The next morning we were up fairly early...I think like 5am. Well, I was up at least. I decided at 7 or so that I would call my Mom before she went to work, just to let her know we what was going on. Michael and I had decided that when it came time to push, that it would just be him and me in the room, and since I didn't know how long that would take I hated the idea of my Mom sitting around all day just waiting. She arrived shortly after, saying she just wanted to check in before work. Checking in turned in to her staying the whole time with us. This turned out to be a very good thing as Michael later told me that there was no way he could have made it through the ordeal without my Mom there.
It must have been around 10 or so that my mid-wife came back to check in on me, and declared that my water had in fact not broken. Um...didn't this already come up last night? She broke my water and I was told that this will probably speed things up. She also told me that she heard that according to my ultrasound the baby was about 8lb 3oz. She said there was no way and that we were looking at most 7lb. She also said that there was another girl in labor and the ultrasound tech told he she was going to have a big baby, but the girl was smaller than me so there was no way.
I kept getting checked on, and would watch my contractions on the monitor, but was just getting really impatient. Around 2pm we, they, I don't even know who, but it was time to push. I will say this. Up until this point I had never had that feeling or urge to push, but since it seemed like everyone was expecting me to be ready to push, I just figured I should.
Looking back, I can't believe how naive and unprepared I was. Not knowing if I was ready for an epidural, not sure if I should push. I want to slap myself. Sure, I took the birthing class, but I was mainly going off what my friends had told me about it. That it wasn't bad, wouldn't take long, and just to make sure when I push do it like I'm trying to poop. Okay. I can handle that. Sure.....
So, back to the pushing. It was the longest process of my life. I remember just looking at the clock telling myself "Okay Amy, let's have this baby by 4pm". I kept giving myself time limits, as if I could figure out a way to force this to happen quicker. Nurses changed hands, I changed positions (a lot) and I was just over it. At one point they nurses could see his head and my mid-wife asked if I wanted to use the vacuum to help get him out. At this point I had been pushing for probably like 2 hours and I just wanted it to be done. In strolls the doctor on call to check me out. He didn't think I had made enough progress to warrant the sucking out of my baby (which now I'm glad I didn't do) but I felt defeated. I also felt immense pressure and guilt because my Dad, Michael's parents, and my sister and brother-in-law had been in the waiting room like all day. I asked Mike to please tell them to go, because knowing they were out there waiting was driving me nuts.
I got to take a little break and my mid-wife came in to talk to me. She looked at my sternly and said "You need to tell me what you are afraid of" Huh? Afraid? I just want to have the baby. I told her that I wasn't afraid of anything and she kept questioning me accusing me of purposely not pushing correctly because I was afraid to give birth. I was beside myself.
At this point I had a new nurse (I think this was my third or fourth) a super nice young woman (okay…probably my age) who was actually pregnant. She was very supportive and encouraging, and I kept asking her how much longer I would have to do this for. During what can only be called a complete stroke of genius, my mid-wife decided to take me off the epidural in the hopes that I could feel the need to push more. Holy. Hell. Did I feel it. A little while of no progress, and me screaming so loud I had a new nurse come in to tell me to breathe and to look her in the eyes to keep me calm, the doctor came in again.