On September 8th, we welcomed our son, Roman Dennis Nuss.
(The word “son” still feels utterly bizarre coming out of my mouth, like when you get engaged and can’t say the word “fiance” with a straight face).
As of the moment I type this, we remain suspended in a state of disbelief that he’s ours. Roman is the sweetest, most perfect little bear cub. He is our answer to prayer, the family puppy, and the object of an oppressive amount of kisses and snuggles.
I’m so excited to share Roman’s birth story today. It was, by almost any standard, an easy, peaceful birth.
My “birth plan” for this delivery was the same as it always is: get the baby out and have everyone live, with bonus points for a successful epidural.
After losing our little angel baby last summer, the prospect of “what might go wrong” felt very real to me, visceral in a way that I didn’t experience when I was pregnant with either of the girls. And although the pregnancy itself was very straightforward, we spent most of this year holding our breath, praying he would make it here safely.
All I wanted for this delivery was peace. Some girls dream of connecting to their inner warrior and gracefully breathing through active labor without medication. I dream of total paralysis.
I wanted him here ASAP and without drama, if I could help it.
I tend to have big babies, so after a rough recovery with Charlotte, my doctor and I decided on an early induction with Emmie and then again with this baby a little after the 39 week mark.
I wasn’t necessarily getting my hopes up that I’d go into labor before that–I’m just not the type of girl who would go into labor early (I can’t explain it). More for the thrill than anything, I decided to try out some of the old wives’ methods in the weeks leading up to the induction. It’s a festive way to wrap up a pregnancy, don’t you think? I sipped raspberry tea while manically cleaning my house, bounced on the birth ball at night, ate a million dates, and rolled around on the floor like a walrus to an induction exercise video every morning.
Despite experiencing prodromal contractions for the first time ever, I did not, in fact, go into labor early.
On Monday, September 8th, Tyler and I woke up early, washed the sheets for the 4th time that week, and made our way to the hospital for our induction at 8:30am.
My parents were taking care of the girls that week, so we had thankfully already gotten our tearful goodbye out of the way the previous evening.
Even though I had called early that morning to make sure they had a room available, we ended up sitting in the waiting room for a few hours.
I spent most of the morning reading on my Kindle from a sumo squat position and periodically sauntering by the nurse’s station so as to covertly remind everyone of my existence. Around 10:30am, it began to dawn on me that this was going to be a long day (and also: I was starving).
Our nurse finally collected us a little after 11am. On the walk back to our room, I ran into a couple of friends from high school who had just given birth to their baby and were being wheeled up to the postpartum floor. I got a huge kick out of this and probably freaked them out with how excited I was to see their familiar faces.
We settled into our room, went over the birth plan with our nurse (this took all of 30 seconds), and got ready to start my IV.
For some reason, the nurses had a hard time getting my IV in. It took five tries to get it placed correctly, and the whole ordeal took over an hour. My arms and hands were SO sore the rest of the day. (The bruises lasted for weeks!). I tried to stay calm and amicable, smiling through gritted teeth and saying “it’s fine” while trying not to faint. The life of a showgirl, am I right?
With the IV drama behind me (and a few snacks in my belly), I felt MUCH better and ready to take on the day.
Since I was only dilated to 1 cm, we stuck with the original plan for the induction which was to start with at least one round of Cytotec to help soften my cervix before starting Pitocin. They inserted the Cytotec around 1pm. I had to lay flat for an hour and was allowed to move around after that.
The Cytotec started working right away which was encouraging and kind of thrilling. My contractions picked up over the next couple of hours, and Tyler and I spent the afternoon strolling up and down the L&D hallway. I was very much aware of the pain, but it was manageable.
My doctor stopped by around 4:30pm. I had dilated to 3 cm and was effaced, so he decided to start my Pitocin.
It was around 5:30pm that I started to stress about getting my epidural. I didn’t feel like I needed it yet, but I really did not want to miss my window and end up in a situation where I was dying while waiting (still traumatized by dilating to a 10 while waiting for mine to kick in with Emmie). Poor Tyler and my nurses were probably so sick of hearing me hem and haw over it.
About an hour after that, I decided to put myself out of my misery and ask for the epidural. I just wanted to stop thinking about it. Plus, I was still at 3 cm, and I could just tell it was going to be a long night. I was ready to check out and relax.
I’m pleased to report that my epidural experience was, finally, EASY PEASY. As Tyler would say, it was a “nothing burger.” The anesthesiologist walked in, tinkered around with my back for a minute or two, and then walked out. I felt instant relief which was unbelievable to me. Third time’s a charm, I suppose.
We turned on Monday Night Football, dimmed the lights, and rested. I was so pleased.
Historically, my labors tend to go really slow and then very, very fast. I joked with my nurse that I had never once heard the numbers “5, 6, or 7” in regards to my cervix. So even though I was still at 3 cm when they placed my epidural, I knew that things could change at any point.
Sure enough, around 9pm, my water broke! We (Tyler, my nurse, and I) were all just delighted. She checked my cervix and said “you’re at a 6 but dilating to 7 in real time” which was a little freaky but, of course, very exciting.
Dr. Cobb bounded in about 30 minutes after that (he becomes Jim Harbaugh during deliveries, it is uncanny), checked me, and announced that I was ready to push! I couldn’t believe it, but also, I could.
A bunch of people rushed in, and we got ready for the delivery–and by that I mean I peppered Dr. Cobb with questions about his personal life while everyone else shifted important-looking equipment around the room.
At this point, my epidural was actually starting to wear off a bit, but it worked out since I could use the contractions to push.
We did one round of “practice” pushes through a contraction. I was so nervous but could tell by the pressure that the baby was literally almost out.
With the next contraction, Dr. Cobb had me push for a couple of seconds and then stop so he could gently pull the baby’s head out. This was the most I’ve ever felt of the actual delivery, and it was the most insane experience. We repeated that twice more–push, pause, push–and then he was out! He was born at 10:10pm–so cute right?
I know it takes a few seconds for babies to start crying when they first come out, but the silence never fails to freak me out. I couldn’t stop shaking and kept asking “is he ok is he ok is he ok.”
Tyler repeated “he’s fine he’s fine he’s fine,” tears streaming down his face.
I’m convinced there is no human experience as sacred as those first few moments after giving birth. Just like that: the months of praying and waiting and wondering are washed away by a flood of heaven-on-earth relief. In an instant, your heart splits in two to make room for an entire new universe. There was before, and there is after. As long as I live, and even after that, I will cherish these moments with my entire being.
We spent the next few hours in a daze, holding our precious baby and staring at each other in disbelief. At one point, our nurse and Tyler weighed the baby (8 lbs 10 oz!) and handed him back to me in a swaddled bundle.
As I pulled him back to my chest, a momentary wave of grief knocked the wind out of me: for the baby we didn’t get to meet, for my parents who held my stillborn brother two years before I was born, for my friends and loved ones who have silently marked uncelebrated due dates. Crushed by the weight of this baby’s preciousness in a world full of tragedy, I held him tight and let myself cry.
Eventually, we moved up to the postpartum floor. We ordered Shake Shack, as one does, and celebrated. I honestly couldn’t get over how well everything had gone. I kept saying to Tyler, “that was just so perfect, don’t you think?”
(Motion to normalize the fact that hospital/medicated births can be positive, nontraumatizing, and beautiful! A speech for another time).
I was definitely sore but had just a couple of stitches and felt, for the most part, pretty good. Roman was, and still is, an angel. He even let us catch up on a few hours of sleep before everyone made their morning rounds.
Tyler and I were hellbent on getting home ASAP, so we spent the entire day at the hospital getting our ducks in a row so they’d let us leave at the 24 hour mark.
My parents drove the girls down to the hospital after school. Words can’t describe what it felt like to see Emmie and Char meet their baby brother for the first time. After a year of praying for a rainbow baby every night before bed, they were in heaven holding him at last. Another moment I’ll hold sacred forever and ever.
The last few weeks have been so precious. We feel grateful, humbled, and endlessly blessed to have him safe in our arms.
On that note…
