I am not superwoman.

This is a story about delivering my fourth baby girl.

Although my baby is so beautiful, my story is not.

In fact, I don't really want to even tell it.

I don't even like thinking about it much.

Brock says I have post traumatic stress about the whole thing.

He might have a point because one way to describe the experience would be tramautic.

Don't worry- everything worked out beautifully.

She was never in any danger- neither was I.

But delivering her was the worst thing I have ever done.

It completely altered my spectrum in life of what is hard and what is painful.

Eve's birth will always be what I compare every hard thing to and say,

"Well at least this isn't as bad as when I had Eve."

You ready for this?

So in hindsight there were a few problems heading up to this delivery...

like when I was 9 weeks along and they did an ultrasound and said my due date was wrong and bounced it back a week.

My date was right.

Or when I went to an appt. and the doctor went on and on about how big the baby was.

She was right.

Or when I had to go to labor and delivery because my vision was doing crazy things and they said I had an atypical migraine and was dehydrated, but they would not induce me because my blood pressure was fine and the baby was not in danger and I cried and begged them to induce me anyway and they have no compassion for crying pregnant women and sent me home.

Or on my actual induction date, when they bumped me to two days later, and then on that day they bumped me again.

So the problem was by the time I went to deliver I was not only carrying a big baby girl,

I was an emotional wreck.

But then the biggest problem of them all...

When the nurse asked me how I wanted the day to go, I said,
"Well, I think I want to try to go natural.

I have nothing against epidurals, but I would rather not have one if it goes fast enough."

And guess what she did...

She wrote "natural labor" on the goal board.

ON THE GOAL BOARD.

Natural Labor staring at me all day.

There was no turning back now... it was on the board.

So things started off smooth.

I was handling things like a champ.

And then the contractions started to pick up-

and when I say pick up- I mean they were coming every minute.

And they continued coming a minute apart the entire labor.

So then a few hours later, it was starting to be really crappy.

And I kept telling myself you're almost there.

And then she checked and I was an eight.

An eight?! No, I needed to be a ten.

Then I started freaking out- just a little.

And THEN it started hurting SO FREAKING BAD!

And then I started freaking out a lot.

I started saying ridiculous things.

I would tell Brock to tickle my hair

 and then smack his hand when he touched my head.

(Luckily he is a good natured guy and thought I was funny-

a more sensitive husband might have had his feelings hurt.)

One contraction I swore twice,

and then the next came and I spent is shouting, "Owie, Owie..." the whole time.

I was losing it.

Then the nurse checked me again.

A TEN! HALLELUJAH!!!

But, BUT, my cervix had a lip.

My CERVIX had a LIP?

What does that even mean?

So here I am in AGONY- my body telling me to push my baby out-

and I am waiting for the lip on my cervix to go away.

Then I started crying.

Then I started breathing crazy- 'cause I was crying.

Then I grabbed Brock by the shirt and pulled his face in front of mine and said,
"BROCK REICHNER (so he knew I was serious) I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE!"

And of course everyone in the room said,

"You can do it!"

I wanted to punch them all.

And underneath all the pain and freaking out, I was so upset.

I was so frustrated that I couldn't handle this right.

I pride myself in being tough and being able to handle hard things like pain.

I was acting like such a wimpy, crazy chick and that bugged me so bad.

But then the nurse asked me if I wanted to try and push anyway.

AND I SAID, "YES!"

So they got me all set up.

And I pushed three or four times-

without breathing-

 because I was afraid if I stopped pushing she would stay in there forever.

Plus passing out at that point didn't seem all bad.

And then she was born.

And I was in awe of how beautiful she was.

And I just cried.

And then they took her to check here.

And I sat there thinking how insane the entire experience was.

How do our bodies do that?

And then they told me she was 9 lbs 10 oz.

And this was supposedly four days before my due date.

And so I blamed the doctors.

And then they brought her to me again.

I looked at her and could not believe she was finally here.

I did it.

Not very gracefully or graciously- I did not win any style points.

But in spite of it all, she was in my arms and she was mine.

My fourth daughter- I am so lucky.

But I am not superwoman.

A special thanks to my mom for taking the pictures

and sticking with me when I was freaking out.

You are such a good mom.

Another special thanks to Brock.

I could not have done this without you.

And please don't tease me about all the crazy.

I'm still a little sensitive about it. :)

And especially thank you baby Eve

for being the most beautiful baby and making me this happy.