all the way to a 2. A two guys! 1:30 in the afternoon Monday. I already feel like I’ve been in labor forever but we trek back to the hospital. Taking the most efficient route would normally have been the preferred way, but driving absurdly windy roads had me throwing up anything I’d managed to put down. I’m so uncomfortable. And tired.

But we’re checked in again to the hospital and clearly on the road to having a baby. I need to get myself dilated to a 4 so they’ll break my water and give me an epidural. A few hours pass and I’m at the magical threshold. 4:00 in the afternoon; more than 24-hours after contractions first start. I’m set up with a catheter, have my water broken (which is easy to explain but probably not too-family friendly; just imagine it’s a balloon that needs to be popped), and an epidural ready to be put in.

Before you have your first epidural, you’re terrified of all the things that can go wrong. You’ve read things, you’ve heard things. But at this point, the delivery I was sure I was going to have (induced) was out the window. The doctor putting the epidural into my spine was named Dr. Payne. These are the things you can’t make up but give you ample opportunity to joke about to distract from the pain. Epidurals can only be placed in-between contractions so on a short break between that never-ending gift that keeps on giving, a long needle was placed in my back and a pain-blocking magical potion introduced pretty immediately.

I’m beyond jazzed at this point. I’m pain-free, I don’t have to get up to use the bathroom, and I’m en route to getting that baby out of my body and into my life. It was a joyous 45-minutes.

And then it all went south.

The next few hours were an intensifying reentry of contractions. My body started rejecting the epidural. First the right side. Eventually the left. Dr. Payne adjusted the dosage flowing through the tubes. He gave me two new epidurals from scratch. He eventually told me there was nothing else he could do. Dr. Pain indeed.  It looked like I was going to deliver this baby naturally.

TUESDAY, May 10

Contractions continued to grow in intensity and frequency. For the next ten hours (6PM-4AM), I experienced a contraction roughly every two-and-a-half minutes. Unprepared to deal with natural child birth, I lasted about six seconds into each contraction before a panic attack began and I was unable to breathe as the pain washed back and forth. For hours, I felt helpless. My full mental faculties were intact and I knew something was wrong. I was anxious to do something, anything differently. I asked the nurses seriously what my options were; I was ready to have a c-section. It was truly horrible. In between contractions I was so thirsty. Paul (probably rightfully) rationed my intake because he didn’t want me throwing up.

I’ll keep the trauma of those eight hours fairly limited as I don’t want to talk myself out of having another baby. The short of a verrrrrrrry long night is that my body was dialated to a 9 for hours on end (with contractions to match) but a piece of my cervix was blocking the birth canal for the baby to descend. At 4AM the doctor showed up with a plan. I would start the pushing process, and he would use his hobbit hands to manually move that piece of cervix. That process took about two hours and was as comfortable as you can imagine. Then, THEN, the real work of pushing could begin. As painful and difficult as pushing was, it was the change my body (and brain!) needed. The time between each contraction/push was the mental rest I needed to gear up for the next push, which finally felt progressive.

Pushing (never forget this is a natural birth) proceeded for another two hours, though it didn’t feel nearly that long. Paul stood on my left and held one of my legs, a nurse on my right with the other. Machines started beeping, alerting everyone present that the baby wasn’t getting the oxygen she needed. They quickly gave me an oxygen mask and I struggled to use it. It felt too small for my face and I alternated breathing from it and normally. The baby was still in distress and things flew into quick action as I was given an episiotomy and they baby was vacuumed out of me.

7:37 AM and our baby girl is HERE. They put her on my chest and she has a full head of dark hair. It’s quickly noticed that she’s not breathing and she’s squirreled away to the in-room incubator while my OB worked to stitch me up. I cry out as a reminder that I have no numbing pain medication, and the doctor and nurse pass a look. I’m shot up with a local anesthetic and I cry the whole time; it’s painful, but it’s over. I cry because it was so hard, and so utterly terrible, and I’m alone. Paul is with Remy first in our room, and later as she’s moved to the fetal nursery/NICU as they work to stabilize her. It’s a surreal feeling to experience such a lengthy affair and have nothing to show for it. I spend the next hour alone as the nurses work to clean me and the room up. Paul comes back and fills me in on what they’ve been doing to Remy to stabilize her. We order lunch. Eat lunch. Parents, without a baby. The most horrific pain in my life transpired, and nothing (yet) to show for it.

It’s nearly four hours before they bring Remy to me.

The rest of our hospital stay is more normally mainstream. My OB tells me that’s as bad as it can get and I would have survived well on the plains. It’s not much consolation for the series of unfortunate events that just transpired, but it does make me feel better to know it was out of the ordinary terrible. I call it outlandishly terrible. But I plan to do it again as soon as I can*.  

*easy to say as I’m writing Remy’s birth story when she’s 20+ months old. HA.

We were fairly certain we wanted to name her Remy, but kicked around naming her Cheren and calling her Ren. We didn't officially name her until late in her second day of life, though we both knew she would be named Remy. 

Remy Cheren Judd. Born 7:37 am, Tuesday May 10th. 8 pounds, 8 ounces. 20 1/2 inches long. Dark hair and coloring. All ten fingers, all ten toes, a tiny mole birthmark on her left inner thigh, and a small suction protrusion on the back of her head. The perfect baby.

There are very few pictures of us in the hospital. In hindsight, I think both Paul and I were so traumatized by what happened that we didn't wish to record it. We don't have a single picture of the three of us; and I regret that deeply. I spent a total of three nights (including the overnight of laboring) before we went home. My mom drove straight from SLC and was with us a for a few minutes on the second night and I didn't leave my room until early the third night when we took a small walk around the OB floor. 

I left the hospital with 25+ stitches and two dislocated ribs. 

But we left with the most perfect bundle of joy, went home and life really began.

-->

Dear Remy | Day Before Returning to Work

Hello sweet girl,

In two short days you’ll be 12 weeks old. It’s hard to fathom you’ve been with us so long Remy Ren! We’ve lived on your schedule for 12 weeks and enjoyed (nearly) every second of it. You’ve been the best baby. 

You don’t cry without reason. You don’t hate the bath. YOU SLEEP. You’ve smiled since three weeks. You’ve allowed us to haul you to Seattle a few times, on an adventurous vacation to Alaska, and to spend some time with Grandpa and Grandma in Utah. Somehow I knew you’d be a low-key baby before you were born and you’ve exceeded all of my expectations. 

Your arrival into the world wasn’t so easy. Where I thought you’d come quickly and painlessly, your entry was anything but. Due to a number of complications including my body rejecting three epidurals (and other pain medications) and a looooooong, slow delivery; things didn’t go according to plan and I didn’t feel prepared for two long days of contractions and a natural birth. Your heartrate suffered at the end (unsurprising as you and I had both been through so much!) and you were vacuumed out; a good thing as you then had trouble breathing on your own. It took a few minutes for the doctor and nurses to get you breathing on your own; there were a few scary minutes but you quickly started to respond. I cried after you were delivered both because you were here, but also because the birthing process was simply over. It was fairly traumatic for us both.

Since the very beginning, you’ve been the prettiest baby. Your features are petite and your wrists and ankles slim. Most shocking to your Dad and me was the very full, very dark head of hair you had and continue to sport. Born at 8 pounds, 8 ounces you still felt so tiny! You were almost 21 inches tall and have been quick to continue growing in height. 

Weight gain has been a different story. In the hospital you were a great eater and quickly put the weight you’d lost back on. At home was another story. You nursed the right number of times per day for extreme lengths of time (30-40 minutes per side). It wasn’t until a weigh-in at a fortunate doctor’s visit, where I feared you had thrush, that the doctor grew concerned with your weight gain. You’d slipped from the 90^th percentile at birth to the 40^th. We began seeing a lactation consultant and it was discovered you had issue withdrawing milk. My days as an exclusive pumper began. In your first three days of bottle feeding you put as much weight on as you had in your first four weeks of life! Since that time you’ve remained somewhat disinterested in food, but are gradually gaining weight. You’re long and lean.

Through a series of incredibly fortunate events, your Dad was home with us the first ten weeks of your life. The three of us have spent nearly every hour of each day together getting to know each other. We’ve had the best time! Dad has been an incredible helper; he changes the majority of your diapers and does the majority of the feedings. You two have a special bond and I love seeing it develop. 

Tomorrow I return to working full time and you’ll begin spending time at the daycare we’ve chosen. My heart is so divided. I love being with you Remy; it’s surprised me how much patience I have with you and your needs, and how natural being your mother feels. Even when it’s Dad’s turn to do something I can usually be found hovering around you both just watching. I find myself drawn to you in ways I didn’t know to be possible. And yet, there’s a need I have to do more, to use the parts of my brain that are so good at what they do. To go back to my job and provide value and function in a way that is meaningful to me—that fills me up and makes me feel good about myself. 

I don’t know what to expect from my feelings taking you to daycare tomorrow. Last week I had my first cry as I held you in my arms and imagined you being in a strangers’. I know you’ll be in good hands (we wouldn’t ever send you somewhere that wasn’t) but knowing you won’t always be someone’s first priority breaks my heart a little. “It’ll build character,” I tell myself, but still it hurts my heart. If I’m honest with myself I’m also nervous you’ll love someone more than you do me. I couldn’t handle that. 

Remy Ren, Sweetie P, Bitty, Baby Raymi – in the last 12 weeks you have stolen my heart. We spend hours of time together every day and yet I still find myself missing you when you’re napping or in bed for the night. I love singing to you, talking in a ridiculously high voice to you, and serving you. The way you hold my fingers tight and look into my eyes when you’re eating, the way you break into a smile when I get you up from your crib (even as the tears haven’t yet dried on your face), the way you still fall asleep in my arms or on my chest. The smell of your hair, the smoothness of your skin, and the beginning squeeziness of your thighs; I adore it all. 

During each phase of your development I think to myself, “it can’t get better/cuter than this.” I have thoroughly enjoyed being proven wrong time and time again.

Mama loves you sweet girl.

Dear Remy | Mother's Day

My dear, sweet baby girl –

I’m currently timing the very labor contractions that could bring you into the world this Mother’s Day. Technically you’re past due (May 6) but earlier than either your Dad or I expected. The women in my family have a history of hosting babies in favorable environments—you and your cousins feel no huge rush to leave the world and join us!

Your Dad and I are so overjoyed for you to enter the world and change our lives forever. Your conception and pregnancy have gone better than expected or planned—I found out I was pregnant one month after we decided it was time to expand our family and I’ve had the easiest pregnancy in perhaps the history of the world. (Fingers crossed your labor and delivery follow this same pattern—I’ll have to report back later.)

I knew in my heart I was pregnant with you the day before I should have had my period. Your Dad made us wait one day to take a test, but I knew you were there, you’d remain viable, and we could count on your little spirit joining our family. We took the test one hour before your aunts Kendall, Mallory, and I ran in a 200-mile relay race from Mt. Hood to the Oregon coast. How much I had to think about while spending 32-hours in a van away from your Dad and unable to tell my best friend/sisters.

We kept the news to ourselves until we had our first ultrasound at about 8.5 weeks. Dad saw your pixelated beating heart and finally believed you were a real thing! We told Grandpa, Grandma, and Mallory in the next few days and Kendall and Alaina a few days later. Everyone else we waited until 16 weeks; about a month longer than is typical. We loved having a chance to plan and dream in a vacuum; and since I wasn’t having any regular (and awful) first trimester symptoms it was easy to keep the secret.

Dad didn’t pass the Oregon State Bar exam the first time he took it. He was also called as the Ward Mission Leader and I continued to work full time (in fact, I still am! I’ve planned to work clear up until the time you join us). Plenty of things didn’t go perfectly during the time we’ve been waiting for you, but we’ve felt exceptionally blessed in so many ways that has made life manageable. Dad took the Bar again and passed; he was sworn in as an Attorney a few weeks ago, friends and my work have thrown you the sweetest baby showers and now we anxiously await your arrival. (I wish your contractions would either speed up or slow down; this waiting game is excruciating!) 

We’ve had the best 2.5 years as a couple. Dad and I have traveled, we’ve worked on the house, we’ve cheer-leaded each other through difficult school, work, and family situations. We are legitimately each other’s best friend; there’s very little—in fact nothing—we’d rather do than be together. We waited a long time to find each other and the wait has been more than worthwhile. 

It’s not unusual for either of us to say, “Babe! We’re having a baby!” Many times a day. For many months. “We’re having a baby girl!” It still feels hardly real; even as we’ve had your nursery set up and clothes, gear, and the massive other amount of purchases completed, toured daycares, and tried to decide on a name. 

We know life is going to change, but as yet our brains can’t quite fathom how much. 

Perhaps my biggest worry and unknown in welcoming you into the world is understanding that life will never be at stasis again. Dad and I know what to expect from each other, how to be together, how to communicate, and generally how one day will play out from the next. Once you breathe your first breath, we’ll have another player to add into the equation; and knowing how much you’ll grow, change, and continue to refine yourself (hopefully never stopping!) means the life we know will also continue to grow, change, and evolve. Let’s all plan to take it one day at a time, shall we?

Baby Girl, we can’t wait to meet you. To hold you and to love you. You’re going to have the best Dad. He didn’t have the happiest upbringing and is looking forward to giving you the love he never had. There are so, so many people anxious for your arrival—grandparents, aunts, cousins, and our ward family. 

I hope you’ll be patient with us. We have such little experience being parents; you’ll be our guinea pig until we can add a brother or sister for you. Just remember that we’re doing the best we can; we’re not perfect but we’re counting on all of us loving each other enough to cut the others some slack. We’ll do our best to always make you happy, but our primary job will be to teach you how to be a good person and Child of God. You probably won’t always agree with the decisions we make, and there are times you’ll think us mean, or strict, but we know the potential you have and want you to learn how to live up to it. 

We cannot wait to hold you in our arms and show you all the amazing things life has to offer.

Already I love you so,
Mom