William Has "Hatched"

I woke up to an alarm on my phone this morning. This is only interesting because I never have an alarm set to go off on Sundays (and, really, with these tiny kids, alarms are hardly necessary). When I picked up my phone to look at it, it read: Due Date 10/16. My due date. I put my phone back down on the dresser and snuggled my little William a little tighter.

It's been a week and a half since we met our smallest son. Ten days since we laid eyes on each other, and yet it feels like I've known him my entire life. He belongs here. He is ours.

Last Wednesday started out like any other. I had had contractions the night before, which made me think his arrival might be coming close, but they fizzled out and I fell asleep sometime around five AM. I took Patrick to school, came home, and was even more hopeful for a Thursday arrival. (Again, I will leave out the details. Let's just say I have my reasons for thinking that). Leo and I went for a walk. We came home and ate lunch. We picked Patrick up from school. I had not a single contraction all day long. My hope was fading, so I took a shot of castor oil. Still, nothing happened. Not even a Braxton Hicks. Nothing. In fact, I felt great.

Adam came home from work and was clearly sick. I ordered some pizza for dinner and agreed to take Leo for another walk so that he and Patrick could rest a little. I barely got out of the driveway when I felt the contractions start. Like clockwork, they were coming every three minutes and strong enough that I could barely walk through them. I was probably smiling as I closed my eyes and took deep breaths through each one, some worse than others. By the time we got home, about 20 minutes later, I was hit hard. I was in some pain, but I was loving every minute of it. I called my mom and asked that she or Colleen come by the house to watch the kids.

By the time they got here, my contractions really weren't terrible anymore. I was afraid they were fading, so Adam and I went for another walk. (This was a highlight to the entire night for me. It has been ages since the two of us held hands and took a walk. We checked out the other houses in the neighborhood and discussed baby names.) Because of the contractions, my bladder was barely holding anything. With Adam as my look-out, I did end up peeing in a neighbor's side yard...I imagine that was a pretty interesting sight, and thank God they did not have security lights.

Back home, I curled my hair, put on makeup, double-checked my bag, and we were off to the hospital around 11pm. It was an insanely busy evening in triage, but I was obviously in labor (still not nearly as painful as when it started) and progressing quickly. It took no more than a couple of hours to completely dilate and efface. I opted to labor down for a while, since it was late/early, the doctor wasn't there, and I really didn't want to push long. As it turns out, that didn't pan out the way I had hoped. I did push for a long time. Over three hours, to be exact, and with no pain medication. I had a loading dose of the epidural, but because of the baby's position and my (in my opinion) ineffective contractions, the epidural was turned down. With nothing to "turn down," it was turned off. It was a long labor. It got scary at one point. I cried in fear that something was wrong with our baby. I cried because this wasn't how I wanted our baby's delivery to be. I thought there was a reason he wasn't coming out. There was talk of a C-section--the doctor, who I now love, also feared something was wrong. But he and the nurses got me through it. They were miraculous. When I was exhausted and emotionally drained and all but begging for an end, they are the ones who talked me into keeping it together and continuing to push. And, even now, as I think about that morning, especially the last few hours, I start to cry again. I was in pain, I was scared, I was horribly emotional, but we got through it. And though it wasn't at all what I had planned, it was perfect. He is perfect. If I had to do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. In fact, maybe I will...more on that later...in" a couple of years" later.

William Hatcher Walden, who was nameless for a solid 32 hours, was born at 9:00am on October 6th, 2011. He weighed 7lbs, 7oz and was 21 inches long. For the first time, I was the one who annouced the sex to the room. I couldn't stop laughing. And crying. He was/is beautiful. Gorgeous. With a head full of dark, downy hair, small features, and very attentive and almond-shaped eyes...I still can't believe we made him. (I go through this sort of awe and disbelief after the births of all of the kids. The miracle of childbirth never grows old.)

He was so close to being an Eddie (Edison Hatcher Walden.) I even called him Eddie once. But we just weren't sure. Once we realized we were putting too much thought into it, the decision was easy. We threw out the names that we were then considering (also Gabriel, Adrian, and Hatcher) and went back to basics. William is the name of the man who's heart still beats in my dad's chest, and what a more beautiful way to memorialize one life and family so remarkably selfless than with the start of another? So, here he is,our little William "Hatch" Walden; our smallest, darkest, hairiest, and most appreciative (and overall very pleasant) son on his birthday and beyond:

Laboring down and enjoying some ice chips

Fresh out of the oven

Delivery room lovin', one hour old

Patrick meeting his Baby Hatch

My Three Sons (Whew! I've been dying to write that...)

Hospitalized for an extra day because of high bilirubin levels, our little Glo-Worm

Loving his tanning bed, 10/8/11

Sleepy Daddy and Sleepy Hatch, 10/9/11

Finally going home, 10/9/11