Ryder’s Swift Arrival: A Third Blessing’s Unforgettable Birth Story
The morning of August 7, 2016, at precisely 11:34 AM, our lives were forever enriched by the arrival of our third child, Ryder. Weighing a healthy 8 pounds and 2 ounces, he made his grand entrance into the world. In the whirlwind of new motherhood, it took me a little over two months to finally sit down and pen his incredible birth story. But what a story it is – a vivid recounting of how our precious third blessing decided to join our bustling family.
The Endless Wait: Debunking the 9-Month Myth
Before diving into the intricate details of Ryder’s birth, I feel it’s essential to set the record straight on a common misconception. When people confidently declare that pregnancy lasts nine months, they are, in fact, misleading you. The reality is that a full-term pregnancy stretches to a monumental 40 weeks, which unequivocally translates to ten months. That’s an exceptionally long period to nurture a new life, and it feels even longer when your little one decides to take their sweet time. Such was precisely the case with our Ryder, who chose to make us wait a little extra, amplifying the anticipation with each passing day.
The final weeks of pregnancy are a unique blend of excitement and profound exhaustion. Every ache, every subtle shift, becomes a potential sign. You analyze every sensation, hoping against hope that this is it. The emotional and physical toll of carrying a growing human inside you for ten months is immense, and when you surpass your due date, that weariness is compounded by an almost unbearable impatience. You yearn to meet the tiny person who has occupied your every thought and dream, to finally hold them in your arms, to confirm their existence outside of your body. The world outside seems to continue at its regular pace, yet for the expectant mother, time slows to a crawl, each day an eternity. This extended period of waiting tests your resolve, your patience, and your physical limits, creating a deeper, almost primal longing for the moment of birth.
The 40-Week Appointment: Hope, Disappointment, and Natural Efforts
As I approached my 40-week appointment, I was filled with a cautious optimism. For the past two doctor’s visits, I had been consistently dilated to 3 centimeters, a small but significant step in the right direction. I harbored a secret, fervent wish that my doctor would deliver the news I longed to hear: “You’re 8 centimeters, and it’s time to head to the hospital!” A mother can certainly dream, can’t she? Alas, reality often has a different plan. My doctor confirmed that while progress had been made, I wasn’t nearly as far along as my hopeful imagination had suggested. We mutually agreed to let nature take its course, trusting that our little man would arrive when he was truly ready.
That week, I dedicated myself to staying as active as possible, hoping to gently encourage Ryder’s arrival. My days were filled with long walks, each step a silent plea to my body to initiate labor. Friends, ever supportive, suggested simple squats as a potential catalyst, so I incorporated those into my routine, too, performing them with a blend of determination and quiet desperation. Every stretch, every movement was imbued with the singular purpose of coaxing my baby into the world. There’s a particular kind of mental game you play with yourself when you’re overdue; a constant negotiation between patience and the overwhelming desire to meet your child. You try every old wives’ tale, every recommended exercise, clinging to any glimmer of hope that it might be the trigger. Yet, despite my best efforts and unwavering resolve, Ryder remained comfortably nestled, seemingly immune to my gentle prodding.
The 41-Week Appointment: Exhaustion and a Date with Destiny
My 41-week appointment found me utterly spent. The relentless drag of an extended pregnancy had worn my spirit thin, leaving me utterly depleted. I was exhausted beyond measure, but more than that, I was ready. Ready to reclaim my body, ready to embrace the next chapter, and most profoundly, ready to finally meet our guy! It’s worth noting that even at this advanced stage, we still hadn’t settled on a name for him, adding another layer of eager anticipation to the mix. My appointment fell on a Friday, and my doctor, seeing my weariness and the baby’s stubbornness, proposed an induction for Sunday morning. The timing was perfect, as she was on call that weekend and would personally be able to deliver our baby. The relief that washed over me was immense. “Yesss!” I practically shouted, a surge of renewed energy flowing through me. We finally had an official date, a tangible end to the waiting game!
I immediately called Ryon, my husband, to share the exciting news. With an induction date set, the practicalities quickly fell into place. We made arrangements for our older children to stay with my brother, ensuring they were well cared for while Ryon and I focused on Ryder’s arrival. The transition from indefinite waiting to a firm plan brought a sense of calm and purpose. Preparing for a new baby, especially when you already have children, involves a logistical dance, and having a definitive timeline simplified everything. We could now mentally prepare, knowing that within a matter of days, our family would grow once more. The excitement was palpable, a gentle hum beneath the surface of my exhaustion, propelling me forward.
The Eve of Induction: Anticipation and a Farewell Dinner
Saturday night was a flurry of activity and emotion. We carefully packed our hospital bags, ensuring every essential was accounted for. Before heading to the hospital, we stopped by a friend’s house for a casual “back to school” dinner. It was a lovely distraction, a chance to chat and connect with loved ones before embarking on our momentous journey. The universal question, “When are you having that baby?” was posed by nearly everyone, and this time, I could answer with a triumphant, joyful declaration: “TOMORROW!” The smiles and shared excitement around the table were a sweet prelude to what was to come.
After dinner, we dropped the kids off at my parents’ house, giving them a final hug before the next phase of our adventure. Then, Ryon and I made our way to the hospital. Although my induction was scheduled for 7 AM the following morning, they wanted me to check in the night before for monitoring. The hospital felt surprisingly calm as we navigated the corridors to the front desk. After checking in, I was directed to my room, where a kind nurse greeted us. She began the process of starting my IV line, a routine but significant step marking the beginning of the labor process. Despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins and the immense excitement bubbling within me, I surprisingly managed to drift off for at least four hours of precious sleep. It was a restless sleep, punctuated by dreams of a tiny face and the anticipation of new beginnings, but it was sleep nonetheless, preparing me for the intense hours ahead.
Sunday Morning: Pitocin, Progressive Contractions, and a Burst of Energy
As the clock struck 7 AM on Sunday morning, the labor and delivery team began the induction process, starting the pitocin and IV fluids. I had been diligently hydrating for days leading up to this, which meant frequent trips to the bathroom throughout the night and early morning. For the first hour, Ryon and I simply chatted, enjoying the quiet before the storm, anticipating the journey ahead. I had thoughtfully downloaded a contraction timer on my phone, preparing to meticulously track the intervals and duration as things progressed. Initially, the contractions were mild and sporadic, easily manageable. It wasn’t until around 9 AM that I noticed a significant shift; the contractions began to intensify, growing longer and closer together. I started to walk around the room, tethered to my IV pole, finding that movement helped to manage the discomfort. With each tightening, I would pause, lean into Ryon, and focus on breathing deeply, drawing strength from his unwavering presence by my side. He was my rock, his steady hand and calming words a constant source of comfort amidst the growing pain.
At 10 AM, my doctor arrived, her presence a welcome assurance. After a brief check, she broke my water, a sensation that immediately heightened the intensity of the labor. For the next solid hour, my contractions maintained a steady, powerful rhythm, each one demanding my full attention. But it was around 11 AM when the true surge began. The contractions no longer just tightened; they gripped me with an urgent, almost primal force, accelerating in frequency and ferocity. This was active labor, undeniable and all-consuming.
The Intensifying Storm: Resisting the Epidural and a Race Against Time
Throughout this escalating intensity, I was consciously trying to avoid an epidural. My previous experience with one during Ryley’s birth had been quite traumatic, leaving me with a strong aversion to repeating it. I focused all my energy on breathing through each contraction, trying to ride the waves of pain rather than succumb to them. Yet, the contractions were rapidly becoming overwhelming, demanding more of me than I felt I had to give. I found myself repeating to Ryon, “I can’t do this. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” It became a desperate mantra, echoing with each wave of pain. In my head, however, a more resolute voice whispered, “Just one more. You can make it through one more contraction.” It was a constant battle between despair and determination. After one particularly intense contraction, I looked down, surprised to find my legs wet. For a moment, I thought I had peed myself, but quickly realized it was likely my mucus plug falling out, or perhaps something else entirely. In the fog of labor, the specifics were elusive, but the sensation signaled a clear progression.
Moments later, the nurse re-entered the room. Her expression shifted as she observed me, and she quickly instructed me to get back into bed, expressing concern that I was instinctively trying to push while standing. The pain had reached an almost unbearable level, and I knew I couldn’t endure much more. “Please check me,” I pleaded, hoping against hope for significant progress. To my utter shock, I was only dilated to a 5. A five! It felt impossible, given the raw, intense pain. I locked eyes with Ryon, my voice laced with desperation, “I need drugs!” The contractions were coming so fast and furious, I barely had a moment to catch my breath between them. The nurse, sensing my distress, informed me that the anesthesiologist was currently with another patient, but I would be next. “I’m not sure I can wait that long!” I thought, the words a silent scream in my mind, as my body surged forward with an unstoppable force.
The Unexpected Rush: A Precipitous Birth
Once in bed, I desperately tried to find any comfortable position to weather the relentless contractions, but it was futile. I thrashed, I screamed, I flopped around, utterly consumed by the pain. Then, one particularly insane contraction hit, unlike anything I had experienced before. My body instinctively bore down, and I simply HAD to push. There was no holding back, no conscious decision – it was an overwhelming, involuntary urge. To my dismay, my nurse wasn’t even in the room. Ryon, with incredible quick thinking, had to call for her. She burst through the door, and I was yelling, “GET HIM! Someone GET HIM!” because, unbelievably, after that very first push, he was already crowning. The nurse, seeing the urgency, quickly pushed my legs together and shouted instructions to call my doctor immediately; the baby was coming, and fast.
In a thrilling, heart-stopping blur, my doctor literally ran into the room during my very next contraction, just in time to catch the baby. There was no time for formalities, no opportunity to put my legs in stirrups, or even to adjust the bed into a proper birthing position. It was all happening too quickly. With two powerful pushes, our baby was out, a small, slippery miracle. The nurses whisked him away briefly to weigh and check him over. His first cries filled the room, a sound more beautiful than any melody, and all I wanted was to hold him, to feel his warmth against my skin. The moment they placed him in Ryon’s arms, my husband’s voice, thick with emotion, said, “Here’s Ryder.” And then, the tears came – a deluge of joy, relief, and overwhelming love. I kissed his tiny head, tears streaming down my face, marveling at this perfect new life.
Just moments after Ryder’s arrival, the anesthesiologist poked his head into the room, only to be told by the nurses, with a chuckle, that his services were no longer needed. That’s how incredibly fast Ryder made his entrance! I went from being 5 centimeters dilated to actively pushing and delivering a baby in less than 30 minutes. It was an intense, whirlwind experience, a truly precipitous labor. After patiently waiting for 41 weeks and 2 days, it became abundantly clear that Ryder was just as eager to meet us as we were to meet him, bursting forth into the world with an unstoppable energy all his own.
First Calls and a Heartfelt Welcome
Our first call after Ryder’s birth was, of course, to my mom. Her excited voice on the other end of the line was priceless. “ALREADY?! I was on my way up now!” she exclaimed, her surprise evident. She had kindly taken the older kids overnight and was in the process of dropping them off at my brother’s house, hoping to be there for the labor and delivery. But our little man, with his characteristic impatience, simply wasn’t waiting for anyone. His arrival was swift and decisive, leaving a trail of joyful surprise in its wake.
Welcome to the family, Ryder Grant! We truly don’t know how we managed to live this long without you. Your arrival has completed our family in the most beautiful way.
Dive deeper into our family’s journey by reading Ryley’s birth story and Avery’s birth story as well!