Six Years Ago Today, Part Dos

Consider this topic effectively milked:

Six years ago today I woke up feeling like hud. I woke up feeling like that most days, but today I just didn't have the oomph to push through. J worked at the same law firm with me, and so I told him I was staying home, and encouraged him to go in and fight the good fight for both of us.

I puttered around our little one bedroom, went for a walk, tried to find something besides Andy Griffith reruns or Days of Our Lives on....to no avail.

Around noon I called my mom and told her I'd stayed home for the day. Because that is the kind of useful information with which I like to keep my mother informed. Daily. "Mom, today I bought yogurt." But see, that's what makes my mom the awesomest. She rarely says, "And?" or "So?" I mean, she sometimes does that, but I just ignore it and keep talking.

She did however ask me why I sluffed work. This woman delivered 9 children. Half of them out in the cornfields and kept working right after she delivered. I doubt "my hip hurts too much to go sit at my desk job and eat milkshakes" was going to fly with her.

I said, "My back hurts. It's not constant, but it's enough to really bother me when it does."

"So it comes and goes?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Oh, I dunno. It really doesn't last long, it just is uncomfortable."

"Nobody?"

"Yes?"

"Pretty sure those are contractions. Why don't you time how often it hurts and how long, and then call me back."

I called her back 52 minutes later.

"Mom! It hurts every 17 minutes for about 45 seconds or so!"

27 years old. Pretty smart girl. Birthing class graduate. Multiple pregnancy books reader.
Didn't know I was in labor.

In my defense, and it's weak at best---it was all back labor, and I just wasn't expecting that.

My mom put down the hot pink blouse with the matching beaded necklace she'd been planning to buy, and went home to get her hospital bag. She lived in Kansas City, I lived in St. Louis.

I called my work and told them I was in labor. It was so exciting to have a real reason. I'd been a malingerer for so long, I needed this save.

Naturally I assumed that with this information, the imminent arrival of his firstborn son, J would rush home to cater to my every whim and be sure to not miss a thing.

1:30....
....2:00....
....2:30....
.....3:00....

I call back.

My co-worker yells incredulously, "He isn't there yet! J! GET HOME! YOUR WIFE IS IN LABOR!"

Half an hour later J walks in with an orange-cream milkshake. I didn't realize then, he was setting a precedent for entering the labor-delivery scene while enjoying cold dairy treats.

Around 5:30 the contractions were 5 minutes apart, but still not unbearably painful. We were sure I would be the exception to the rule and the baby would come fast and painlessly.

So we headed off to the hospital.

But first we had to stop and get gas for the car. Because we were on empty. The first time that had happened or even been remotely close in 4 months.

At the hospital they told me I was at a three and I could have an epidural if I'd like. I will note here, that such generosity with the epidural was never afforded again in subsequent deliveries.

I said no. I said that I wasn't in pain yet, and that I'd really like to experience labor. Part of me was also entertaining the idea of going natural. I wasn't opposed to either option.

My mom showed up at the hospital within seconds of us. It was excellent timing.

I had forced her to be there at the delivery. J and I had been married 11 months. I wasn't sure he wouldn't faint in the delivery room. Or try and go get Cheetos while I was pushing....

We got into our room and once it was established that I was okay, my mom started looking for American Idol on the tv. She was rooting for the "effeminate boy" to win, but was pretty sure the "big boy" would win. J and I had seen probably half of one episode, so we weren't up to speed.

I focused on working out an entire child, while they listened to Reuben and Clay duke it out vocally.

Then it started to hurt. Perty dern badly.

At one point I was sitting on a birthing ball. Otherwise known as the exercise ball from hell when my trainer makes me use it. But there, in the hospital, it was a friendly ball.

I'm sitting on it, innocently. I'm trying to find something that helps me get through a contraction and distracts from the pain.

A nurse comes in and says, "Oh honey! That's not the right ball for you, hang on a minute, don't bounce on that anymore."

Awww, so sweet. She's going to get me a nicer, higher grade model, in a better color than aquamarine.

She came back with a much, much, MUCH larger, bright red ball and said, "I think this will suit you better."

My mom threw her head back and laughed right out loud. She herself had been thinking that ball didn't stand a chance against me and my 9 months pregnant bouncing self.

Around 9:30 I felt like I wasn't going to be able to go the whole night feeling this kind of pain. So I asked for an epidural.

By a little before 10, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, getting an epidural. J was fascinated and came to stand behind the anesthesiologist and in true J fashion, started asking questions. The nurse, who was working hard to keep me steady, barked at J, "Sit down and be quiet right now J!"

Turns out, the anesthesiologist was having a really hard time with me. I don't know why or how, but I do know that it took 30 minutes and when she was done, she was literally dripping with sweat. Since this was my first, I didn't know 30 minutes was an inordinately long time. I assumed the sweat was abnormal.

For the record, getting barked at like J did, would have made me cry for weeks. J didn't bat an eye. That stuff just doesn't get to him.

After that, we all relaxed and watched Seinfeld.

Around 11:30 they said I was a 10 and could start pushing.

I did.

According to some of the people there, some of them yelling at me, I was not a good pusher.

Bo wasn't born until tomorrow....