Emerson Louise

Hello, World!

As my sister, Randee, likes to remind me, I have been pretty absent from my blog for the past year (or two?) and Miss Emma Lou hasn't made her grand bloggy appearance. (Though, I'm sure that, if you read this blog, you are probably well aware of Emerson's presence via Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram--or in person, by golly--but here's a blog intro, anyhow.)



Her first photo.

Emerson was born on October 24, 2013 in Cumming, GA at the Northside Hospital-Forsyth Women's Center. She was born exactly on her due date--but only because I was induced. This pregnancy was especially rough (though, aren't they all?) because I was basically in labor for my entire 3rd trimester. I had timeable, uncomfortable contractions ALL. THE. TIME. and it drove me absolutely nuts. It was Braxton Hicks on crack. Don't get me wrong--I was blissfully happy to be pregnant--but the long and short of it is that I was really tired of pretend labor. The uterus who cried wolf. You get the idea.

Pretty much the only belly photo we took.
I'm not very keen on being photographed when I feel like a cow.

At my 40-week appointment, I jokingly said to Dr. Barrett "So, when can I have my baby this week?" and, to my suprise, he replied, "How about Wednesday morning?" I hadn't planned to induce, but after weeks of false labor, I was more than ready. So, on the morning of October 24, Adam and I woke up early, showered (yep, makeup and curling irons were involved here--why lie?), ate breakfast, dropped Jack at the sitter, and calmly checked into the hospital. It was so zen compared to my previous labor--we spend most of the day finishing Season 5 of The Big Bang Theory, and sneaking mini candy bars (a girl's gotta eat, amiright?).

In my lovely hospital gown, waiting for things to get moving.

Actually getting some good, steady contractions took the better part of the day. I was on pitocin and antibiotics for Group B Strep (oh boy), so I had about a zillion bags of fluid in me when all was said and done. (I'll spare you the story about how FREAKING HUGE my ankles were for the couple of weeks after my hospital visit. Cankles for days.) My doc checked in with us every couple of hours, and he said I'd probably have a baby that evening.

Oh, and at one point I was on oxygen. I don't remember why, but I remember I felt like Bane from Batman.

When things started to get painful, I got an epidural. It was amazing--mostly because my epidural with Jack was done in the middle of the night, and was completely botched by the anesthesiologist who showed up angry and in jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt. (I kid you not. He also had a rockin' ponytail and said F-words when he screwed up my epidural and pricked my spinal cord. I will never forget that guy--for better or worse. Yeah... for worse.) Wet taps are NO FUN AT ALL. Good anesthesiologists are the bomb. Dot com.

Sparing you the anatomical details, things went smoothly from there. The only hitch in the entire day was when my epidural pump went out, and I began to, well, REALLY FEEL IT. Unfortunately (or, fortunately?), it happened just as my body screamed, "PUSH!", so I got to have more of an all-natural experience after all. That beings said, I felt amazing and absolutely out of my mind as I pushed my baby girl out. I believe it only took 3 pushes, which I credit in part to the faulty epi-pump. Being able to actually feel what was going on was helpful and motivating, and minimized the damage done on her way out.



Her cute girly bow beanie the nurses made... such a cute idea.

So, after only about 3 rockstar pushes, Miss Emerson Louise Pingel arrived to the world--with a loud shriek. It was so loud, in fact, that Dr. Barrett (whom I ADORE) said it was his loudest first cry that year--which is saying something. It was already October.

My first impression of Emerson was, "Wow, she has a perfectly round head!" (Jack came out really purple and football-y, so this was new to us.) The nurses kept commenting on how beautiful she was, and how perfect her little head was. She looked like a C-section baby. They put her on my chest and I held her for a few minutes while Dr. B finished his work. I was immediately enamored with this tiny person, and was so at peace with how well her birth went.

A tiny leg and her parole bracelet... er, security bracelet.

We knew we wanted to name her Emerson (it was almost Lily, or Amelia), but we kept going back and forth about her middle name until we were checking out of the hospital and HAD to put something on the paperwork. We named her Emerson--Emma for short--after our dear friend and my "sister", Emma Bahr. When we finally chose a middle name, we decided on Louise, after Adam's maternal grandmother.



Hospital photos by Stacey J. Photography



Emerson has been the most wonderful baby. She is rarely unhappy, and has a billion-dollar smile. She was a pro at nursing from the start, and we're still at it 7 months later. Miss Emma has also been a great sleeper, and welcomed solid foods with open arms, er, open mouth. She is a favorite of kids and adults at church--they fight over her--and gets lots of babysitting offers, even from strangers at the store.

Jack, Me, Emma -- a couple of weeks ago.

At 7 months, Emerson is eating solids, almost crawling, says "Mama" and "Dada", and is a huge fan of her "chomper" (pacifier) and her big brother, Jack. We feel so blessed to have such a happy baby (Jack was a lot more, uh, challenging), and I always say that if I knew they'd all come out like Emma, I'd have 20 babies. She's a great kid.

So... Welcome to the blog, to the world, and most importantly, to our family, Miss Emerson. We love you to pieces.