Our Pregnancy
We decided that we wanted to have our first child late in the
summer of 2007. We got pregnant on our first try and got the positive test
result in August 2007. We were on cloud nine.
We followed the superstition of not telling others about our
pregnancy until further into the pregnancy. And, because my parents had lost a
daughter 5 hours after she was born, I never bought anything for babies before
they were born. I started the pregnancy wanting to continue this. However, I
couldn’t conceive of how excited I would be to be having a baby of my own.
We decided early on, well Travis decided, that we didn’t want to
know the sex of the baby. I asked Travis what we would call the baby (instead
of “it”), and a few days later he came home from work very pumped about an in
utero name he’d thought of. “Rufus,” he
said. And, although it wasn’t exactly gender-neutral, we decided to call our
baby Rufus.
Our first appointment with the obstetrician was at about 5
weeks, but the ultrasound showed the gestational age of the baby was more like
7 weeks. So, our estimated due date was changed from May 5, 2008 to April 22,
2008. Everything looked great.
We continued going to the doctor on a regular basis (once a
month during the 1st and 2nd trimesters). Our second
ultrasound, at maybe 13 weeks, was just to check the baby’s heartbeat—and,
again, everything looked great. During my first trimester, I had horrid all-day
sickness. The doctor said everything was normal.
Our third ultrasound was at around 20 weeks. It was the growth
ultrasound. The ultrasound technician said that she was having trouble getting
a measure of the baby’s femur. She said that the baby’s legs were bent up
underneath him. We know now that would have been impossible. She never called
for a second opinion, but told us that everything was normal—no red flags. The
second trimester continued to be good. I craved foods but felt great otherwise.
Because of insurance, the doctor told us that we wouldn’t get
another ultrasound. We continued on. At the beginning of the third trimester we
began going to the doctor every two weeks as most do. The baby’s heartbeat
continued to be good—around 140 bpm. The doctor said that my pregnancy was even
“too normal.” I measured a small average, but, again, no red flags.
After 35 weeks, I began going to the doctor every week. I was
feeling tired more often. I would get winded when walking stairs or vacuuming,
but nothing out of the norm. About two weeks before my due date, I asked my
doctor if he was sure that the baby was head down. He said he’d do a quick
ultrasound to make sure. And, sure enough, our little one was head down. But
when the doctor went to scan the rest the baby’s body, we stopped him,
reminding him that we didn’t want to know the sex.
I was making little progress as far as labor was concerned. The
baby was dropping but not enough to push my body into labor. At our 39-week
appointment, our doctor said that being induced looked more and more likely. I
really didn’t want to be induced. There was a chance, though, that things would
look better the next week—on my due date. So, Travis and I did everything
possible to try to get my body to go into labor. At my 40-week appointment, the
doctor said I’d made no progress and we needed to schedule an induction for the
28th. I cried. And we continued trying to get my body to go into
labor naturally.
April 28th was a Monday morning. We got to the
hospital at 6 a.m.
