Happy Birthday to my little Knight!

Can it be? Can my little Knight really and truly be 3 years old today? My calendar says "yes", but my heart says "No!"

You cannot really be three years old. You are my baby, and most likely my last child. I know you can walk and talk and pretend, and give your sister and brother a run for the money, but in my mind you are the little baby I carried around all day because you loved to cuddle. Looking back at these pictures takes me back to the day you were born....

You were my first winter baby. It was nice to be pregnant and actually be able to wear clothes that camouflaged by big, baby belly. Because my blood pressure was high and they suspected it would only get higher, the doctor decided to induce at 37 weeks. It was not a huge shock, but I don't think I was completely ready. It is difficult to understand how a baby will change your life, be it your first or your third.

The day my little Knight was born, we were supposed to call the hospital at 5:00 in the morning to see if we could come in. We did call, and to our dismay, they said no, we could not come. There had been a baby boom and they had no rooms for us. They asked us to call back at 9:30. By that time, there was a room, so we loaded up the Princess and the Prince and took them over to a neighbors house. (These neighbors were very nice and kept my little Princess and Prince overnight so DadOf3 could stay with me in the hospital. It sucks to not have family in town sometimes.)

When we arrived at the hospital, I changed into the ever so lovely hospital gown, had the IV inserted, and waited. I think DadOf3 went back and forth between the kids and me for a while because nothing was happening fast - so much for third children coming faster than first or second children! They started the pit drip and I asked for my epidural. This is where things started to go downhill.

At first the epidural was doing its job. I was pretty much pain free and reasonably happy. Then slowly but surely, the pain returned. When I told the nurse that the epidural was not working, she gave me the patronizing, "It is normal to feel some pain with an epidural." That line may have worked on a first time mom, but I'd had an epidural with both of my older children. They still made me wait until I was about braking the rails off of the bed before they called the anesthesiologist back. When he finally arrived, he added some medicine to the drip that turned my arms, legs, and face numb. Apparently this was the test to see if the epidural had moved into a vein. It sure would have been nice to have been warned before that little test. The test was positive and it looked like I was going to have to have the epidural put in again.

My state of mind at this point was not good. I am normally a pretty in-control person. The thought of the doctor reinserting the needle into my back was more than I could bear. Between that and the pain of the contractions (pitocin contractions, I might add) I started to cry. I never cry in public. I felt that no one was listening to me (and they weren't), I felt like a number in the system instead of a mom giving birth (I was no one special to them). I just wanted to go home.

My doctor came in - I think the nurse was afraid I was losing it, and maybe I was. She seemed very much in control and asked me what I wanted. She helped me get a grip on things. My choices were 1) attempt to reposition the epidural, 2) get a new epidural, 3) use other pain medications, 4) bear the pain and don't use medications.

I said I wanted to try to reposition first. That made the most sense to me. Luckily for me, it worked...for a while. It failed again while I about 9 centimeters. I think the anesthesiologist was pretty sick of me at this point because he gave me a shot of a narcotic in my epidural drip. I wish I could remember what it was. It did take the pain away. When I hit 10 centimeters, I pushed two times and out came my little Knight.

We had not found out whether we were having a boy or a girl. To be honest, since I already had one of each, it really didn't matter to me if the baby was a little boy or a little girl. When we found out we had another little boy, I was so happy for my little Prince to have a brother. He was only 19 months when the Knight was born.

We only stayed in the hospital for one night. DadOf3 went to our neighbors early the next morning and picked up my Princess and my Prince. Then our new family of 5 went home together.