Round 2, Hooray for Ethan Baby!

Since I didn't have much time off saved up at work, I decided early on that I would work right until I went into labor with Ethan. That way, I could stay off for Christmas and New Years, and have a lovely holiday with my beautiful family. I figured the absolute, perfect time to go on maternity leave would be 1 week after my due date. That plan was going very well until Ethan decided to beat Jonathan's birth-weight by a full pound, if possible. I was at work one day when we had a really low census. It was about 5 days before my circled calendar due- date, and I was feeling huge. Ethan had been consistently measuring a week or 2 "big." I talked to the charge nurse, who agreed I could go home early, then called my doctor to schedule an appointment. The receptionist actually scheduled me for the wrong office, so I thought I would get even more sympathy points for having to travel twice to get there. I played the most miserable, big, "poor me," I could, just to have the doctor tell me to come back in 4 days. They would do an ultrasound then and go from there. I was beyond bummed. Everyone at work knew my little plan, and as I left work that day they had all wished me luck. "Hope we don't see you tomorrow!" (in the nicest way possible, of course). So, there I was the next day (Tuesday) donning my blue scrubs to finish out the rest of the week. Eventually Friday came, and by ultrasound, Ethan baby was measuring 9 pounds. They scheduled an induction for Sunday evening at 5. That weekend was stake conference (everyone at church meets together Saturday evening and Sunday morning) and James told me to make sure I put our hospital bags in the trunk before I went. I thought it was sweet, but silly of him to suggest. I did it anyway, and it was a good thing because I went into labor on the way there. I must have looked like the biggest jerk, looking up at the clock every couple of minutes, but I had left my watch at home and had to time contractions. James had slipped out with the monk, and once I was sure it was labor, I went out to tell him. I kinda wish I had just sent him our predetermined text message. It said, "bombs are flying, the moose has kissed the goose!" (This was James' idea. He picked it because, and I quote "I'll know exactly what that means. If you wrote out something like, 'I'm in labor,' I wouldn't know if you were joking." I called my doctor, and three hours later they were planning to send me home. I wasn't showing any outward signs of true labor, but the midwife took pity on me. She knew I wouldn't be able to sleep if she sent me home contracting, so she admitted me and wrote for morphine and a sleeping pill. Bless her sweet heart. When I woke up the next morning, I was nearing the end of labor. For those who like numbers, I was 7 centimeters dilated. I couldn't believe it.
2 hours later, Ethan was born, a healthy 8lbs, 15 1/2 ounces. James jokes it's because I prayed I wouldn't have a 9-lb baby. "See, God answers prayers!"
I got a little dose of pain medicine not too long before Ethan was born, and he came out kinda sleepy. He was born at 10:16 am, and from 5 o'clock on, he was asleep. Somewhere around 3 am the nurses got worried and woke him up to try to eat. If they could see the size of my little boy now, maybe they would not have been so concerned (he's not quite 7 months, and already 22 pounds!) I gotta say, though, think of me what you will, having a baby born slightly drugged is not such an awful thing. He was happy, he slept, life was good. I felt sooo much better after Ethan was born than I had the first time. I wasn't nearly so tired, and I had an idea of what to expect. Going home, though, was every bit as awful the second time around. James' mom was there to help, which was great, but I still wasn't prepared. With the first baby, the shock is the baby. With the second, it's having this overwhelming puddle of joy, and another little one to keep track of, feed, and play with, not to mention that he misses you like crazy because you were gone for 3 days. Oh, and you can't lift him for 6 weeks. (Well, you aren't supposed to anyway. I wonder how often that actually works out).
We had decided beforehand that James would get up with Jonathan in the middle of the night, and I would get up with Ethan. That first night, however, I was just slipping back into bed after feeding Ethan for the third time when I heard Jonathan start crying. Rather than wake James up, I figured it was better to just take care of him myself. I went in with a bottle, and realized he had actually peed through his diaper. In the midst of changing his bed, and his pajamas, and trying not to pick him up at all, I broke down. I went out to where my mother in law was already awake in the living room, and started bawling. "I have decided, I'm running away." I have decided that those first few nights awake, with any new baby, are nothing short of terrifying. I felt more incompetent and unequal to my challenge than ever before. When I did crawl back into bed, all but defeated, James heard me sobbing and asked what was the matter. I told him over and over that I just couldn't do it. I can't be a mom to two small boys. I just can't.
He told me that of course I could, I just couldn't do it alone. He lightly scolded me for trying to take care of Jonathan without help, and shortly thereafter we all fell into a great sleep. Now I won't say I wasn't pleased when my mother's car wouldn't start a couple days later. The prospect of her being stuck there a little longer was kind of a nice one. I will say, though, that life wasn't ruined 20 minutes later when the car finally did start up again.