My Journey Through an Unpredictable Pregnancy: Mason’s Story
Hello everyone, I’m ErinLee, a devoted wife of eight years and a proud mother to two wonderful little boys, Wyatt Daniel and Mason Rivers. You might know me from my blog, The Blue Mason Jar, where I share snippets of our family life and parenting adventures. While both of my pregnancies brought their own unique moments of excitement and anticipation, I often reflect on how relatively smooth my pregnancy with Wyatt was. However, my journey with Mason was a stark contrast, an unpredictable roller coaster that challenged me in ways I never anticipated. I often joke that if Mason had been my firstborn, we might not have had a second child!
This is the unfiltered story of Mason’s arrival, a narrative filled with unexpected turns, medical mysteries, and a mother’s unwavering intuition. It’s a tale of resilience, frustration, and ultimately, overwhelming joy, and I hope it resonates with anyone who has navigated the complexities of pregnancy and childbirth.
The Unexpected Announcement: A Surprise Pregnancy Amidst Studies
The year was 2011, and January found me deeply immersed in a Medical Assistant program, juggling a full course load at my local college. Life was busy, focused, and certainly not anticipating a major detour. Then, late in the month, a terrible cold swept through our home. My then two-year-old, Wyatt, was a little germ magnet from daycare, so we simply attributed my sickness to another common childhood ailment he’d brought home. The cold persisted, growing worse each day until I finally conceded and scheduled a doctor’s visit, desperate for something to alleviate my symptoms and get me back on track.
During the consultation, after discussing potential medications, my doctor casually posed a question that would change everything: “Could you be pregnant?” I chuckled, dismissing the idea with a lighthearted retort, “Sure I could, but pigs could also fly if they had wings!” We shared a laugh, and I proceeded to provide a urine sample, giving no further thought to the conversation or the little cup. The world shifted when the doctor returned. Her expression was serious as she informed me that I was indeed pregnant and that my sickness was likely morning sickness, meaning many of the cold medications were off-limits. The news hit me like a ton of bricks. {WHAT} I nearly fell off my chair. While not a complete shock in the grand scheme of life, it was certainly not the outcome I had expected from a simple cold visit. My academic plans suddenly seemed a distant memory as I began to mentally adjust to this incredible, unexpected news.
Navigating Early Challenges: Intense Morning Sickness and Shifting Due Dates
The weeks that followed were brutal. “Morning sickness” is a profound understatement; it was an all-day, relentless nausea that left me feeling utterly miserable. TERRIBLE! It was far more intense than anything I had experienced with Wyatt. My initial OB appointment was primarily to establish how far along I was, and this is where the first seeds of confusion were sown, initiating what would become an eight-month saga of uncertainty surrounding dates. My first ultrasound suggested I was approximately six weeks pregnant, a timeline that simply didn’t align with my menstrual cycles. My obstetrician, recognizing the discrepancy, wisely decided to schedule another ultrasound two weeks later to re-evaluate the baby’s size and confirm the gestational age.
True to her word, two weeks later, the follow-up ultrasound revealed a different measurement, which more accurately corresponded with my cycle dates. I was officially nine weeks pregnant, and given a due date of September 14, 2011. This date would become a point of contention and a source of significant frustration later in my pregnancy journey, but for the moment, it provided a sense of clarity and a timeline to hold onto as I braced myself for the months ahead.
A Developing Bump and Persistent Contractions
As my pregnancy progressed, my baby bump seemed to emerge almost overnight, growing quickly. Concurrently, the morning sickness intensified, forcing me to make the difficult decision to drop my college courses. My health and the well-being of my developing baby became my sole focus. The 20-week anatomy scan was a highlight, bringing the joyous news that we were expecting another baby boy! {YAY, I truly wanted another son}. Everything appeared perfect; the measurements were spot on, and my September 14th due date seemed firmly established. However, my history with Wyatt included frequent early contractions, or Braxton Hicks, and it quickly became apparent that Mason’s pregnancy would follow a similar, if not more pronounced, pattern.
Many nights were spent in the labor and delivery triage, enduring painful contractions that required various medications to calm them. The emotional and physical toll of these constant scares was immense. Eventually, my doctors prescribed “pelvic rest,” a term I still don’t fully grasp in its entirety, but essentially meant no sexual activity (which, honestly, I had no interest in anyway given my discomfort), no heavy lifting (bending over was nearly impossible), and no prolonged standing (I was often too exhausted to stand for long periods). This phase was challenging, as it restricted my activities and amplified the feeling of being “on edge,” constantly worried about early labor.
The Preterm Labor Scare: Confusion and Frustration
{Now, this is where Mason’s story truly takes a complicated turn and the confusion reaches its peak.}
Around 34 weeks into my pregnancy, specifically on July 27th, I awoke one morning feeling distinctly unwell. Mild contractions had started, accompanied by an overwhelming exhaustion, a deeply upset stomach, and an overall sense of unease. Something felt fundamentally wrong. I called my doctor’s office, and they agreed to see me later that day. After dropping my two-year-old off at my in-laws’, I embarked on the 70-mile drive to the doctor’s office, alone. By the time I arrived, my stomach was in knots, and the contractions were undeniably worsening. The doctor on call, after a quick assessment, delivered the news I dreaded: “I am sorry, honey, but I am sending you to triage. You need to be on the monitor.”
Despite my apprehension, I knew I felt awful and followed her instructions, heading across the street to the Women’s Pavilion. It was a bustling, packed facility. I spent over an hour waiting in the reception area, feeling incredibly vulnerable and isolated, with contractions steadily increasing. Finally, I waddled back to one of the curtained rooms, my belly hard as a rock, and was hooked up to the monitor. I watched in disbelief as the monitor displayed contractions rising and falling every two minutes. Within just ten minutes, a nurse confirmed their suspicions: I was in labor and being admitted. {I proceeded to freak out, understandably.}
Hospital Stay and the Due Date Controversy
The subsequent phone calls were a blur of panic and urgency. “Honey, you need to come to the hospital; I’m in labor,” I told my husband. My dad, who was en route for a visit, had to be redirected. My in-laws received the unsettling news. Thankfully, a dear friend who lived nearby rushed to the hospital to stay with me until my family could arrive, offering much-needed comfort during a terrifying time. The medical team immediately initiated efforts to stop the labor, and discussions about the NICU began, preparing us for the possibility of a very small, preterm baby, potentially weighing only 5-6 pounds. This was a jarring prospect for me, as my firstborn had weighed a healthy nine pounds.
I was quickly hooked up to a battery of IVs: magnesium to halt contractions, pain medications, and steroid shots to accelerate the baby’s lung development, among other unknown fluids. Despite these interventions, I felt utterly miserable. My contractions grew stronger, although they remained consistently 2-3 minutes apart, and critically, I showed no signs of cervical dilation. The night took an even more bizarre turn when the head OB doctor arrived. {Here’s where it just gets weird.} She abruptly informed me that my established due date of September 14, 2011, was entirely incorrect and that the actual date was September 28, 2011. WHAT! It was the middle of the night, I was nauseated from the medications, and her demeanor was far from empathetic. It was a truly BAD COMBO. We exchanged heated words, and she arbitrarily declared that I was only 31 weeks and a few odd days pregnant. I was… pissed! {To this day, I still fume over that entire incident, feeling completely dismissed and disbelieved.} I spent the next ten days confined to the hospital, battling preterm labor, yet Mason stubbornly remained put.
Defying Expectations: Bedrest, Labor, and a Dramatic Delivery
Upon my discharge, I was sent home with strict instructions for bedrest. To say that “sucked” is an understatement. I was in full nesting mode, desperate to prepare for my baby’s arrival, but confined to rest. Despite the doctor’s insistence, I held firm to my conviction that my baby was due on September 14th. It was mid-August, and I felt in my gut that I was much further along than they believed. Slowly but surely, I began to defy the bedrest rules, taking short walks and engaging in light activities, convinced that my body knew best. My appointment on Friday, August 26th, revealed I was about 2 cm dilated. No biggie, I thought, as in my mind, I was already 36-37 weeks pregnant and simply “over it.” I was certainly not in the mood to entertain any more discussions about my due date being wrong.
I made it through the weekend with only mild, sporadic contractions, nothing alarming. However, on Monday morning, I woke up feeling utterly dreadful once more—tired, nauseous, just utterly “blah.” All I wanted was to sleep. Eventually, I started timing the contractions, and when they became consistently six minutes apart, I asked my dad to drive me back to the hospital. By the time we completed the 70-mile journey, my contractions were already four minutes apart. Yet, I was made to sit in the waiting room for an agonizing TWO hours! Once finally in triage, my contractions had intensified to two minutes apart, and I was 3.5 cm dilated. I called my husband, instructing him to head to the hospital immediately.
Epidural Complications and a Mother’s Fear
I had decided to wait as long as possible for the epidural, focusing on breathing through the increasingly painful contractions. When I reached approximately 7 cm dilation, I finally requested the relief. With Wyatt, I had required two epidural attempts as the first one only numbed one side. I voiced these concerns to the nurses, who assured me everything would be fine. The epidural was administered, and a blessed numbness spread through my legs, bringing a wave of much-needed comfort. Then, without warning, my blood pressure plummeted. It dropped to an alarming level, something like 40 over… nothing. The room instantly filled with medical staff, all working swiftly to stabilize me with various medications. It was a terrifying moment. My dad, who was present, later told me that all the color drained from my face, and my lips turned blue. Ugh! It was a stark reminder of the delicate balance involved in childbirth and how quickly things can become critical.
The Grand Arrival: A “Pre-Term” Baby Who Proved Everyone Wrong
Several tense hours passed as I continued to labor. The medical staff, still operating under the assumption that this was a premature birth, made preparations for a potentially early arrival. They broke my water, a process that, surprisingly, wasn’t as traumatic as I had anticipated (my water broke naturally with my first). The NICU team remained on standby, ready to intervene if Mason showed any breathing difficulties or other complications typical of preterm infants. However, as the hours ticked by, I began to feel the contractions pushing through the epidural, accompanied by an undeniable urge to push. My wonderful midwife, with whom I much preferred the delivery experience over a traditional OB, entered the room, and we began the final stage of Mason’s arrival.
At 3:36 AM on August 30th, 2011, my strong, determined Mason Rivers was born. And guess what? NO NICU needed! Would you like to know how much my “pre-term” baby boy weighed? A whopping 8 pounds, 12 ounces, and measured 19 inches long! Pre-term… HA! Mason’s APGAR score was excellent, and another assessment they perform to determine gestational age indicated he scored at 40 weeks—full term! The pediatrician who visited us the next morning confirmed it with a laugh: Mason was indeed far from being pre-term. It was a triumphant moment, a vindication of my intuition, and a profound relief to hold my perfectly healthy, full-term baby boy.
Post-Delivery Challenges and Enduring Love
Our relief was short-lived, however, as Mason fell ill during his very first week home. We found ourselves back in the hospital not once, but twice, each stay lasting about a week. After thorough investigations, the doctors concluded that he had unfortunately caught a common cold from his two-year-old brother, Wyatt. While it was a straightforward diagnosis, it was anything but easy. Trying to breastfeed a tiny newborn while he was hooked up to IVs and monitors was incredibly challenging and emotionally draining. Those weeks were a test of endurance, but Mason, with his innate strength, pulled through.
Today, I am overjoyed to report that Mason is a healthy, happy, and thriving little boy. Looking back, his pregnancy was an extraordinary journey—a testament to the unexpected twists and turns of life, the profound connection between a mother and her unborn child, and the immense strength one can find in the face of adversity. It taught me to trust my instincts, to advocate fiercely for myself and my baby, and to appreciate every single moment of his precious life. Every challenge faced during his arrival only deepened my love and appreciation for my resilient son. His story is a powerful reminder that while some journeys are tougher than others, the destination, holding your healthy child, makes every struggle worthwhile.
Thank you, Erin, for sharing your incredibly powerful and honest story! Mason is absolutely adorable, and we want to pinch those cheekies!