Newborn Photos

My lovely friend Gretchen took some newborn photos of Isla for me. Don't you think she needs to open her own studio? I do!

Here are just a few of my favorites:

Isla Marie Andersen

This is the second post that I've written about Isla's birth. The first one is more of an expose piece and perhaps not what I want the randoms who happen upon my not-private blog to read. So, if you are really in the mood for the more honest and quite hilarious details of her birth, feel free to text me and I'll send you my tell-all. For the rest of you, here is a glossed over, less embarrassing version of the same. 

I was scheduled to be induced on October 7th--exactly a week before Isla's actual due date. 36 weeks into my pregnancy, Yo and I realized that we hadn't made any plans about who would watch the boys when the big time came and we were headed to the hospital. A small oversight. (Ahem.) Luckily I talked to my friend Brittan and she was more than willing to watch the boys so I thought that we were set. That is, until I realized that Brittan and many other of my friends would be out of town the week that Isla was due seeing as that her due date fell smack dab in the middle of Fall Break. Ugh!

So rather than risk not having someone to watch the kids, I reluctantly approached my doctor about being induced early. She agreed, which was a relief. But as the date of my induction crept up, I was pretty much dreading it. I got to experience the fun that is pitocin when I had Kai and I would not recommend it. 

In the weeks leading up to the induction, I had a couple of labor scares. But one turned out to be false labor and the other was just a 24 hour bug. It seemed I would make it to my induction date after all, so I carefully mapped out all of the things on my to do list so that I would be able to scratch them all off my list by the 7th. 

I planned to spend the last weekend of my pregnancy relaxing, watching General Conference and taking care of some of the last minute items on my list... like cleaning my house and packing my hospital bag. Saturday went according to plan. We watched conference as a family, ran some errands and went to a retirement party for one of my neighbors. That night Yo went off to priesthood meeting and I curled up in bed with my laptop to watch the afternoon session of conference. 

Halfway through the talks I must have dozed off. When I woke up, I was having a terrible back spasm. I tried to readjust to get comfortable, but no matter how i tossed and turned, there was no position that relieved the pain in my back. I finally gave up on lying down and ended up sitting in the rocking chair that we had moved into our room in preparation for baby. The pain was a little more manageable in a sitting position, but I was less than comfortable. So I pulled out my heating pad and this bulky, electric back massager thing that Yo had given me fore Christmas years ago. I cranked both up to full blast and lodged them between my back and the chair. And this is how I spent the night.... catching up on every show that I had not watched on our DVR and several movies on Netflix. 

Around 4 in the morning the pain from my back started creeping around to the front and I figured they would be considered full-on contractions at that point. So I started timing them. Around 5 they seemed to be growing closer together and becoming more consistent. I thought about waking up Yo, but they were still far enough apart that I didn't want to sound the alarm yet and figured it would be better to let him sleep, just in case this really was labor and we both had a long day ahead of us. 

Well, wouldn't you know, that just as 7 AM rolled around and Yo and the boys began to stir, my contractions went from being 5-6 minutes apart to being anywhere from 6-13 minutes apart. So when Yo poked his head in to see how I was doing (he slept in the guest room), I told him I was having contractions, but I wasn't sure if they would amount to anything or not. So he went about our normal routine with the boys while I holed up in the bedroom. But I did text Brittan a warning that "this might be it" just in case and told her to keep her phone near by. 

My contractions continued to come at random intervals, but grew in intensity. Soon the heat pad, rocking and massager were not cutting it, so I decided to try taking a hot bath to see if that helped with the pain. It did...a tiny bit. But in a matter of minutes my contractions went from sporadic and up to 11 minutes apart, to consistent and only 3 minutes apart. So I called Yo in and told him to throw some stuff together for the boys and to head over to Brittan's house ASAP. 

While he was gone, I paged my doctor so that I could head to the hospital. In the few minutes that passed while I was waiting for her return call my contractions started coming every couple of minutes or less and were crazy intense. I suddenly felt like I was going to be sick so I ran to the bathroom. Just as I got there my water broke.... like you see on TV style, in one big dramatic gush. So I threw on a dress and grabbed my half-packed hospital bag and met Yo downstairs at the door when he got back from dropping off the boys. I think Yo was surprised to see me. I told him that we needed to go now. And began climbing as quickly as I could manage into the car.

Yo responded just how you would hope that your husband would under the circumstances.... he got a frenzied look on his face and then unexplainably headed into the backyard. It was only when I heard the sound of wheels on driveway that I realized he was wheeling our trash cans to the curb--no, it was not pick-up day, but you can never be too prepared when it comes to trash, apparently. So I did what any wife in the midst of labor would do and yelled, "I mean NOW!" as I pointed to the puddle of water collecting at my feet. 

He finally got that he was dealing with a matter of some urgency. Luckily we live about 5 minutes from the hospital. But by the time we got there my contractions were coming back to back. They were painful enough by now that they stopped me dead in my tracks as we walked the short distance from our car to the entrance. I took another "breather" in the lobby while Yo asked where labor and delivery was. Yeah, we were super prepared. 

I lost all dignity in the elevator as I bent doubled-over in pain and tried to emulate "breathing exercises" according to what I've seen in the movies. Because Lamaze is for masochists. And I am no masochist. I don't think my audience of onlookers was impressed. I'd like to say I was in too much pain to care what they thought, but apparently pain does not erase self-awareness or, therefore, feelings of humiliation. 

Nonetheless, we made it to L&D in one piece. Yo approached the nurses stations and said that his wife was in labor. They looked at me nonchalantly and asked me to fill out some paperwork when another contraction hit. I made it through that delight and apologetically told them that I was "leaking" on their carpet. That got a reaction. They suddenly leaped from their seats and had me sit in a wheelchair. I was whisked off to a room as another contraction hit. 

By the time we made it to the room, a few short feet down the hall, my contractions were coming one on top of the other with almost no pause in between. Two (maybe 3?) nurses helped strip me of my clothes, which were pretty much soaked from the never ending stream of fluids pouring out of me. Another nurse handed me a hospital gown, but as another contraction hit the consensus quickly became that there was no time for such formalities. So instead I found myself in the bed, sans gown, as the nurses hurriedly checked me and got a blood sample and an IV started. I was at a 7. 

I may not have been in the most intelligible state by this point, with all of the animalistic groaning and heavy breathing that was going on, but I made sure I was quite coherent as I repeatedly requested--ok begged--for an epidural. The nurses immediately paged the anesthesiologist, but explained that they needed to get some fluids in me and wait for the results from the lab on my blood test before I could get my epidural. So as one nurse literally pumped a bag of IV fluid into me Yo did his best to help me manage my exceedingly great pain with what he had learned from the internet in a crash course on coaching someone through labor, "Breathe in through your nose. Breathe out through your mouth." 

He repeated this mantra over and over as I looked at him with crazed eyes and begged him to do something to take away the pain. Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, my contractions went from being one on top of the other, to being one on top of the other and lasting for insane amounts of time. I think one literally clocked in at 2.5 minutes long. On top of the intense contractions, I got to experience back labor for the third time. The joy! 

When the anesthesiologist rushed into the room I was ready to break into the hallelujah chorus, but there just wasn't enough time with all of that heavy breathing and such going on. Apparently the nurses were kind enough to wave the requirement that they get my lab results before allowing him to proceed. Sweet angels of mercy! 

It took all of the strength and will power that I could muster to stay still while the doctor inserted my epidural. And he got that thing in place in record time. Even the nurses were impressed. But as he was wrapping things up I began to feel the dreaded pressure in my rump. Which I eloquently announced to the room, "I'm feeling pressure in my butt!" with maybe an "oh no!" or two thrown in there somewhere. 

Next thing you know I'm on my back with my legs in the stir-ups. "You're at a 10. Someone get the doctor in here." 

The doctor came flying in the room and got into baby catching position as the nurses coached me to push with my next contraction, which basically meant "push anytime you want" because I can't recall a moment when I wasn't feeling a contraction at that point. I futilely objected, "But I can still feel everything! Please don't make me!"

Apparently nature waits for no man...or woman...because next thing you know there was no denying that inkling of pressure that I had first felt. It suddenly felt like I had a 10 lb bowling ball lodged between my stomach and my rectum. All I could think at this point is, "Why? Why would anyone in their right mind experience this level of pain willingly?" as I simultaneously realized that the pain was probably going to temporarily get worse before it got better. 

So I gave up protesting and got to pushing. Luckily this part was short-lived, but I tell you that it hurt like the dickens. A few minutes and 4 or 5 good pushes later and Isla came screaming into the world. They handed her over to me and I fell instantly in love... just in time for my epidural kicked in. 

Isla was born at 12:15. Exactly 45 minutes after we arrived at the hospital. It was a whirlwind, and a painful one at that. But in the end I was holding 6.0 lbs and 19.5 inches of pure perfection from head to tiny toe. 

I spent the next 4 hours completely numb from the waist down. And for the first time in my life regretted getting an epidural. Especially after learning that they don't give a discount for the schmucks who don't make it to the hospital in time. 

Despite the delayed recovery of feeling in my legs, I have to say that my overall recovery with this birth was a lot faster than with the boys. Maybe there is something to the natural birth thing, after all, or maybe this is the perk of having a 6 lb baby. Either way, I'm not complaining. 

A quick 24 hours after arriving at the hospital, Yo and I headed home with our little beauty. 

Welcome to the family, Isla Marie!