Announcing Declan Travis Warrick, who was born June 28 at 6:36 pm. He was 7 pounds, 5 ounces and 19". Photographs were taken by
Jessica Inman, who is a wonder with children and has blessed our family with many captured moments over the years.
On June 28, I began to feel some contractions around 8 in the morning. I called my husband who had recently left for work, and told him to keep posted. He was about to make a presentation and asked if I
needed him to come home.
Then I called my mom. My parents were about to head out to visit my brother in Idaho Falls before heading to Albuquerque following my due date (July 7). I cautioned them that the baby wasn't going to wait until 40 weeks, as anticipated. By the time my husband's presentation was finished, I knew I was unfit for parent-tot swimming lessons, and called him home to serve in my stead.
I'd been instructed to go in for some lab work, as I had preeclampsia with my oldest child, and my midwife wanted to check out my levels. Around lunch time I went in to have my blood drawn and a "sample" collected. Ooops! Things would have gone much faster if I hadn't relieved myself right before I was called back.
My husband picked up my chauffeuring duties (art class for my oldest and Lego club at the library) as I consumed half a bowl of Cheerios, left a message for the nurse on call, and started having more frequent and unpleasant contractions. After Lego club finished, I had my husband head to the hospital to drop me off at triage, battling some rush hour traffic. The midwife called back and confirmed that I should go in, and I called my good friend, Betty, who kindly skipped out of work early at a local sewing machine store to entertain my three children with Legos and princesses at her house. Meanwhile, I struggled and admitted defeat when faced with hospital gown assembly and dressing. It really should be a baby shower game.
Arrangements were made for my oldest son to have a slumber party at a friend's house, and for my most trusted babysitter to stay the night at our home with the remaining two children. After an hour, I was promoted from triage to a delivery room and my water broke. In spite of his urgings, I insisted my husband take the children to their respective evening locations before it was inconveniently late in the evening. I resumed my epidural begging with fervor. An hour after being admitted to the delivery room, the anesthesiologist arrived and struggled to find an opportune time between contractions to accomplish her task.
Immediately thereafter, one of the women attending started shouting, "Crowning!" which I wish was a royal ceremony and not a head coming out of...
Three consecutive pushes and baby was out.
Then, to my dismay, my legs began to go numb. Ten minutes more was all I needed; ten minutes was longer than the baby wanted to wait. Numb legs after you deliver a baby are totally overrated. I'm pretty sure I didn't get my money's worth on the epidural. I begged for them to hold off the cord clipping until my husband resurfaced, but they were too eager.
Then my husband showed up, looking pretty dismayed that he missed the glorious whooping and wailing, weeping and gnashing of teeth. Honestly, I don't get it; if I had my druthers, I would have shown up precisely when
he did.
During Declan's check-ups with the pediatrician he was losing too much weight, so I was instructed to supplement with formula. Unfortunately, he must have signed on as an Enfamil affiliate, because he now refuses to nurse, or turns it into a rigorous resistance sport. Here's hoping I win this battle of wills.
