Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Logan Monroe

“And though she be but little, she is fierce.” 
– William Shakespeare

I still hadn’t bought any clothes for the baby yet, but with four weeks until our due date I kept telling myself I had plenty of time to find the perfect outfit. Something worthy of the title “a mama’s first outfit for her daughter.” It needed to be perfect. 

After scouring Etsy, one particular onesie caught my eye with none other than William Shakespeare’s words printed on the front in a funky, cursive font: 

And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Like I do with 99% of the clothes I want to buy, I talked myself out of it because Lord knows we were destined to have a big baby. Everyone in both of our families has big babies, Jordan and I were both big babies; it was just in the cards. And chances were her head wouldn’t even fit into a newborn onesie anyway. Have you seen my husband’s head? Or mine for that matter?

But I kept clicking back to that onesie, days later even, unsure of why I was so enthralled with it…

Week 6-36 of my pregnancy (taken every 2 weeks.)


My water broke three weeks and one day before my due date. It woke me out of a dead sleep around 5 AM, and after a quick trip to the bathroom I decided to go back to sleep, easily convincing myself there was absolutely no way that’s what had happened. I mean, c’mon, weird things happen when you’re pregnant. 

Only, it happened again. Twice, actually. I figured I better do what any responsible adult would do: Google it. Duh. I sauntered downstairs and hopped on my laptop, only to find out that my water probably did break but to call my doctor and go get checked to be sure. 

But I called my friend Kirsten first… because 1) she’s a nurse, 2) her water broke when she had her baby, and 3) she’s awesome and I knew she wouldn’t mind me calling her at 6:30 AM. 

Side note: I am beyond thankful to have so many friends who are mamas and haven’t blocked my number from their phones because I have called or texted all of them way beyond an appropriate amount of times. 

I digress.

Kirsten confirmed what Google confirmed, but before calling the doctor to make it real, I sauntered back upstairs to chat with Jordan. 

He had just woken up and was checking his phone, since he was supposed to go to Pullman for work that day. He was telling me something about work so I just let him talk for a few minutes before casually saying, “So, I’m not really sure, but I think my water broke about an hour ago.”

One of my favorite things to do is to drop really serious news in a totally casual fashion. I know, it’s weird. 

He stared at me silently for a few seconds to see if I was kidding, quickly realized I wasn’t, and bolted up out of bed. Equally nervous and excited he asked, “WHAT?!?! Are you sure? So what do we do?”

I kept saying I wasn’t sure because I didn’t want it to be a false alarm and get everyone riled up for no reason. Finally conceding, I called the doctor and they told me I needed to head to the hospital to confirm if my water had in fact broken. 

“Do we need to go now, or can we take our time and get ready?” I asked, because I only ask the really important questions. 

Meanwhile, my husband, the responsible one, was frantically taking a shower, throwing things in our hospital bag, ripping open the box to the carseat we still hadn’t opened, and all the while I was perfectly relaxed. Talk about a role-reversal. 

Since I wasn’t having any contractions, I took my sweet time getting ready, well aware this could be our last time in our house just the two of us. 

After a quick call to my mom – again, reassuring her “this could be nothing” – we rounded up the last of what we might need and headed out the door. I had heard that you’re not supposed to eat or drink anything during labor, so I insisted we stop by Starbucks on our way to the hospital since we still weren’t sure this was the real thing. 

As we pulled up to the drive-thru window, the barista asked the usual question, “Where are you two off to today?”

We both looked at each other. I knew Jordan was probably going to make up some normal answer, so I quickly blurted out, “We’re headed to the hospital. My water broke!”

Again, I like to make it awkward. 


My mom beat us to the hospital (even though she lives 20 minutes farther from it than we do), and was hanging out in the waiting room when we arrived. A nurse with a thick Scottish accent greeted us and took us back to a tiny little room to run some tests. 

That was the point everything sunk in – I really could be having a baby today – and my blood pressure made light of the fact that I was getting anxious. We tried to make conversation with the nurse, even though we couldn’t understand half of what she said because of her thick accent.

The tests seemed to take forever, but after a hushed conversation with the doctor she finally said it, “Well, it’s confirmed: your water broke. You’re going to have this baby in the next 24 hours!”
I’m pretty sure Jordan and I both went into shock. Clearly not grasping what was happening, all I could think to ask was, “So can I finish my coffee?”

We went to tell my mom the news, and I was suddenly so glad she had decided to come to the hospital. As they led us to our room I just kept thinking, I can’t believe this is really happening… We’re going to meet our daughter in the next 24 hours…

We hadn't decided on a name, so "Baby G" it was.

Shortly after we settled into our room and texted a billion people to tell them the news, Jordan’s mom arrived. The next few hours were filled with laughter, stories from our mamas of when we were born, and generally trying to wrap our brains around the fact that our baby was on her way. The only thing missing was contractions. 

They decided to start me on Pitocin early that afternoon to move things along because my body wasn’t going into labor on its own. For the next couple hours, the nurse kept coming in to ask if I was feeling any contractions or any pain at all… Nope. Nothing. 

My sister showed up right before the contractions did. We joked through most of them, and things didn’t start to get serious until late afternoon when they decided to break the rest of my water (apparently that’s a thing.) Even though the contractions got more intense, I was still only dilated to a 1. A fricken’ 1. And I was at a 1 or “maybe a 2” (I truly think they kept telling me “maybe a 2” so I wouldn’t cry) for hours. 

I remember thinking that the pain was bad but doable, and I think the athlete in me kept waiving off the epidural to see how long I could go without it. I had no intention of having this baby without drugs – in fact, when the nurses asked what my birth plan was, I simply said, “have a healthy baby” – but I didn’t want to get the epidural until I really needed it. After a couple doses of Fentinol and almost 10 hours of labor later, I caved. It was reassuring to know my body could’ve handled the pain, but I knew that when the time came to push I would have been exhausted because I was still “maybe a 2.”

I was literally shaking in the minutes we waited for the epidural to arrive. Looking back on the entire experience from start to finish, I was more nervous about getting the epidural than I was about anything else. 

I was seconds away from throwing up when a tall, Asian man entered our room. In broken English he said something along the lines of, “I’m here to put in your epidural. And I’m an intern. Are you okay with that?” 

Jordan and I looked at each other and I stifled a laugh. Clearly he was kidding…or maybe I didn’t understand him correctly? But no one else was laughing and we quickly realized this wasn’t a joke. Before I could think it through, I basically shouted, “Wait, WHAT?!?!? You’re an INTERN???” 

You’ve got to be fricken’ kidding me.


The magic of the epidural worked quickly and I could feel my entire body begin to relax for the first time all day as my legs went numb. Most of our visitors had gone home by this point since it was now close to midnight. 

An hour later I began to feel the waves of pain again on my right side, so we had to call “the intern” back in to give me another dose. The funny part of getting a second dose of the magic epidural was that my right side now had the perfect amount of numbness but, upon getting the double dose, my left side was now completely useless, dead weight, a foreign object attached to my body.

I was still only dilated to a 2.

A couple friends had told me they were actually able to sleep while they were in labor after getting an epidural, and in my head I had written them off as liars. Turns out they were right. My body was finally able to relax through the contractions and the last thing I remember seeing was the faint glow of Jordan’s laptop and my mom’s iPad as I drifted off into a deep sleep. 


I can’t remember if the beeping of the machines woke me up or if it was the nurse coming in to check on me, but I had a brief moment of not knowing where I was or what was going on. 

The nurse did a quick check, and stared at me with a big smile. “Guess what? You’re at a 5!” 

I was still trying to fully wake up and get my bearings when she decided to do another check just minutes later. That’s when I really woke up because, shocked, she said, “Oh my God! You’re at an 8 now! You just went from a 5 to an 8 in three minutes! This baby is going to be here SOON! You’ll probably be pushing in 20 minutes… We need to call the doctor!”

As she rushed out to call the doctor, Jordan and my mom made their phone calls as well. It was almost 3 o’clock in the morning so the call list was small, but I quickly got word that they were on their way. 

The 3 AM crew (photo credit: Johanna, who was there too.)
It was in this moment that I started to cry. I cried because I was nervous for what the next hour of my life would look like, yes, but mostly I cried because I knew that my life was about to change forever.

The next 20 minutes were a blur. I remember asking Jordan if he was ready. I remember what seemed like dozens of doctors and nurses scurrying around prepping our room. I remember my mom looking at me with tears in her eyes as she kissed my forehead, told me she loved me, and left the room so Jordan and I could meet our daughter together, just the two of us. 

I remember the doctor coming in for one final check and then looking me right in the eye with a reassuring smile, “You’re ready. It’s time to push!”

The funny part of having your first baby is that when they tell you to push, you don’t really know exactly what that means or how hard to push. Do you pace yourself because you could be pushing for hours? Or do you just go for it? 

Well, I went for it. 

Each round of contractions, Jordan and the crew of nurses and doctors would cheer me on, “Push! Push! Push! You can do it!” And I kept saying back, “I feel like my face is going to explode! Is that normal?!” I never got a verbal answer but they quickly put an oxygen mask over my mouth.

I was told I pushed for about 10 minutes, but time has a way of playing tricks on you in the delivery room. 

I could sense a shift in the room as I geared up for another round of pushing. She was almost here. I could feel it. 

“Push! Push! Push!”

And then time stopped and I saw my daughter, our daughter, for the first time. 

There are certain moments in life that you just know will be engrained in your memory forever. Feeling the weight of her tiny body on my chest in those first few seconds of her life brought a new set of tears as I said my first words to her, “Happy birthday, sweet girl.”


Our girl was born at 3:22 AM on April 23, 2015 weighing 6 lbs. 2 oz and was 20.5 inches long. Not the big baby we expected. She was exactly three weeks early… but really, she was right on time. 

Later that morning after our visitors had cleared out of our room, Jordan and I knew we had to decide on a name. We had a list of close to 10 names we liked, but quickly crossed most of them off the list because “that name’s not feisty enough” or “she’s more sassy than that name” or “she’s too strong for that name.” 

Finally, Jordan had the brilliant idea to combine two of the first names we liked. 

“What about Logan Monroe and we’ll call her Lolo for short?” 

And so she was. Our fierce little girl had a name. 

Photo credit: Auntie Coco
Headed home from the hospital!


In the hours and days that followed, we fell hard for miss Lolo. Of course we loved her from the start, but that first week of bonding with her turned our world upside down.

People always tell you how hard it is to be a parent, especially during the first few weeks. But what they don’t tell you is how you will be so enamored with your baby that you will lose track of time just staring at her. They don’t tell you that you will cry because you love her so much it actually makes your heart hurt. They don’t tell you that you will fall in love with your husband in a way you didn’t even know existed. They don’t tell you that you will experience all kinds of emotions, but that the intensity of your joy will trump them all.

My mom stayed with us the first couple nights and was SO helpful!
Lolo's first bath! She LOVED it and didn't cry until we took her out. 
First doctor's appointment. 

First family walk on a crazy 80-degree day in April!

Things around the house started to look a little different...

We have a very LOUD and expressive sleeper!


Looking back over two months later, it is safe to say that it’s been the most amazing, beautiful, challenging, hardest, very best months of our lives. Someone recently described the first few months of being a parent as the biggest oxymoron you’ll ever experience, and I couldn’t agree more. 

I still catch myself staring at her, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that she’s ours.

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