Beck Douglas Jolley.

I had a baby last week.

I don't mean for that to sound cavalier. It should read--I had a BABY! LAST! WEEK!

I'm always impatient through my pregnancies. I think things like "Get this baby outta me!" "This is terrible! I am so uncomfortable! I can't sleep!"

And everyone hears about it. 

And then I approach 38ish weeks, and I panic. "I'm not ready! What are we going to do with this baby? What if he doesn't sleep? I can barely take care of the three I have!!"

It must be fun to live with me. My personality is a calm, serene landscape on which my children paint their childhood.

What.

I will say that I was given the "Emotional Rollercoaster" award by one of my teachers in eighth grade, and it really hurt my feelings. But she was right on.

ANYWAY. BABY! BABY! BABY!

My mother came into town for the event. I have waxed poetic about this before, but my mom is the best. She is tireless. When she comes, she plays with the kids nonstop, makes tons of food and does laundry. And does it all again the next day. And day after that. She usually comes for a few days, and I don't feel so bad for zapping all of her energy. But this trip my baby didn't come when we thought he would so she had to extend her trip. She spent 28934723 consecutive days with my kids and was nonstop fun the whole time. I don't know how she does it. I honestly worried about her falling asleep on her plane ride home and never waking up and ending up in the Bahamas. Which would be awesome. But then she would realize how terrible it is to stay with us and never come back.

This is a picture of my children looking genuinely happy to take a Sunday morning picture for the first time ever. Because they are with Grandma Sandy.

Since Baby didn't come when we thought he would, I was induced June 13th. I was a nervous wreck the whole time. My first two deliveries went really well, but you may recall that Harris flew out of my like a bullet and I was a screaming banshee with no chance for an epidural, and it was awful. Many people wonder if I wanted to go natural again because I did it last time. Nooooooooo.

So even though I knew I was getting induced and would have time for the epidural, I was so nervous. We arrived at the hospital, and the attendant told us to go into Delivery Room #6.

The same room we delivered Harris in.

It looked a little different this time because I wasn't shrieking and shaking and my face wasn't numb from hyperventilating. Two med students came in and talked to me for awhile, and everything was pleasant enough. 

The doc started me on the pitocin, the other doc started me on the epidural, and then I felt at peace. The epidural is my happy place.

Suddenly. I felt extremely nauseated. I told one of the med students, who handed my a barf bag and told me that it was common to throw up during child birth.  And then the doctor came running in, looked at the monitor, ordered the nurse to put an oxygen mask on me and said we were going to push the baby out now.

I knew something was wrong, but no one was talking to me. The doctor was busy directing everyone.

Side note. I have the best doctor. He has delivered 8,000 babies, and he knows everything. So I knew we were in good hands, and he would tell me what's up when things were in a place where he could.

I heard him order the vacuum, and I heard him use it. He told me to push, push, push. 

It was all over in 7 minutes, and we had our beautiful baby. The doctor actually told me to pull him out myself. I have never done that before, and I was overwhelmed. But I leaned forward, grabbed the guy and pulled him out. Amazing.

Then I found out that my blood pressure had dropped, which caused the baby's heart rate to drop, and the doc, in trying to prevent me from having a c-section, had me push him out at only 8 cm. He said he knew he could work with the cervix to get the baby out since this was my fourth one. He used the vacuum to get the baby to drop fast ("It was like watching an elevator descend!" said one nurse. "I've never seen anyone drop that fast!"), and worked his magic while I pushed.

This is why I like having the guy who has delivered 8,000 babies. I asked him how many times he had done that, and he said "once, about 25 years ago." Wowsers.

NINE pounds, two ounces. Our biggest baby. It's not a contest, guys!!!

Beck (my maiden name) Douglas (my father) Jolley ("Dan, you're THE father"--Maury Povich)

The next day, the kids came up for a visit. 

June is in LOVE. Gwen is in LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE. Harris in toleration.

I often catch Gwen watching Beck in the swing. So sweet. She loves helping with him.

Harris points and says "BABY BECK!" all of the time. But if you ask him if he wants to kiss or hug or touch or be in the same vicinity as Beck, he shakes his head and screams "NOOOOOOOOO!" Considering the gentle nature of most 2 year olds, it's probably for the best.

The End.