Speedy Delivery - The Birth of Annie Reagan

Annie Reagan Albright
October 15, 2012

Someday, I'm going to have a "normal" delivery - at least, I keep telling myself that. But for now, I guess I just have another exciting story to share with my children someday about how things didn't go quite the way I expected when they arrived. (Someday, I'll have to share Brenden's surprise delivery story.) However, I can also share that in each instance, God still remained in control and protected me and these little ones He's gifted us with. 

It's been almost 2 weeks now since I gave birth to Annie - and I'm sorry that it's taken so long to post, but I've honestly just been enjoying every minute with her (as well as the free cooking, housecleaning, and babysitting my mother has provided - bless her!). She was born on October 15th, a Monday, at 6:02 a.m. weighing in at 7lbs. 8oz. and stretching out at some 19 1/2 inches (some people like to know all of those details, so there you go). So what was so "exciting" about her birth? Well it started like this ...

Our last family-of-3 picture - taken 2 days before D-Day.

I had gone to bed on Sunday night after a long day at church - a good day, but long. On Tuesday, October 16th - my due date - I had another doctor's appointment scheduled; and with as big as I felt I was getting - and no contractions on the horizon - was thinking I was going to have to possibly schedule an inducement. Patience was never one of my trademarks. :-) By the time I got to bed on Sunday night, I was tired - and actually slept very well ... until about 4:15. 

At that point, I woke up and felt my first real contraction - just as painful as I remembered. I had another 10 minutes later, and then another 10 minutes after that. So then I was thinking, 'I should start timing these.' That's when they started coming 5 minutes apart - and they were painful. I mean, really painful. I couldn't actually remember them being that painful before (probably because part way through the last time I had a blissful epidural). I couldn't decide if I should call the hospital or not since I'd only had 2 that were 5 minutes apart, but being the pain-weenie that I am, I did. And my husband called our pastor and his wife, who were planning to come be with Brenden whenever things happened. I'm so glad we acted when we did. 

The Browers - so thankful for them AND how close they live

For some reason, I had in my mind that I still had lots of time, so I did what all the books and blogs said to do - I took a shower. What a joke! By then, my contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, and I could barely stand up. Joel was having to help me get ready to leave and all I could do was throw my pajamas back on and stumble out to the car, hair dripping wet. Heather, our pastor's wife, showed up at about 5:20 a.m. and we left the house at 5:30 a.m. The hospital was exactly 25 minutes away. And it was a very long 25 minutes. All of the Anoka County police officers will be pleased to know that my husband went the speed limit the entire way there - and didn't run any red lights (even though I was begging him to). The record stands that he got us there safely and legally. 

About halfway to the hospital, I hit the stage where I was no longer able to contain any semblance of self-control - the pain had reached an even greater level (how can horrible get worse??), and I was alternately screaming and pleading with God to keep the baby inside until I got to the hospital (why I thought that, I don't know, but I just knew it felt like I was going to burst at any moment). I think Joel wasn't quite sure what to think, but he didn't think the baby was coming anytime too soon, so he just figured I was "in a bad way." That's childbirth, right? 

When we arrived at the hospital (at 5:55 a.m.), we couldn't figure out which entrance to use, so we just pulled up to the emergency room door. And of course, no one was in there - at the desk, anywhere. I wish I could have seen Joel running around in there hollering for someone to come help. A desk girl finally showed up and helped get me into a wheel chair, and Joel went back to park the car and grab our bags. I'm not sure if the girl wheeling me up to labor & delivery was used to hauling up loudly-yelling, laboring women, but she didn't really say anything the whole time - even when my water broke in the elevator. Somehow, we made it upstairs, I was able to gasp out my name to the receptionist (who kept insisting that I calm down so I could talk. Right.), and several nurses came out to wheel me in a room. I think I was screaming the whole time - all I knew was that the pain was unbearable, and that somehow it felt like the baby was coming out right there. But of course that couldn't be happening yet, right?

It took several nurses to get me out of the chair and into a hospital bed - something I barely remember. And as silly as it sounds, I do remember thinking, "I wonder if it's too late for an epidural." About a minute later, Joel walked in, dropped our bags, and 60 seconds later, at exactly 6:02 a.m. (7 minutes after arriving at the hospital), Annie was born. Total Labor Time: 1 hr. 47 min.

Annie & Mommy post-delivery

And everything after that was ... well, normal. Annie cried right away, they gave her straight to me to hold (something I didn't get to do with Brenden), she got all cleaned up, I got sort-of cleaned up, and then Joel and I finally started texting everyone to share what happened. We didn't exactly have time to give them a heads-up. It was an exhilarating and wonderful and terrifying experience - and I'm so thankful we didn't have to deliver in our car. God got us there just in time. 

So that's it, in a (long) nutshell. Joel and I have already discussed labor & delivery training for him for next time - since I probably shouldn't plan on "normal." :-) Thanks to everyone who prayed for me and for my other sisters throughout our pregnancies. We are extremely grateful for God's goodness and kindness. And I hope you enjoyed this third installment of "Sisterhood Baby Stories." We'll see who's next ... 

~The Albright Family of Four~
Annie, Brenden, Megan, & Joel

A Wal Mart Story

It was a well planned Friday.

• Get up
• Work out at the gym
• Come home
• Shower
• Feed children
• Dress children
• Drop off older children at school
• Stop at Wal Mart (because it opens before 9AM)
• Come home
• Play games, read books, educate my 2 and 3 year old
• Lunch
• Nap
• Etc ...

This story takes place at Wal Mart (I realize the title already told you that, but I have to start somewhere).  I was shopping for a birthday gift for my newly turned 15 year old and some snacks for a quick trip to Indiana for the weekend.  Among my items for purchase were cute little bottles of pop - grape and strawberry (purple and red), to be specific.  I got six of them - so I let Wesley (W), my three-year old hold three of them and Lauren (L), my two-year old hold the other three of them (sounds fair, right?).

W instantly started vigorously shaking his pop, and was pretty excited about it, too.  I attempted to educate him on the cause and effect principles of adding pressure to a sealed bottle of carbonated beverage, but my lecture fell on deaf ears, and he continued to shake the pop in his care (this is foreshadowing).

As I continued to browse the aisles trying to find a perfect birthday gift for my eldest, W and L began arguing over who was going to have more purple pops and who was going to have more reds.  After some Mother Intervention into the argument there was peace . . . for about 30 seconds.

During one more effort for L to win the dominance of the purple pop, W dropped the aforementioned pressure loaded beverage.  The bomb landed direclty between my feet, and effectively emptied its (almost) entire contents in a spray-like fashion up between my legs, soaking my socks, khaki skirt, and a radius around me of about 20 feet in the middle of the aisle, right next to the bicycles (in the back of the store).

There was an instant and lasting peace that fell upon two stunned children.  Of course, there was not an employee to be found to report the purple sticky mess to, so we trekked back to the front of the store to report the disaster to the service counter.  Then, after maintenance was paged to report with a mop to the bicycle section, I returned to the crime scene to offer some assistance in the cleanup, which was denied (I was thankful - I was ready to get out of there!).

So with sticky legs and a new tie-dye skirt, we quickly chose a gift, finalized our purchses, endured a "test of the fire alarm system", stopped by the bathroom (because EVERY trip to a store requires an emergency visit to the public facilities), and went home.

A Morning Story

Most mornings I do not drive my older children to school.  My mom and husband usually share that responsibility, for which I am beyond grateful.  However, a recent schedule change with my husband’s job now requires that I do the Tuesday morning drop-off; and not only is Tuesday drop-off the earliest of the week (given my oldest daughter's violin group that meets forty-five minutes before school starts) but me taking two school-aged children out also means getting three toddler/pre-schoolers ready to get out the door in a timely fashion.

On a typical morning, my three younger children, ages 4, 3, and 2, rise with the older children (around 6:30). This particular Tuesday morning, however, the younger ones decided to sleep longer than usual.  I convinced myself this was ok - they need their rest, right? (Problem #1).  They could eat breakfast after the early drop-off, and just wear their pajamas. But of course, this was the morning that the 3-year-old (with an entire year’s practice in the “terrible twos”) woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  Drama #1 – older brother is not in the bedroom when he wakes up; drama #2– he needs to blow his nose; drama #3 – he doesn’t think wearing pj’s for the drop-off is a good idea; drama #4 – he doesn’t want to 'go potty' before we leave; drama #5 – he wants to take TWO stuffed puppies with him – he only owns one.

We FINALLY got shoes and coats on everybody (because it’s 30 degrees outside) and headed out to the van.  The first thing I notice when I started up the van was the orange light in the shape of a gas pump well-lit on the dashboard.  I flipped through the digital menu looking for the “distance until empty” stat: 35 miles – good.  I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that was plenty for the trip to school, as long as I stopped right after the drop-off to ensure I wasn't  out of gas, in the cold, with three little children still in their pajamas.  As I pulled out of the garage and back down the driveway, I spotted neat piles of garbage outside everybody’s house . . . except ours.  How could we forget trash day!  So I mentally formulate a new plan 1) drop off kids, 2) get gas, 3) go home, 4) take garbage to the curb, 5) feed children breakfast.  About a mile from home I hear the four-year old tell the fourteen-year old, “I have to go potty.”  Of course I’m gonna have a messy booster seat and wet set of pj’s to clean up when I get home (but at least the washing machine was repaired last night).


Thankfully, we pulled up to the school door 2 minutes before violin start time.  Good news.  We pulled out of the driveway at school, and I checked the “distance ‘til empty” stat:14 miles left.  “Phew,” I thought, “we’ll make it to the gas station.”  After arriving at the gas station, and (in the cold) pumping the gas, I heard a knock on the van window coming from the inside.  My four-year-old is hollaring, “I have to go potty!”  Since this was the second declaration of this problem, I figured doing something about it now would make life “easier” in the long run.  I finished filling up the gas tank with gas, and got back into the van to move to a parking spot  since the gas station was busy, and somebody was waiting to use the pump I had just used.

Drama #6 – the previously mentioned child who woke up in a disturbed state begins a meltdown about his seatbelt.  I explained that we were going inside to use the restroom.  He doesn’t seem to understand.  Not really wanting to go into the busy gas station with a screaming child, I tried to reason through the situation, while the 4 year old did a little dance as she waited to go potty - and then three-year-old decides he needs to go potty too.  I'm sure we were a sight to behold as we marched up to the gas station: me carrying the newly turned 2-year-old, holding the hand of the experienced 3-year-old, and being pulled by the 4-year-old.  We located the bathroom, and the four of us were able to take care of the necessary business.  My next step in the plan is making it home and successfully getting the garbage out to the curb.  As I pulled onto our street, I was thrilled to see that the garbage men had not come yet. It's the little things that I'm thankful for.  

So now, after taking all coats and shoes off and helping ourselves to some well-desired cereal, I checked the clock: 8:30a.m.  Might be a long day.