Officially Un-Pregnant!

Well everyone, we did it. And by "we" I mean "I." And by "it" I mean "squeezed a gargantuan baby through a considerably smaller opening." Curtis helped too, of course - by contributing his DNA and encouraging me as I pushed.

(Whoa, in what universe is THAT fair - seriously?)

Regardless of who did most of the work (*cough*ME*cough*), the end result was worth the effort: our beautiful new son, Coby James, weighing in at 9 pounds, 2 ouches - I mean, ounces - and 21.5 inches long.

I joke about Curtis, but he really is a good labor coach. And it's a good thing, because it got a little scary for a few minutes. In the middle of getting my epidural, my water broke. When I laid down I felt a huge gush, which I thought was normal - until everyone in the room got eerily quiet and the medical personnel started exchanging those furtive "don't say anything" glances. After a couple agonizing minutes of being completely clueless, I was finally allowed to know that a huge piece of my placenta had come out - which could have meant trouble for Coby. Our nurse mentioned the possibility of an emergency C-section, even going so far as to say that if the baby were in jeopardy, they'd put me completely to sleep. Then the phlebotomists came in to draw a blood sample, in the event that I would need a transfusion. And in the midst of it all, I could only think about one thing - our baby - and I prayed that he would be okay.

But they attached a heart monitor to his scalp and happily reported that he didn't seem stressed whatsoever. Crisis averted, I could go back to worrying about more trivial matters:
- My hair, which was like insanely frizzy because I had been too lazy to straighten it
- My ass, which was (and okay, still is) huge and dimply and hanging out in a backless gown
- The fact that I could. Not. Stop. SHAKING!!
- The looming spectre of poop: would I or wouldn't I?

It seemed like it took forever to dilate fully, but once it was time to push, Coby was out in no time. Seriously, a catcher's mitt would have been totally appropriate - because one minute the top of his head was barely visible and the next minute he was shooting out to greet the world. And the sense of relief I felt, both physical and emotional, brought tears to my eyes.

He doesn't look much like either of his brothers, sleeps well, nurses like a champ, and has a squeaky little cry. We'll see how much things change once we leave the hospital tomorrow. For now, I know him in the context of this controlled, monitored, "when did you last feed him and how many soiled diapers has he had" environment. I can't wait to bring him home, where our life together can truly begin.

And oh yeah ... because I know you're all wondering?

I pooped.