Monday, April 22, 2019

In Honor of His 8th Birthday: Collin's Birth Story!


I can't believe that eight years have already flown by since you were born, Collin. You are such an old soul and crack us up! We don't know what you will be when you grow up, but you will definitely be in charge. Love you so much, little old man!

Collin’s Birth Story
By His Mommy

          By the summer of 2010, Clay and I had two very busy little boys and life was really good. We were always on the go and loving every minute of our Spider-Man and Lego filled world. McLain was our serious son and already obsessed with video games. Keaton was my wild man that preferred to be naked and would climb on absolutely anything that would stand still.
Deep in my heart, I knew that I wanted more babies, despite already having two of the best boys I could ever ask for. My biological clock continuously reminded me of this desire, and I tried fervently to ignore it and enjoy the sweet spot we were in as a family. I knew that if I worked hard enough that I could wear Clay down and talk him into trying for one more kiddo, but I didn’t want to brow- beat him into having another baby. What kind of birth story would that be to tell the child later?
          That summer we took a family trip to Myrtle Beach, and our week was spent applying sunscreen and chasing the boys in and out of the ocean. One afternoon while we were there, Clay asked me if I wanted to have another baby. I was stunned, remembering that for three and half years Clay insisted that he was content with just our two sons. Immediately, I replied, “YES!!!” Nothing could make my heart happier.
Myrtle Beach 2010
Last beach trip as a family of four!


          In August, a new school year began and not long after that I started to feel nauseous. Before long I was throwing up every morning, and I could only assume why. I took one pregnancy test and then another to confirm my suspicion. As I stared down at the tests and their pink lines, I could hardly believe that our family was really expanding.
          On September 2nd, our tenth wedding anniversary, Clay and I went to Gatlinburg for Labor Day weekend. My nausea plagued me, and I was miserable the entire time. The highlight of the trip was when we went to the Carter’s outlet, and I bought a pastel yellow baby gown. It really solidified for me that a baby was on its way, and I planned to use the gown for our baby announcement when we returned home.
          Consumed with increasing, first trimester morning sickness, I had a difficult time teaching in the morning after we got home from our trip. I would place a trashcan near me, praying that I would not have to use it in front of my students. Out of necessity, I let my nearby teacher friends in on my secret. If I had to rush to the restroom to throw-up, I didn’t want the unplanned arrival of my class in their room to be a shock to them!
          Not long after our anniversary trip, Clay and I went to lunch at Los Bravos with both our families after church. As everyone ate chips and queso, Clay and I passed out envelopes to our family members. Inside they quickly found our baby announcement that read: We are excited, joyful, and blessed to say that Brooks #3 is on its way! On the card was a picture of the yellow gown we had bought on our trip, as well as my pregnancy test. Our family was excited but very much shocked. These were the days before baby announcements became our norm!
Our announcement!

About to be Brooks Party of 5!
          Soon it was the end of September, and I took my boys to the fair. I was completely overjoyed with the thought of eating fair food: boiled peanuts, apple dumplings with ice cream, and grilled hamburgers! I happily ate while walking around the fairgrounds, and the boys played on the swings, motorcycles, and panda ride. Without thinking, I helped Keaton get on and off each ride, picking him up over and over like all of the times I had taken him to the fair before. I would soon learn that I couldn’t always be Super Woman, particularly when I’m pregnant.
          The boys and I went home, and I put them to bed as we were all exhausted. We quickly fell asleep, and I was grateful to have the weekend to rest. The next morning I woke up and went to the restroom. To my horror, I realized that I was spotting. I. Was. Terrified.
Sitting on the toilet, I started sobbing, consumed by the idea that I was losing my baby. Through my fear I tried to figure out what I should do. Shaking, I called out for Clay and got back in the bed. Staying off my feet seemed like a wise first step. Then, I called my mother who told me to call my OB/GYN, which I immediately did, crying the entire time. I had to leave a message with the answering service and wait for the doctor to call back.
Minutes seemed to tick by so slowly, but finally my phone rang. The doctor listened to my concerns and then directed me to stay on bed rest for the remainder of the weekend. He instructed me to come to the office for an ultrasound sound as soon as I could get an appointment. The doctor also advised me not to pick up anything heavier than five pounds and that I was on complete pelvic rest. Other than those suggestions, he said there was nothing else I could do.
          I spent the weekend in bed, hardly daring to roll over or move. I alternated between crying and just begging God to keep my baby safe. Waves of terror would wash over me repeatedly, and I felt as if I was drowning in my own fear. I tried to act normal around my boys but hiding my anxiety was very difficult. My mother and mother-in-law brought meals to the house, so I didn’t have to worry about what the boys would eat. My brother even made me my favorite chocolate pudding. We were all consumed with worry for this baby.
          Every time I went to the bathroom, I was scared to look. I would wait to go as long as I could bear it, because I was so fearful of what I would find. As the weekend wore on, the spotting decreased until it finally stopped by Monday and my hope started to return.
          Early Monday morning, I called my OB/GYN’s office and scheduled an ultrasound appointment. The first available one was mid-Tuesday, so I took it. I counted down the hours until it was time to go.
          The next day I drove myself to the doctor. Looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t take Clay or my mother with me. Maybe I wanted to know that I would have privacy for my emotions-big, bad, or ugly- if I learned that I had miscarried my baby.
          The nurse quickly called me back to the ultrasound room. I climbed onto the exam table and waited for the ultrasound technician who soon arrived. She instructed me to lie back and pull up my shirt.  Coating my belly with warm petroleum jelly, she then used her scanner to assess my baby, and I took a deep breath, knowing how serious this ultrasound was.
Looking at the monitor, I was immediately flooded with relief. On the screen in front of me was a TINY bouncing and wiggling baby. With tears in my eyes, I watched it wave its arms and kick its legs. The technician measured my baby and deemed it to be perfectly healthy at 1 ½ inches and with a heartbeat of 164 beats per minute. She determined the baby to be 10 weeks and 0 days old and due April 28th. My sweet number three was just fine. Praise the Lord!
          Understanding my relief, the ultrasound tech printed me several pictures. Leaving the office, I went to my car, thanked God for his mercy, and just felt the tension and fear from the weekend escape my body. Using my phone, I took a shot of the 3D ultrasound picture and sent it to Clay. I texted: Meet your baby. Right away, he texted back and said that he might be shedding a man tear or two. We let our family know that the baby was ok, and we all prayed that the rest of the pregnancy would be uneventful.
Our teeny tiny 10 week old baby!
1 1/2 centimeters

164 bpm
          On December 3rd, Clay, my mom, and I went for the baby’s 20 week anatomy scan. Together, we watched the baby wriggle and squirm as the ultrasound technician measured the baby’s head, abdomen, arms, and legs. Finally, she asked if we were ready to learn the gender of the baby. Immediately, we could see that Brooks number three was also a he! Clay and I were thrilled to know we were having a third son, and my mom retrieved an “It’s a boy!” banner from her purse for us to hold as she took our picture. As McLain had declared when we learned that Keaton was a boy, we laughed that the “boy fiesta” would continue in our house!
5 month anatomy scan in 3D

          The next day, I made gender reveal cupcakes, pushing blue plastic safety pins down inside them and covering the tops with white icing. Our families went to dinner at Wallace BBQ that night, and after we ordered, Clay and I passed out the cupcakes. On the count of three, our family bit into or broke apart their cupcakes, and learned that another Brooks boy would be arriving in April. I think a lot of our family was in disbelief that we were having a third boy!
Gender reveal cupcakes!




         The winter days passed quickly and soon it was my birthday, January 31st. What should have been a fun day turned ugly when I received a scathing email from an upset parent, accusing me of not supporting her child to the best of my ability. My co-teacher and I were horrified as we had worked tirelessly to meet the needs of this student. By the end of the day, I was so upset that I began contracting and called my mom as I drove to her house, crying the entire 20 minute drive. After an hour of contractions that were occurring every five minutes, I called my OB/GYN’s after-hours number and was instructed by the nurse to go to the Women’s Center.  
          My mother drove me to the hospital, and we went immediately to triage where my nurse hooked me up to fetal and contraction monitors. Very quickly, my midwife came in and checked my dilation, relieved that the contractions I was having were not productive. After five hours, my contractions finally subsided, and I was instructed to stay home from work the next day. My midwife explained that my contractions were stress induced and that she wished that I could just have a big glass of wine and email the angry mother back with a few choice words.
          After this false labor, the rest of my pregnancy went fairly smoothly. Georgia had a large, February snow storm, and I happily huddled inside with my big boys for several days as the deep snow turned to ice. My class threw me a surprise baby shower, and Clay and I worked on converting Keaton’s room into a room for him and the baby to share. 
30 Weeks 2 Days

35 Weeks
          At 37 weeks pregnant, I developed a horrible case of bronchitis. I coughed and coughed and coughed and feared that I would cough my baby right out. When my wheezing escalated, I went to urgent care and got medicine and assurance that I should be much better before the baby arrived. I was nervous that if I couldn’t stop coughing soon that I wouldn’t be able to hold my breath to push my baby out. After a week of being terribly sick, I was finally better and welcomed the idea of my baby’s arrival!

For just over 38 weeks, I frequently thought and speculated about when and how my third baby was going to enter our lives. I worried that his labor might go on for days, like McLain’s and his 39 hour arrival. With overwhelming anxiety, I wondered if his delivery would be unintentionally natural or after his due date, like Keaton’s birth. To my surprise, my third baby boy ended my speculation eleven days before his due date.
          On Saturday, April 16th, I woke with the determination to finish getting ready for my new little man, even though I was not due until April 28th. As I sat at the computer with my morning coffee, I updated my Facebook status with “Today’s agenda: Nesting. Clay is so thrilled. J” I was set on finishing up my baby “to do” list, so that my mind could finally be at peace.
          That morning, I finished hot gluing ribbons to the wooden letters of Collin’s and Keaton’s names and had Clay hang them on the wall of the little boys’ room. I also cleaned out our filing cabinet, which I had never done before, but suddenly I couldn’t wait another day to do it. Piles of old, useless stuff from it had to immediately go.
          After that, I went to Target and bought a car seat. We had one for Clay’s car, but I also needed one for mine. While wandering Target’s aisles, I tossed baby shampoo, lotion, and Desitin in the cart, because I was worried that I didn’t have any at home. As I was standing in the check-out line, a former coworker, who was also pregnant, greeted me and asked when I was due. I told her that my due date was twelve days away, but I was completely ready to be finished with this pregnancy. She laughed and said, “Well, maybe you’ll be lucky and have him today. You never know.” Who knew her words would be so foreshadowing?
          When I got back from my shopping trip, Clay and I picked up around the house as I crabbily complained of how tired I was of being pregnant. That afternoon and evening I lay in my bed with the company of my DVR. Occasionally, I would have a random contraction, but none got my hopes up that Collin would make his debut anytime soon. As the evening wore on, my favorite reality shows held my attention until my mom called around 8:15 PM. We chatted for about half an hour, and at 8:45 PM I got out of my bed while still on the phone. As I stood up, I felt a small, warm liquid gush and thought, “Oh great. My bladder has stopped working.” I sat back down on the edge of my bed.
          What I initially thought was my faulty bladder continued to leak with every move I made and with every movement that the baby made. The thought crossed my mind that it could be amniotic fluid, but I didn’t want to be too hopeful because my due date was still twelve days away. I did mention it to my mom and cautiously relayed the information to Clay. My mom said that she had a slow dribble with my brother and that I should pay attention to it and for contractions. I lay back down and obsessed over every twinge in my uterus.
          Even though contractions had not started, my body was still leaking fluid 45 minutes later, so Clay called his parents about 9:30 PM to put them on alert. They had offered to watch the older boys when we went to the hospital, and we wanted to let them know they might need to sleep over at our house. 
          After talking again to my mom and then to Clay, I decided to call my doctor’s office to see what they recommended. Fluid was continuing to increasingly leak after almost two hours, and I was no longer convinced that my bladder was the culprit. At 10:43 PM, I spoke with Dr. Morrel, a doctor in my practice but not one I saw frequently, and described what I had been experiencing. He asked if this was my first child, and when I said it was my third, he told me to come to the Women’s Center immediately.
          Clay called his parents, and his dad said that he would come over and spend the night with the boys. I double checked my hospital bags and made sure I had our cameras, Ziploc bag of change for snacks, and my make-up. While we waited, I swept the kitchen floor, made McLain and Keaton chocolate chip muffins for breakfast, laid out the boys’ clothes for the next day, and left them a note to read in the morning. I explained that I was going to the hospital to have their new brother and that they could come see him when they woke up.
          When Clay’s dad arrived at 11:30 PM, Clay helped me waddle to the car, and we left for the hospital. This drive was noticeably different from our last car trip when I was in labor—no screaming, no cursing, and no contractions. Clay dropped me off at the women’s center entrance, and I walked by myself to the admission desk. Clay joined me just as I started to sign my paperwork. The admission clerk looked at me skeptically and asked if this was my first child. When I shared that this was number three, she smiled and said, “No wonder you’re so calm.”
          Thankfully, there were no other people ahead of me, so I was able to head straight for triage at 11:45 PM. I was assigned a room and given a pink gown to wear. I changed out of my clothes and waited for the nurse to visit. With some embarrassment, I explained to her that either my bladder had finally stopped working or that my water had broken. The nurse checked me with a litmus test and confirmed that my water had definitely broken and also shared that I was at 3 centimeters. Clay and I were completely shocked to learn that I was already dilated. That was the easiest three centimeters I had ever experienced!
          Because I had dilated so fast with Keaton, I shared with the triage nurse that I didn’t want to miss my epidural opportunity again and had absolutely no interest in another natural childbirth. She assured me that the order for an epidural would be immediately placed. My epidural would be available as soon as my contractions began.  I was surprised at this point that I was not having any yet.
          I texted my mom who was already on her way with my dad, brothers, and my brother’s girlfriend. She was equally thrilled and as shocked as Clay and I were about my progression. I also texted quite a few of my friends as I lay on the triage bed, listening to my baby’s sweet heartbeat on the monitor, and waiting for my delivery room to be ready.
          My mom beat me to my private delivery room and was waiting on Clay and me when a delivery nurse pushed me inside in my wheelchair. It was just midnight, a little over three hours after my water had broken. I was starting to get excited, even though I knew it was going to be a long night.
          After settling me in my bed, my nurse started my IV. She told me that my order for an epidural was already in place and that I just had to wait for contractions to start. We were all closely watching the monitor for contraction activity, but there was none yet. I was still so fearful of missing my epidural with this labor, because my dilation with Keaton happened so fast.
Hanging around waiting for contractions to start. 

          After I was completely settled, my dad came up to visit while the rest of my immediate family stayed downstairs in the waiting room. My mom acted as the official text communicator between them and the happenings with my labor, which had been uneventful so far.
          At about 1:45 AM, my first contraction crept around my huge belly and held it captive for close to thirty seconds. It wasn’t too painful, but it made me uneasy that the intense ones would quickly follow. Several more mild ones soon did. We paged the nurse who checked me after my father stepped outside of the room. I was still at three centimeters, and the nurse encouraged me to wait until my contractions grew more intense and closer together before I got my epidural. Very reluctantly, I agreed to wait. She assured me that if I wanted an epidural, I could immediately have it. I clung to that promise.
Contractions just getting started!
          A few minutes later, my parents went in search of some much needed coffee and to relay the labor news in person to my family downstairs. While they were gone, Clay sat on the bed, holding my hand, and tracked my contractions on my contraction iPhone app. At 2:15 AM, I had a ferocious contraction that lasted 2 ½ minutes. It sent absolute terror through me that I was about to go through another natural childbirth. I was no longer willing to wait for my contractions to progress further and sent Clay to tell my nurse that I wanted my epidural immediately.
          Without trying to convince me to wait again, the nurse paged the anesthesiologist who arrived by 2:30 AM. My mom walked back in my room as I was sitting on the edge of my bed, clasping Clay’s hands, and the doctor was inserting the needle into my spine. She had no idea how quickly my contractions had gone from mildly annoying to inescapably terrible.
          As soon as the medicine in the epidural entered me and started to alleviate my pain, I felt suddenly exhausted, as if I had just run a marathon. Talking became impossible, and I was too overwhelmed with this immediate exhaustion to struggle to explain how odd I felt. Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t lay myself down, and Clay and my nurse had to do it for me. I could see that my nurse was concerned by how she was watching my monitor, but I was too tired to really care about what was happening to me.
          My nurse noted that my blood pressure had plummeted after receiving my epidural. Quickly, she gave me a bolus of ephedrine in an attempt to bring it back up. I watched her, knowing something was wrong with me, but I couldn’t physically bring myself to question her about it. After taking my blood pressure again, my nurse said that my blood pressure was still too low and gave me an additional ephedrine bolus. Finally, my blood pressure crept back up to normal and the anxiety clearly felt in my room subsided.
          Later, my mother asked what happened, and my nurse explained that sometimes when women receive an epidural, it affects their blood pressure by causing it to drop. When my mother asked what mine was, my nurse said it was pretty low. Being persistent, my mother asked specifically how low, and the nurse hesitantly shared that my blood pressure had dropped to 45/22. No wonder I couldn’t speak or move!
          After that scary experience, I lay in my bed for the next three hours and was plagued by an annoying side effect of my epidural: constant itchiness! While Clay slept in a hospital chair and was oblivious to my distress, my mother stayed up all night and rubbed my feet, which was the only thing that distracted me from my unrelenting itching! I cannot imagine a delivery without my mother to take care of me.
I'm wide awake while Daddy is sleeping over there...
          At 5:25 AM, Dr. Morell came in to check me and discovered that I had progressed to 6 centimeters. He noted that my contractions had become somewhat  irregular and infrequent since I received my epidural, so he placed an order for Pitocin to be added to my IV, which sounded like an excellent plan to me. By then, I was ridiculously sleepy but couldn’t stop itching long enough to take a nap.
          Around 7:00 AM, I started to feel some pain during my contractions, and I fussed at Clay to wake up. My epidural had stopped working well, so I used the self-pump twice; however, the medication that was added was not strong enough to stop me from feeling my contractions. My mom paged my new nurse as there had been a shift change and explained the situation to her. My nurse paged the anesthesiologist that had just begun the morning shift. When he came to check my epidural, he asked me if I was really feeling pain. I felt like punching him in the face and asking him if he was feeling any discomfort, but I controlled my sarcasm. Thankfully, he kept any further questions to himself and administered a bolus to my epidural that soon provided me with relief.
          When I initially received my epidural, I could still move my legs and could feel when someone touched me. With this added bolus, I felt nothing and could not make my legs move at all. They could only be repositioned by someone else moving them for me. It was annoying; however, I was too exhausted to care as it was nearing 8:00 AM, and I had been awake for over twenty four hours.
          Because I was still at 6 centimeters, my nurse suggested that I lay on my side and prop my legs with two pillows between them to allow the baby more space to move completely down. At this point, I didn’t care what she did to me as long as I could sleep. As I was finally feeling comfortable again and the itchiness was not too severe, I snuggled down in my pillows to attempt to finally nap.
          At 8:20 AM, Dr. Morrell came in to check me, which I grumpily allowed him to do. He discovered that “just a lip” of my cervix was left. Apparently, my nurse’s pillow trick had worked well. My doctor instructed me to try to push once, and then I was completely dilated. Instead of being overjoyed, I was a mixture of anger and annoyance. All I wanted to do was sleep!
          The labor and delivery and pediatric nurses began to ready my room and break down my bed while my mom engaged in a long conversation with Dr. Morrell. They discussed how he had delivered my youngest brother 19 years earlier and how I was in the room when he did. They found it ironic that almost two decades later he was delivering my baby.
          At 8:29 AM, I started pushing. After having a completely natural delivery with Keaton, I was taken aback by how different this experience was, because I had no urge to push. Although I didn’t want to feel the pain of pushing, I wanted to know that what I was doing was effective. I was too exhausted to spend over an hour pushing like I did when I labored with McLain. After my first push, a nurse slipped an oxygen mask over my face, and I questioned the doctor if the baby was really coming down.  I was assured that he was, but I was skeptical that I was being told what I wanted to hear. I wanted to know results, not hear cheerleading!
          Despite being able to feel no sensation as I contracted, I took a deep breath and pushed with a vengeance, feeling like I was doing the world’s biggest crunch. After nine minutes and a handful of determined pushes, I saw a slimy little head start to emerge and then a beautiful, sweet face. I reached out and stroked my baby’s warm, wet cheek as he took his first glimpse of this world. I pushed one more time, and the doctor quickly delivered my slippery boy and placed him on my chest. He was a just a little peanut, weighing 7 pounds 2 ounces and measuring 19 ½ inches.
         For the third time in my life, I fell in love with a little man as soon as I laid my eyes on his handsome face. Collin Xavier Brooks, the tiny baby whom I was so terrified to lose in September, completely stole my heart on Sunday, April 17th at exactly 8:38 AM. He was mesmerizing, adorable, and perfect, and I could not imagine my world without him. I am so grateful that God heard my fervent prayers and allowed me to be his mommy. Collin, YOU are a huge blessing in our lives, very much an answer to your parents’ prayers, and an absolutely perfect fit for our family. We love you so much, Colly Wolly. Happy birthday, baby!
Baby Collin Xavier just seconds old. 













Wednesday, April 3, 2019

In Honor of McLain's 18th Birthday!


I had no idea 18 years would fly by so very fast, but 18 looks good on you, McLain! This past year has been big: playing bass in Q2, earning a spot in the academic booster club, rocking lots of AP classes, getting your drivers license, driving your first truck, and thriving in your senior year. Feel free to pump those brakes and slow time down for your mama. Love you bunches! 

McLain’s Birth Story
By His Mommy

          As long as I can remember, I wanted to be a mommy and have lots of babies.  I dreamed of getting married and being a mother more than I ever fantasized about going to college and becoming a teacher. Growing up, I practiced mothering on my two little brothers, my two younger cousins, and my multitude of baby dolls. I baby-sat almost every weekend for a decade and loved every minute of these opportunities to fine tune my diaper changing, bottle warming, and soothing baby skills. Babies were my joy!
In the sweltering month of July, I learned that I would be able to use this expertise in the spring of 2001 on a sweet baby of my own. This baby was a surprise (as most of my six babies would later prove to be) but was very much wanted. I was equally nervous and absolutely thrilled to learn of God’s plan for Clay and me. We acknowledged that our little family’s future was completely in His hands. 
         As my nesting instinct soon kicked in and subdued my nerves, I excitedly prepared for the arrival of our first addition. As would later become my tradition, I obsessively watched A Baby Story and analyzed each labor and delivery, taking note of how differently each mother handled the birth of her child. I read What to Expect While You’re Expecting until I was so frightened by the possibilities of what could go wrong that my husband took the book away from me and hid it until after our baby was born. I washed loads of baby blankets in Dreft, painted bookshelves and a changing table, and organized and reorganized the beautiful nursery that Clay and I decorated in pastel stars and moons.
Rapidly, my pregnancy hormones increased as did my cravings. I yearned for sandwiches more than any other food. Turkey sandwiches with extra pickles from Blimpie, Sonny’s pulled pork sandwiches, and especially chicken salad sandwiches on sour dough bread from Atlanta Bread Company made my pregnant heart so very happy. Clay was a good husband and humored my cravings by picking up sandwiches and repeatedly taking me to Atlanta Bread Company whenever the urge hit. I had no idea until after the baby was born that Clay didn’t even like that particular restaurant. It was many months before he would even consider eating there again. 
Despite how many sandwiches I ate, my baby bump was very slow to show as my body was not yet an expert in shifting into position to house a baby. Elastic waist pants and loose fitting shirts made it easy to disguise my little belly. As the end of fall approached, I finally transitioned into maternity jeans, and I was excited to look pregnant instead of chubby.
          On November 7th, Clay and I went to the OB/GYN for our baby’s five month sonogram. We were so excited to find out our baby’s gender! As the ultrasound tech scanned our baby’s body, we learned that we were going to have a little boy. We were ecstatic, realizing that God had given us a SON. Knowing we had a baby boy on the way made the idea of parenting a lot more real. Clay and I couldn’t stop smiling as we drove home. 
Our gender reveal ultrasound!
Because these were the days long before gender reveal parties were the norm, we simply went home from the doctor and told our parents that their first grandson was on his way. They were all completely thrilled as well! It was time for the grandmothers and this mommy to start purchasing all things baby blue.
          While I felt comfortable taking care of a baby, I was less sure of what to do during labor and delivery, even though I had witnessed my baby brother being born when I was 14. After discussing my uncertainty with my midwife, she encouraged me to sign up for a birthing class at Kennestone hospital, and Clay and I registered for an eight hour Saturday course for young parents. We were ready and excited to take this next step!
          We got up early on a Saturday morning in January, and Clay drove us to the hospital. When we first entered our class, we were surprised to discover that we were the oldest couple in the room. At 22 and 23, we were the dinosaurs amongst the many teenage couples that ranged in age from 15-18. Clay and I were taken aback by the superficial nature of so many of the teenage parent questions, such as “Is it true that if you go to the tanning bed after you have a baby that your stretchmarks will go away?” and “Should she cut her long hair before the baby is born? I don’t think she’ll have time to blow dry it.” We didn’t even know how to respond, except to discretely pick our jaws up off the floor.
 Despite feeling somewhat uncomfortable with our classmates, we were receptive to what the instructor shared with us. One of the activities she had each of us do was to draw a picture of what we thought labor would be like. I drew a picture of me screaming while Clay drew a picture of me grasping the hospital bed sheets while uttering profanities. Who knew that our joking predictions would come true in just a few short months? Perhaps, we should have drawn something more positive!
Our art work from our first parenting class. 
  After completing the young parent class, Clay and I decided to sign up for a traditional Lamaze class. For three sequential Saturdays, we met with parents in their 20s, 30s, and 40s to learn how to have a successful labor. I practiced laboring on a birthing ball, breathing slowly through the discomfort of an ice pack on my back, and swaying in positions that Clay could hold me in if I decided to be vertical during labor. 
   Our new instructor detailed the differences between vaginal births and c-sections, emphasized the pros and cons of getting an epidural or having a natural delivery, and outlined the gruesome reality of what a woman’s body goes through as it recovers from birth. With a few flinches and grimaces, we watched a video of a woman delivering a baby naturally. By the end of three week course, we definitely felt more informed about labor and delivery, and I was unwavering in my determination to have an epidural as I wanted no part of any avoidable pain.    
          As winter turned to spring, we grew increasingly excited to become parents. I had two baby showers and was overwhelmed by the amount of diapers, receiving blankets, tiny clothes, and baby accessories we were given. Finding the perfect place in the nursery for each item was a joy, because it meant that I was step closer to being prepared for my baby’s arrival. 
Baby Bump's First Christmas
Mommy got to see you on her 23rd birthday!
Baby shower!
At the end of March, Clay put the car seat in the back of my Honda Civic, and I packed my new diaper bag with the baby blue coming home outfit that both my brothers had worn. In my own duffle bag, I packed my camera, rolls of film, our new video camera, and my favorite overalls to wear home from the hospital. With all the essentials packed, we were ready to meet our little boy and were waiting on God’s timing.
          At 6:00 am Monday, April 2nd, I awoke briefly to cramping in my lower back. As these cramps were not too uncomfortable, I went back to sleep until 10:00 that morning. At this time, I awoke and noted that the cramping had not stopped. I put in a recorded tape of Survivor as it was Spring Break, and I had no reason to rush and get upSnuggling with my husband, we watched the reality show while I continued to experience mild contractions. As I lay in bed, I felt my baby make a big turn, rolling over and moving his head in the necessary position for exiting. At that point, the contractions shifted from my lower back to my abdomen.
          As I was still six days from my due date and this was my first child, I was uncertain if these contractions were truly the early part of labor or a false alarm. Clay began timing them at 10:23, and we noticed that while they were not spaced perfectly apart, they were consistently coming. I called my mom to let her know what was happening, and she agreed to go with Clay and me to my previously scheduled doctor visit later that afternoon.
          Hoping that we could speed labor along, my husband and I decided to take a walk. We dressed in shorts and t-shirts, and then I slowly waddled up my street with him, holding his hand. Every two to three minutes I had to pause for a contraction. I was surprised at how close together they were, having expected them to start far apart like all the books, Lamaze instructors, and doctors had said they would.
          After finishing our mile long walk, I went back to our house to shower. My grandmother had since learned from my mother that I suspected I was in labor and was convinced that if I took a shower that I might very well have the baby in the bathtub. Instead of letting me relax in the shower, she stood her ground in the bathroom and talked to me while I shampooed, conditioned, and shaved my legs. There was no privacy as I readied myself for my OB/GYN appointment.
          After dressing, I gathered my hospital bags in the living room, just in case the doctor sent me to the hospital as I was hoping he would. As Clay moved them to our front porch, I waved goodbye to my Grandmother as she headed next door to her house. Waiting for my mother to arrive to go with us to the appointment, Clay and I took an old fashioned selfie with our camera, realizing that this could be the last picture we took of ourselves as a family of two.
Time to head to the doctor.
We were good at taking selfies before selfies were a thing. 
          At 3:00, nine hours after my first contraction, I arrived at my scheduled doctor visit with Clay and my mom. I was nervous in the waiting room and even more anxious in the exam room. While I waited alone for the doctor to enter the room, my contractions continued, and I lay down to ease them. They were not very painful yet, but they were nothing I could ignore.
          When the doctor came in the room, I detailed my morning to him. He then examined me and determined that I was a “loose” one centimeter, 25 percent effaced, and probably in labor. All I could think was NINE HOURS of contractions and only ONE centimeter? This first time mama was not at all happy. I had been one centimeter at my 36 week checkup. My OB/GYN gave me directions to come to the hospital if my water broke or when my contractions became strong and consistent.
         After my disappointing doctor’s visit, Mom, Clay, and I went to Chick-Fil-A. I ate chicken noodle soup and French fries, feeling both annoyance and contractions throughout our meal. I knew in my heart that my baby was on his way, but I had no idea how long it would be before he arrived.
          When we got home, Clay and I went for another walk in an attempt to encourage my body to fully embrace labor. Again, I experienced a contraction every two to three minutes while we walked, but their intensity wasn’t strong enough to even justify a call to the doctor.  My contractions continued throughout the afternoon and into the evening.
          At dinner time, we went next door to my mom’s house. My mother had made my favorite vegetable soup, which I ate a big bowl of not knowing that this would be my last meal for the next 26 hours. While we were there, Clay talked on the phone to a friend, giving him the details of my labor. As my contractions continued while I ate, so did my frustration with Clay being on the phone.  Fed up with being talked about, I snapped at him, and he quickly ended the conversation. Saying goodbye to my parents, we headed next door to our home to try to get some rest.
          Throughout the day, my contractions had slowly increased in intensity but not drastically. Despite this mild early labor, I was exhausted from the day’s emotions and 18 hours of contraction scrutiny. I feel asleep around midnight and slept until my bladder woke me up at 3:30 AM. Initially, I thought my water may have broken, but this being my first baby I wasn’t sure. 21 and ½ hours of contractions prompted Clay and me to ready ourselves for the hospital, whether it was my water or my bladder that had broken.  
          After making this decision, I called my mom to give her the update. She said that she would get ready and shortly be over. Clay called his parents, and they made plans to meet us later in the morning at the hospital. My dad would follow with my youngest brother.
         I waddled to the shower and again shampooed, conditioned, and shaved through continued contractions. I went through all my rituals and routines of getting ready, but I felt odd as this was the middle of the night. As I sat in my rocking chair and curled my hair, I wondered when exactly my baby was going to make his appearance. This journey to motherhood was lasting so much longer than I expected. A few minutes after I finished my hair and put on a comfy, maternity dress, my mom knocked on the door, and we all piled in our car. I was praying that I would not come back home without my baby.
          On the way to Cobb hospital, Clay mentioned that he was hungry. He stopped at the Quik Trip that we were passing and went inside to buy powered doughnuts. I was so annoyed with him! That was my rookie mistake, and I learned from this experience to pack Clay snacks in my hospital bags for all my future labors. No more gas station pit stops!
          At 5:00 AM, we arrived at the hospital, a very long 23 hours after my first contraction, and I checked in at the registration desk on the first floor. We all rode the elevator to the labor and delivery floor. My mom stayed behind in the waiting area while Clay came with me to triage.
Promptly, I was assigned a triage room, and after I changed into a gown, a nurse entered to ask me about my contractions and how far dilated I had been at my doctor’s appointment. She then checked me and determined that my water had not broken (apparently it had just been my bladder) and that I was still at one centimeter. I was so disappointed!
As I talked to my nurse, she witnessed multiple contractions and could see that they were painful. Instead of sending me home for being only one centimeter, she instructed me to walk the maternity floor for an hour to see if I could further my dilation. I was naïve and excitedly said “Yes, please,” having no idea how this walk would trigger active labor and one of the most painful hours I would ever experience as a laboring mother.
          Clay helped me to my feet, and we walked to the waiting area to collect my mom. Around and around the labor and delivery floor, the three of us walked. Each time a contraction gripped me as I walked, it was stronger and longer than the one before. Having had so many hours of mild contractions, I was shocked by this onset of fierce pain. Trying to use what the instructor taught us in Lamaze, I attempted to hold on to Clay and swing my body to relieve some of the pain but that proved absolutely useless. I wanted to be back in bed.
The more I walked the stronger the contractions became. At one point, I claimed to have to use the bathroom and just went into the waiting room restroom alone to escape having to walk. I was truly stunned by how horrible the pain was and was ready to run away if there had been any way for me to do so. I realized in that moment that having a baby was going to be truly awful. That was a scary reality check. Reluctantly, I left the bathroom to continue the most painful walk of my 23 years.
          Because my contractions had developed a steady pattern while I was walking, I would experience one every time I passed the triage station. The nurses witnessed my being able to neither walk nor talk through the pain of my contractions. I was oblivious to their observations of me at the time, but their seeing my physical distress while walking convinced them that I was not experiencing false labor.  
          When the hour was up, Clay and I returned straight to my triage room, and I crawled into the bed, curling up into the fetal position. Walking even one extra step was not an option to me. Almost immediately, I was checked by a triage nurse. She stated that I was still a “loose one,” but she also said that I was now 80% effaced and my cervix was soft. She further explained that because my contractions were clearly regular that I was in labor and here to stay. I was so grateful that a medical person finally believed that I was in labor, something that I had known since my first contraction 24 hours earlier.
Briefly, my in-laws came in the triage room to check on me. Clay explained that I was being admitted and that their grandson was on his way. They were thrilled! I tried to be social but was irritated and distracted by my continued contractions.
          Because I was not eligible for an epidural yet, the nurse offered me a narcotic shot. After having experienced such horrible contractions while walking, I gladly accepted her offer. I was desperate for any relief. She gave me the shot in my right hip, and I could feel the medicine’s impact almost immediately, feeling both sleepy and intoxicated. The nurse forbid me to try to walk from triage to my labor and delivery room, even though I had just been doing steady laps around the hospital floor. In the words of my nurse, “You’re drunk, and you’re not walking anywhere.” Without argument, I sat down in my wheel chair with her assistance and rode to my new room. Once there, she helped me climb into my bed where I went promptly to sleep.
          The narcotic shot was not what I expected. The nurse had told me that that it would “take the edge off” my contractions. However, my pain did not diminish but my ability to stay awake did. Instead of being able to try to relax as the intensity of each contraction built, I would awaken at the peak of each one, groggy and bewildered by the intense pain. I would yell at Clay to hold my hand as I tried to endure the inescapable tightening and then would promptly shove him away, so I could go back to sleep as soon as the contraction was over. This cycle continued for TEN hours. The frustration of being unable to relieve my exhaustion or interminable pain was the most difficult part of my labor for my husband.

          Throughout the morning and afternoon, my parents, in-laws, siblings, and friends were in and out of my room. This long stretch of labor was painful and very hazy to me, especially after I received a second narcotic shot. I remember waking to see my mother-in-law in a rocking chair, my husband eating Taco Bell (which he was forbidden to ever bring into a labor and delivery room again!), and my baby brother and little sister in law telling me how they had snuck away from the waiting room to play on the elevator and had gotten in trouble. 
          Brandi, my best friend from high school, was at the hospital and didn’t want to miss her opportunity to video the birth. She asked the doctor if she could go to class without missing it. The doctor said, “You could drive to Tennessee and back and this baby still won’t be here.” She went to her class and made it back with hours to spare.
          At 3:00, the labor and delivery nurse checked me. After 33 hours of contractions, I was finally deemed to be four centimeters. I was equally grateful to learn that my body was progressing and that I was ready for my epidural. However, I had to endure another hour of contractions before the anesthesiologist arrived at 4:00 to give me the relief I so desperately wanted.  
          As the nurse and anesthesiologist set up my room and readied me for the procedure, I became extremely nervous. My mom told me, “Don’t worry. As soon as you get the epidural, you won’t feel any more pain. The hard part will be over.” I clung to what she said and was later relieved when her comforting words proved to be true.
          Receiving the epidural was nerve wracking. As I sat on the edge of the hospital bed with a pillow in my lap, I tightly gripped the hands of my nurse. She encouraged me to stay curled up like a ball so that the needle could be easily inserted into my spine. However, staying relaxed and in this uncomfortable position while being hit with a contraction was almost impossible. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was patient and able to place my epidural between contractions. The procedure was quickly finished. More importantly, the contractions I experienced while I received my epidural were the last ones I felt during this labor. My mother was right. The pain was over. 
Epidurals are everything during labor. 
          After receiving my epidural, I was happier and more willing to interact with my visitors between my drug induced naps. My family and friends periodically came in to talk to me. However, I was still very tired because of the narcotics and slept the majority of the evening, waking periodically to scratch my face or my chest. Itchiness proved to be a side effect of the medication in the epidural, but I hid that information from the nurses as I feared they would turn it off. I much preferred itchiness to pain!
          Not long after getting my epidural, my body began to relax and my contractions grew less frequent. My nurse followed my doctor’s orders and added Pitocin to my IV to help regulate my contractions. In less than four hours after this medicine was administered, I went from four to ten centimeters. I was ready to begin pushing, but unfortunately the medical staff was not prepared.
          Not surprisingly, multiple women were in labor at the same time I was.  Because of them, I had to wait until other women delivered their babies before my midwife or nurse could prepare my room and me for my son’s delivery.  During this time, I started uncontrollably shaking. My exhaustion and nerves were reaching their peak. I was ready for this long labor to be over and to meet my baby. Irritability began to overwhelm me before I even began to push.
          At 7:45, I was finally prepped and directed to start pushing. My labor and delivery nurse sat on the end of my bed and instructed me when to breathe, when to push, and when to relax. Clay and my mom stood on either side of me while Brandi stood back and to the left of the bed with our video camera. Through my sleepy, narcotic haze, I began pushing. It was awkward. It was difficult. It was also extremely embarrassing to be that exposed to so many people in my room.
My support team
          I pushed and was encouraged. I pushed and was cheered on. This cycle continued and still I had no baby after an hour had passed. The nurse coached me to try long pushes while holding my breath. Still no baby. The midwife told me to try short pushes with every other contraction. Still no baby. My frustration could not be contained as I told everyone in the room to be quiet and threatened to kick my mother out of the room if she made one more joke. This exhausted mama was about to lose it.
Sleeping between pushes
          Because my laboring was taking so long, my midwife and nurse could not stay in my room the entire time. They began checking on other mothers, leaving me in the room with just Clay, my mom, and Brandi. Despite their absence, I continued my pushes with each contraction and finally the top of my son’s head appeared. I was so completely ready to be finished with this labor that I was unconcerned if there was any medical staff in the room to deliver my son or not. I kept pushing, and the top of my son’s head began to emerge. 
          The nurse returned and saw that the baby was crowning. She immediately summoned my midwife who was surprised by my obvious progress when she reentered my room. As she quickly slipped on her gloves and delivery garb, she told me to relax and not to push. I was aggravated and just wanted this delivery to be over. After what seemed like an eternity to me, my midwife instructed me to push with my next contraction.
          With Clay and my mother each holding one of my legs, I pushed with every ounce of strength I had remaining. Slowly and through several more long pushes, my baby finally made his entrance with a great rush of amniotic fluid that sprayed all over his daddy’s arm. He was here, and I was overwhelmed at the sweet sight of him.
          After 39 very long hours of labor and an hour and twenty minutes of pushing, Bryan McLain entered my world, weighing 7 pounds 4 ounces and measuring 20 inches long. God blessed his father and me with a strong, healthy, incredible son that captured my heart from the moment I first looked at him, forever changing me from daughter, sister, and wife to mom.
When I was a little girl tucking my dolls together into their little baby beds, I couldn’t have fathomed what real motherhood would be like or the intense feelings I would have for my first son. I had no idea that I would be immediately and completely consumed with love and protectiveness for this tiny baby I held in my shaky arms. As I stared down at my perfect miracle, I was so grateful that God chose me to be McLain’s mother long before I knew what His plan was for our family.
Bryan McLain Brooks, you were a perfect first born baby, have proven to be a fantastic big brother, and are thriving as a leader in so many aspects of your life. I love you more than you’ll ever understand and am eternally grateful that God made you mine. Happy birthday, baby!
Official hospital picture

Just a mama and her boy…18 years later.