My Second Child and Departure from the Army, Part 2

Watch out!  8 pounds, 6 ounces of screaming, naked baby!

So on Sunday I began my story about the circumstances surrounding our decision and timing for having our second child.  Now it's time to finish that story and while it may have started out a bit shaky, it ended with the birth of my beautiful, second son.

Finding out about my pregnancy wasn't as easy as taking a simple pregnancy test.  I took an at-home test and there was one pink line and one very faint pink line.  I took another and got the same result. OK, well the instructions said that if any line shows up no matter how faint, you're pregnant.  So off to the Troop Medical Clinic for a confirmation.

So the tech at the clinic had me pee in a cup.  I saw her dip a stick in (the same as I had just used...or it looked a lot like it) and then we waited.  "You're not pregnant, Drill Sergeant."  My response, "But there are 2 lines."  She tried to tell me that the other line was too faint and that I was not pregnant.  I began second guessing myself.  I told her I wanted another test.  She said that she would have another tech test the sample and that they would call me later.

That afternoon, I was driving back from Fort Ord with my son in the car (heaven only knows why I was out at Fort Ord, because for the life of me I can't remember why) and I realized that I hadn't heard back from the Clinic.  I gave them a call and got an answer, "I'm sorry, but you aren't pregnant."  My son was four years old and he knew that mommy and daddy were going to try to have another baby.  I was in tears by this point and was trying not to cry, when he asked what the phone call was for and why mommy was upset.  I told him that there was no baby in my belly yet and he just started crying.  I lost it then as he kept asking, "Where's my little sister?!?!"

So the next morning I woke up and took another pregnancy test (yes I had multiple because you never can be too sure!)...and then another.  Both said I was pregnant.  I went back down to the Clinic and told them, "OK, I took 2 tests yesterday that said I was pregnant and then you guys did 2 and said I wasn't. I took 2 more this morning and they say I am.  Figure this out!"  The response was a perfectly sound medical conclusion "OK, Drill Sergeant, if you took 4 tests and they said you're pregnant, then you are.  Let's get you a profile and a prescription for prenatal vitamins."  Seriously?  You're just going to take my word for it?  OK...whatever....

Of course, I didn't doubt my pregnancy.  I was late and was never late, so the question really was, what to do now?  The Army Ball was coming up in a few days.  It was June.  The cadre had all chipped in to rent a stretch Hummer to go to the ball.  It was going to be an awesome night and we were all arriving in style!  I hadn't turned in my profile yet, and I hadn't told my cadre I was pregnant yet.  I had only told my husband by presenting him with a photo card that said, "The Cayemberg Family is about to get a little bigger"...or something like that...and we told our families.  I told the cadre that at the Army Ball I would drink a toast with them and if I drank the wine, I wasn't pregnant.  If I drank the non-alcoholic cider, then I was pregnant.  They all sat around as the first toast of the evening came and looked at me. I picked up both glasses and then drank the non-alcoholic one. There was much congratulating going on after that although somewhat quietly, because we weren't telling the trainees...

My husband and I at that last Army Ball

Now the trainees obviously knew that something was up.  They saw our table briefly get all loud and excited, but we weren't telling why. You may ask yourself why I would keep something like that a secret, well, can you imagine having a pregnant, hormonal Drill Sergeant?  I mean Drill Sergeants aren't exactly cuddly people to begin with, but a pregnant one?  Not to mention I had no desire to have trainees trying to baby me...or worse  saying that I was only yelling because I was pregnant. That would probably have sent me right over the edge.

I have to admit that I do feel somewhat bad for the Soldiers in Bravo Company for the remainder of my time.  I tried not to be hormonal. I really did, but some things would just set me off and I would just smoke the Soldier(s) that were responsible.  All within my boundaries, but still.

I ended up serving for almost my entire first trimester.  The problems I encountered were mildly amusing, but challenging none-the-less.  Trying to hide my morning-noon-and-night sickness was impossible.  When the bathroom is right next to where the Soldiers on duty are they can hear the barfing.  They never said anything except, "Are you OK, Drill Sergeant?"  A simple "My stomach is bothering me" ended the question, although I'm sure they knew.

My Battalion Commander was another mild problem.  You see brainiac said that I needed to put on a maternity uniform immediately.  I know I mentioned in my last post  that this guy hated Drill Sergeants and I seriously think he thought that a Drill Sergeant in maternities would just look hysterical...or that it would require me to leave early.  Either way, I wasn't doing it.  He may have been my Battalion Commander, but what he couldn't do was make me wear a uniform that didn't fit.  As far as I was concerned he wasn't removing me unless my profile got in the way (or my belly).  My unit was too short-handed for me to just stop working because the Battalion Commander whimsically wanted it so...and I was fit to keep up my duties.

I would lead the PT for the Soldiers on profile.  Someone had to so it didn't really look odd, and from time to time I would actually still run with my company and call cadence.  Granted, the guys would only let me do it at the end of PT when we were running downhill.  I gotta love how they took care of me!

Shortly before I took my hat off, I held a meeting with my platoon and told them what I know some had started to figure out...that I was pregnant...and what they hadn't figured out...that I was leaving the military. I explained it to them like they were family, because when you're a Drill Sergeant they are like your kids...and you're the dysfunctional parent that yells a lot.  I have no problem admitting that when I told them I was leaving the military that I teared up.  And I told them something that doesn't get said often enough.  Family has to come first.

By the time I took my hat off in August of 2005 I was wearing my BDUs with all the buttons on the bottoms undone, but my top (luckily) covered it.  A week or so later when I showed up in civilian clothes for my End of Tour Award I was looking as pregnant as can be.  I think that was a shock to the Soldiers!

Daddy with his 2 boys

So my husband, son and I left Monterey, California to drive out to what would be our new home in Clarksville, Tennessee...just over the Kentucky border.  On to Fort Campbell!  On the way, we stopped off to see my cousin get married and to say hello to some friends in Arizona.  Hurricane Katrina had just hit before our trip and as we drove through Texas we detoured and cancelled a planned stop in San Antonio because Hurricane Rita was on the way.  We arrived in Clarksville with the rain, and rain, and rain.

We found a home.  A great home, very quickly. And I found my way to a midwife on post as soon as TRICARE red-tape would allow.  At first, I couldn't get in to see anyone anytime soon, so that meant that my husband and I spent a little time with the Officer in Charge of the OB/GYN floor.  She was a sweet woman and she took care of us.  However, when I got in for some lab work the ladies there started screaming at me that I needed to have my ultrasound NOW.  What?  I was 22 weeks.  That's about right...right?  Don't yell at me because the Army moved us during baby-ultrasound time.  My hubby had to make some quick plans to get in on this ultrasound, but we managed to get it done with all of us there, my son included.

The tech told us the news.  A healthy baby boy!  We were delighted.  The sex didn't matter to us.  The healthy part was the only thing that ever did.  Benjamin, however, was still demanding to know where his little sister was.  Luckily, at the age of 11 he stopped demanding a little sister.

I went to a midwife even though I knew she wouldn't be delivering my baby.  I couldn't get in with any of the other doctors that could perform my c-section and I liked midwives anyway.  She was great.  The doctor that was assigned to deliver my child, however, I didn't like.  I'm not sure why either.  Just a feeling.

We picked February 12th for the c-section.  I didn't want to have a baby on Valentine's Day.  I didn't want Valentine's Day over-shadowing his day.  My mom, sister, and step-dad came down to take care of Ben while my hubby and I went in for Daniel's birth.  It was a blessing to have them there for the event and to take care of us (I won't talk about how you dumped cayenne pepper into a pot of boiling water, mom, and made the whole house cough like we'd been hit with pepper spray!  [HeeHee] I guess I just did! Love you, mom!)

Again with the name problems though.  Daniel was supposed to be a Nicholas.  I still like the name Nicholas, but there's no fighting pregnant lady hormones!  My husband and I tried out several different names and none of them felt right.  A few days before the birth we decided on Daniel.  I had a friend in elementary school named Daniel and always thought it was a nice name.  My husband told his family that we had decided on Daniel, but that we'd wait until we met him to make it official.  His middle name, however, would be Edward.  After my grandfather, my uncle, my great grandfather, my great great grandfather, my....well, you get the idea.  Lots of Edwards in this Irish family.

I love this picture.  Ben staring at his day-old baby brother.

This time my husband and I got to see our child be born.  I had told the doctor about the horrible epidural-didn't-work event with my first son and he said that I would have a spinal block.  Needle in the spine is all the same to me, I just wanted to be awake!  And in no-time, once the cesarean started, Daniel was out...and the doctor almost dropped him on the floor.  Did I mention that I didn't like this guy? Although there were many other reasons!

I saw him for a brief moment and they took him to the warmer for his vitals and to clean him up.  After my c-section was finished it was to recovery where my husband got to give him his first bath and mommy and baby could start bonding.

I'd like to say the breastfeeding went smoothly the second time around, but it didn't.  I'll save the gory details (for now), but my older sister came to my rescue there!  She came down to help out about 2 weeks after Daniel was born and drug my butt into the lactation consultant's office and then forced her to help (and this lady needed forcing!).

It was nice to be able to actually witness the birth.  Even if it wasn't a normal, traditional childbirth, it was us welcoming our second, beautiful, sweet baby boy into our lives.  Lots of diapers, crying, nursing and sleepless nights, but it was all worth it, and this time there was no going back to the Army and chucking my child in daycare.  I got to actually do all those mommy things that I had dreamt about when I was a little girl.  I missed work, but the trade-off was more than worth it, and we were blessed to be able to have the choice and be able to afford to have me stay home to care for our children.

My mom getting to hold her newest grandson!

A little genealogical twist to Daniel's birth...even though Fort Campbell is in Kentucky most nonmilitary people don't know that it's actually on the border of Kentucky and Tennessee, and when I say on the border, I mean part of it is in one state and part in another.  It's listed as being in Kentucky, because the headquarters building is in Kentucky, however, the military hospital on post is in Tennessee which means that Daniel has a Tennessee birth certificate! Something sure to confuse descendants researching us...born at Blanchfield Army Medical Center in Fort Campbell, Tennessee!  And another twist...Blanchfield is a family name.  That made having him there even more special!

Happy Birthday, Daniel.  A little later than I meant to post this, but perhaps that's appropriate since Army circumstances kept us from having you as soon as we would have liked to.  Again...everything happens for a reason.

My Second Child and Departure from the Army, Part 1

Daniel Edward...my new cuddly little munchkin

I must be suffering from Mommy-brain recently.  I spent so much time doing everything else this week and this weekend that I forgot to write a post to celebrate my littlest one's sixth birthday on his birthday! I guess I can use the excuse that we were spending the weekend celebrating his birthday so it's not as though he was forgotten.

If you've followed my blog at all recently you'll know that I just posted about my oldest son's birth only two weeks ago.  This time of year is always busy for us because they are 5 years and 2 weeks apart. It wasn't planned that way when we decided to have children, it just worked out that way.  I was in the Army when I had my first child and was still in when I got pregnant with my second.

I'm sure you're wondering about the title of this blog post.  It wasn't as simple as, I got pregnant and got out.  I would have loved to stay in, but it became impossible to.  I guess I want my descendants to understand why I got out when I had my second child because it was complicated.  I volunteered for Drill Sergeant duty which is usually a two year tour of duty and you can extend to three years with permission. By the time I became a Drill Sergeant the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were well underway.  This meant that everyone was deploying and then being stabilized immediately following deployment, so all of the Drill Sergeants were involuntarily extended to that final third year.  We had a great a great cadre, so this wasn't horrible news to us, but we were all getting tired and had been looking forward to the end of our tours when we would be able to choose our follow-on assignment.

I was almost in tears when I said goodbye to the Soldiers

That was one of the perks for being a Drill Sergeant.  You serve in that difficult position and when you leave, you get to choose where you want to go.  Well, by the time I was preparing to leave, the Army came up with a new way of looking at the Drill Sergeant Assignment Preference Program.  It had now become the "That's a nice policy to have during peacetime" policy.  This didn't sit well with many of the Drills, but our Branch Manager was an awesome dude and was going to do his best to get us where we wanted to go.  Sadly, my husband's Branch Manager was an all out ass and he ignored the fact that my husband was married to a Drill and put him on orders.  When we tried to fight it, they changed his orders to a "less desirable" location for us.  Talk about no reprisals...yeah, right!

I was livid.  My Battalion Commander was a complete and utter waste of oxygen that hated Drill Sergeants so he was unwilling to help.  I'm sure he was relishing the whole thing inside.  I think the man was beaten up in Basic Training or somehow made to look bad by a Drill Sergeant at some point in his military career with how he negatively fixated on us.

Anyway, the problem that I had with where my husband was being stationed was that there was no job for me.  Sure they would have found a job for me, but it would not have been in my Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) and most likely not in my pay grade.  I had a serious problem with this because I had made the list for Sergeant First Class in just under 8 years and pinned in under 9. This has become much more commonplace now, but when I was in, this was fast-tracking and I didn't want my career to be hindered by a bad assignment.

There was an additional problem too though.  My husband and I put off having more children so that I could be a Drill Sergeant.  Despite the wars going on, our intent was to go to a quiet assignment after Drill duty so we could have more children.  Sure I could go to this new duty station and serve in a position that would be less than beneficial, but if I were pregnant I would be looked upon as the person that showed up pregnant to get out of deploying.  While anyone that knew me would know that this wasn't true, part of the problem when you go to a new duty station is that you most likely aren't going to be known.  I couldn't stand to be looked at as someone that was trying to get out of combat.  That would absolutely tick me off.  The thought of being looked at like a dirt ball was horrifying.

My de-hatting.  Goodbye Drill Sergeant hat...

As a mother, I also had a hard time with the thought of giving birth and then being asked to deploy in 6 weeks. That was the reason we had hopes of going to a quieter assignment.  Take the person that had been camped out avoiding hard duty and let us have some down-time after three years of Drill duty.  Let me pop out a couple more kids and then the Army could send me wherever.  My hubby would have been retired by the end of that duty assignment and he could be the stay-at-home dad while I continued playing Soldier.  Nope.  It wasn't meant to be.

I was given the option of going to San Antonio without my husband.  He could request to be stationed with me a year later.  Yeah, that kind of makes getting pregnant difficult when one person is in Texas and the other in Kentucky, so we moved up our plans.  I played a gamble that if I were pregnant they wouldn't separate us.  We rolled the dice.  I got pregnant.  I faxed my pregnancy profile/diagnosis to my Branch Manager.  He was hopeful that it would work.  He told my hubby's idiot Branch Manager that if we weren't stationed together in San Antonio then I would get out.  The other guy thought I was bluffing.  I was a Sergeant First Class with going on 10 years in service.  I wasn't going to get out!

Wrong.  Family comes first with us, and we now had a baby on the way.  We knew that this was a possibility (although we didn't really think it would come to it), and I had my commander begin my separation paperwork.  I was relieved that we were now going to stay together.  I was ecstatic that we were having another baby, but I was absolutely devastated that my career was gone.

I had worked so hard and the Army had become my life.  I was a hard-charging, butt-kicking Army chick and I had succeeded at almost everything that I tried during my career.  I had awesome mentors, and I felt like I had let every single one of them down.

All (except one) of my friends and mentors told me that they weren't upset and that they understood my decision, but even though I had their support, I still felt that I had somehow betrayed them.  To top it all off making the transition from Senior Noncommissioned Officer to Spouse was a shock I wasn't prepared for.

I was used to walking into the commissary or PX in my uniform.  I was a part of the military system. Now, when I walked into a commissary or talked to someone it was always, "Who's your husband?" Yes, sexism prevailed and I was no longer looked at as someone that might have my own accomplishments, but just a spouse.  Is there something wrong with being a spouse?  Absolutely not! But I wanted to just scream out that I had my own successes.  I didn't want to live only by who my husband was.  I wanted to yell at everyone that looked at me like I was "just a stay-at-home mom" that I had been a Drill Sergeant.  That I had been a Senior NCO!  After years of counseling (and I'm not really joking about that) I was able to come to terms with my decision to leave.  My decision to leave? No our decision to leave.  My husband and I are a team in everything and we knew it was the right choice for our family.

...Hello cowboy hat.  I tried to keep a sense of humor!

I also realized that being a stay-at-home mom wasn't all that easy.  I laughed and thought I'd be sitting at home and eating bonbons all day, but it was a job unto itself...and a hard one at that!  I often looked back wondering how we managed being dual-military with a child.  We managed because we had to, but as a result our first son spent the majority of his day in daycare.  We missed so much with him, but I got to experience all that with our second child.

I wouldn't change a thing about being in the Army.  It was such an awesome experience.  I hope that I made a difference in some of my Soldiers' lives as my mentors had made in mine.  I made awesome friends when I was in, and I met my husband because I served.  I can look back now, and even though it still gives me pangs of sadness in my chest when I remember having to leave (and I felt that I HAD to leave to preserve my family), I feel no regrets.  Everything in our lives happens for a reason.  The good, and the not so good.  You just have to make the most of it...and hey, someday my grandkids will be able to say "Grandma not only wore combat boots, but a Drill Sergeant hat too!"...Not everyone can say that one!

[The story of my second son's birth and the story of me leaving the Army are tied together, and both are things I want passed on for generations, but I don't want what might seem a "bad" event in leaving the military to be tied to my son's birth, because his birth was anything but bad!  So I will reserve the remainder of this post for next time when I can talk about the joy of his arrival.]

A Birth that Didn't Go According to Plan

Yes, he's wearing a Green Bay Packer onsie!

Happy 11th birthday to my wonderful, awesome, gorgeous, intelligent son, Benjamin!

I always wanted to have children.  I was that little girl that wanted to be a mommy, so I was ecstatic when I found out less than a month after our church wedding, that I was pregnant.  We weren't shocked or anything.  We planned it. I'm a planner.  I like a good plan and the more detailed the better.  Heck, I used to pack for Summer vacation in the early Spring!

Anyway, my husband and I were stationed in Hawaii and we tried to decide when having a baby would be the best for our careers and for our units' training schedules.  It finally dawned on us after comparing his unit's schedule and my unit's schedule  that having a baby would never be convenient for the Army, so we decided to start trying immediately and had immediate success.

The guys at work were very supportive of me being pregnant.  They were awesome and didn't treat me any differently.  Sure I had a profile now, but I was able to do pretty much everything I did before except really heavy lifting and I had to stay away from certain chemicals.  I even went "to the field" a couple times while pregnant.  I was asked if I wanted to move to headquarters while pregnant and gave a resounding (or was it deafening) response of "NO WAY IN HELL!"  You don't leave your buddies...pregnant or not.

I had some crazy cravings when I was pregnant with Benjamin...bologna sandwiches (this grossed my husband out), and broccoli with LOTS of butter.  The guys in my platoon joked that they should buy stock in Junior Mints with how I was eating them!

I was no small pregnant chick!

My pregnancy was uneventful.  I had to take a 3-hour glucose test (yuck) because there was a concern that I might have gestational diabetes, but after getting stuck with a needle four times in three hours by a very inexperienced med-tech, it came back that I was good to go.  There was lots of morning sickness, although I would get sick around the clock.  My husband joked that, "It's always morning somewhere!"  I suppose so but that didn't make me feel any better as I leaned over the toilet, holding my hair crying and wondering what I had gotten myself into.  Note-to-self:  Do not eat kimchi when suffering from morning sickness.  That burns coming back up!

About halfway through my pregnancy the sickness just stopped and I felt better.  I was huge, but felt better.  When you're in the Army, you have to stay in shape and watch your weight.  Not when you're pregnant and I took advantage of that.  I was afraid that with my throwing up that the baby wasn't getting enough food (HA!) so if I ate and then threw up, I would eat again.  How silly I was!  I weighed 127 pounds before I got pregnant.  By the time I gave birth I weighed 183!  Not the 25-30 pounds of weight gain they tell you about.  My First Sergeant would joke that I now weighed more than he did....but it was really no joke...I did!

So an easy pregnancy, and eventually it came time for the ultrasound. I wondered if they would be able to tell what our baby was, but Ben was asleep and lying there legs wide open, just showing the world that he was a little boy!  So we new the gender now, and had to find a name.

Daddy finally gets to see his boy

Noah, was what we decided on.  Noah Romand.  We knew that we wanted Romand for his middle name.  Romand Kuehl was my husband's maternal grandfather, although we were saying and spelling it as "Roman" until just before filling out the birth certificate.  Luckily we checked!  But as you can tell, Noah is a Benjamin.  I would love to say that I wasn't hormonal when I was pregnant, but that would be a bold-faced lie and my husband would no doubt let everyone know that in a comment to this post! One day, he came home from work and I just started blubbering that I didn't like the name, "Noah" and didn't want to name the baby that.  It's not that Noah is a bad name.  In fact one of my dearest friends ended up having a son around the same time as me and named her son Noah, but when you're hormonal, you're hormonal! OK...no Noah, but what to name him?  We had no idea.

A peaceful moment

My pregnancy continued and soon it was difficult to tie my combat boots (and yes, I wore them the entire pregnancy...no sneakers for this old sergeant!).  The guys in the platoon office would get a kick out of (or was it get freaked out by...) my stomach just moving.  I would sit there at the end of the day or at lunch with my BDU top off and they could see my bump under the brown t-shirt move.  The guys said it looked like something from Alien.  I just thought it was neat as heck.

The end of my pregnancy was nearing.  My due date was January 27th and the baby had been head-down for weeks.  Dr. Ellis (our awesome baby doctor that was also a good friend of my aunt and uncle) had to go away for just under a week, but he set me up with another doctor to see for the one appointment he would be missing.  He promised that he would be back before my due date.  I had had no contractions yet, and being my first pregnancy he wasn't too concerned about me going into labor early.  What could go wrong...right?

During that one visit with the other doctor I found out that my plan had a pretty major kink in it.  The doctor measured my belly and then felt it.  He told me that the baby was breech.  I told him that it just couldn't be.  My baby had been head down for over a month.  He sent me for an ultrasound to confirm it and to check the size of the baby.  Yep.  Breech.  We were also told by the technician that  the baby weighed around 8 pounds, give or take an ounce.  At that diagnosis the nurse that was in the room put her hands on my belly and commented, "Eight pounds?  Feels more like you have 2 five pound bags of sugar in there!"  Let's just say that she was closer than the tech was...

A daddy-Benjamin moment in the hospital

So we had to discuss options.  Luckily, with my aunt (a nurse/midwife) and my uncle (a doctor) living in Hawaii, calling them was a no brainer and they came out to be with us and to help us with our decision.  I was getting a little scared. Our options were to do nothing (not really an option), induce labor (I didn't want to do this and deliver a baby breech...plus the labor could last for days with an induction and I wasn't thrilled about that), or they could attempt an External Cephalic Version (ECV) and turn the baby.  If it was successful, they would induce me so I could have the baby before he turned again.  If it wasn't successful, they would go straight to a C-section so that I wouldn't go into labor breech.  We opted for the last option. I was feeling a bit harassed by some of the staff (not my doctors) for not just trying to deliver breech.  I kept saying no, and they kept coming back.  Like if they asked a million times, I would eventually say, OK.  "Why not try?  He's not a really big baby or anything," they would say.  I think my aunt or uncle finally said something to them, because shortly after I told them that the staff was beginning to upset me with their pestering, it stopped.  Have I mentioned that my aunt and uncle are awesome!?!

So on my due-date I was given an epidural and they attempted the ECV.  What is an ECV? Essentially, what they do is push the baby out of the birth canal and attempt to turn him.  So there's a lot of pushing on your belly from the outside.  The epidural was to help with the pain and so they could go to a C-section if needed without additional meds or waiting.  My aunt briefed me before going in for the procedure.  She told me that it should be a firm, but gentle pushing.  That if they were too forceful, that they could hurt the baby.  She also told me that if I wasn't comfortable at any time with what they were doing to stop them.

So I'll segue briefly at that scary ECV thought and remind everyone that we still had no name for the baby.  As luck would have it my husband walked through the hospital (Tripler Army Medical Center) and saw a name on an office, "Dr. Benjamin Berg".  He told me about it.  It sounded good.  After all, the last 4 letters of our surname is "berg".  It was decided as easy as that.  Benjamin Romand Cayemberg it would be.  I loved it.  Yay...a name!  OK...back to scary ECV stuff...

9 pounds 5.8 ounces of baby...8 pounds my butt!

So my doctor was back, the epidural was given and into the operating room I went.  My husband was there, Dr. Ellis was there, the doctor that had noticed the baby was breech was there, and another doctor that was also a surgeon was there in case I needed a C-section...oh, yeah...and the rest of the delivery team was there too. I was strapped to a table.  And no joke, I felt like I had been strapped to a cross.  My arms strapped out to the left and right of me. Not a good feeling.  It didn't get better.  I could feel the pushing for the ECV and it hurt.  A lot.  I was in tears, by the time I told them to stop.  They went straight into C-section mode.  An ice cube was rubbed across my lower abdomen and I was asked if I could feel it.  My smart-ass answer, "It's ice...it's kind of cold and numbing.  I don't know."  So they began the c-section.

I stopped them again.  I could feel the incision.  I told them that and they just reassured me that I would feel some pulling, but that was all.  They continued.  I stopped them immediately.  No, really, I can feel that.  It's like a bad paper cut.  They wanted to up my epidural, but they were told that I was maxed out. No more meds for me.  It was time to put me under general anesthetic.  My husband would have to leave.  He kissed me and left.  Before they put me under the last thing I remember saying through tears was, "I'm scared."  And I was.  I had never been under general anesthetic.  I was scared that I wouldn't wake up.  Silly, but I was.  The nurse anesthetist was very understanding and comforting and under I went.

The first time I held Benjamin

My husband apparently had to be kicked out of the operating room a couple times.  He kept going back in there, and they kept escorting him out.  He was scared too.  To me, I went to sleep and woke up a groggy mom. I didn't realize that I had been in the operating for an unusually long time.  I wouldn't find that out until later. The baby was born fine.  Benjamin was doing great, but they were having a problem controlling my bleeding and my husband was scared.  SPOILER ALERT!!!!  I lived....

When I woke up, I was in the recovery room with my husband, my baby, my aunt and my uncle.  My hubby came over with Benjamin so that I could hold him.  I didn't want to.  Yep, you read that right...I was too scared.  I  was afraid that I would drop him.  Luckily, I had some great support there that day.  My husband placed a swaddled Benjamin on my chest and helped me hold him.  As soon as I saw him, I started crying. The feeling of joy is indescribable.  I was finally a mom and was holding this perfect little mixture of me and my husband.

It hadn't been the birth I had planned for.  I never felt the pain of labor and delivery.  I never got to use the information I had learned in our childbirth classes.  Did that bother me?  Yes.  No, I'm not saying that I want to be in pain, but I did feel like I had missed out on a part of the childbirth experience.  I got over that quickly enough though as we welcomed the first new member of our little family.

Happy Birthday, Benjamin.  I love you more than words can say!