Welcome to the world, Darling Daughter~

Did you know that I never thought I’d use those words together:  ”Darling” and “Daughter”?  Not that I didn’t think that you’d be darling, although we were a bit worried when you wouldn’t show us your profile during your last ultrasound, but instead smashed your face as far away from Dr. Tami’s picturewand as possible.  No, I never thought that I’d be a mama, much less a mama to someone who had the same bits’n'pieces as me:  yes, they’re complicated, and no, I still don’t know how or why everything works.  As evidenced by yesterday.

Because yesterday I gave birth to you.  Naturally.  And by naturally, I mean without the use of the Happy Machine, aka epideral.  First, on purpose, thinking, “Hmm, let’s see what this whole non-medicated birth experience is like”.  Then, once the “holy crap, this really hurts, I don’t wanna do this any more pleaseandthankyou” set in, on accident, because, see, you wanted to come into the world.  Right.  Then.

It all started Sunday night.  Well, it started a while ago, but I don’t think you want to hear the “When a man and a woman love each other” talk that a friend of mine loved to give.  But on Sunday night I had this strange urge to clean and tidy:  strange because it was my list of things to do on Monday, but this sudden desire of “I need to get these things done NOW” set in, so I bustled around doing laundry and paying bills and wiping down the kitchen and all other manner of Type A Dren activities.  Then when I went to lay down for bed, the contractions set in.  Not abnormal:  nightly fakers have been happening for a while now.  But these felt … different.

So we had a talk.  ”Boo, this is not a good time.  Your dad has work to get done tomorrow, and he also has a horrible case of The Oak and is going to be treated in the morning.  Your brother starts school on Wednesday, Grandmom had things going on Tuesday, and I’d like to go to Bible Study on Thursday.  You know what?  My schedule is clear on Friday.  I know I’ve prayed for you to come, but really:  I can wait until Friday.  So let’s wait, okay?”  And in response there was a very tight, uncomfortable “sqeeeeze”.  Here we go.

I got up and started cleaning more:  unloading the dishwasher, taking care of emails, making more lists of Things For Grandmom to Know While Watching Da Boys Even Though She Already Knows Everything But It Makes Me Feel Better, etc.  Your father woke up to take his four-hour dose of Benadryl (as requested by me because he’s so much more pleasant when not constantly scratching) and asked what I was doing.  ”I think I’m in labor.  Contractions have been every ten minutes for the past few hours.  So I futzing around and reading up on “When You Need to Go to the Hospital”.  I refuse to go into major labor now:  this can wait until the morning, so you can go back to sleep.  I didn’t want to wake you so you can get some rest.  Can you rest?”  ”Yep.”  And back he trundled to bed.  He did sleep.  I wore myself out by two, or at least enough to sleep through the gut squeezes, and woke up three hours later when your father was re-Benadryling and Calamine Lotioning (it’s been a fun few days around our house, let me tell you).

“Should I call your Mom?”

“Yep.”

Pushes buttons.  ”Good morning.  Yes, she’s in labor.  Okay, see you in a bit.”

And we were off and running.  I took That Last Shower, cleaned up, bustled around more – lists, packing, etc.  Because I’m a Melancholy personality type, and we plan for EVERYTHING.  You’ll find out.  Hope it doesn’t smoosh your free-wheeling style:  I think I can factor that into my plannings.  :)

So the contractions were coming fast, but I was determined to a) wait for Grandmom and 2) have a normal morning with your brothers, minus the very concentrated moaning I would emit every few minutes.  Your father was a bit concerned, but I wanted.my.oatmeal.  So Grandmom came, we headed off, listening to a podcast of the Splendid Table that your father tried to talk to me about later that evening and I commented that for some reason, I didn’t really hear what Lynn Rosetto Casper had said:  I was a bit distracted.

We got to the hospital, wheeled upstairs, and got settled in the exact same room I had been in last at the Birth Center (your oldest brother was born at the “Old” hospital where I got to watch Fox students walk from their dorms to class and was really hopeful that the windows were tinted or if they heard my labor yowlings, would use that as a really effective message of Why To Have Safe Sex).  I had planned on doing my usual “Hospital Gown Modeling” photo, but somehow that didn’t happen.  Because I couldn’t stop contracting.  And that’s not a picture you can go back and recreate later.  Oh well.

The rest is kind of a haze, which is a good thing, because I do remember thinking, “I don’t know why women give birth naturally more than once:  what crazy pills are they on, and I don’t know that I want any.”  Things I remember:

Being poked six times before getting an IV hook-up to work – apparently my veins roll and/or collapse.  Kinda like my resolve about that point.  The nurse apologized over and over.  Your dad almost passed out:  something he’s never experienced.  Something about taking Benadryl for four days, not sleeping much for six days, and only eating cereal for breakfast caught up with him.  That’s why I wanted my oatmeal:  much more of a stick-with-ya factor.

Praying to God, “Pleasepleaseplease”.  When you’re in a bad place, Anne Lamott says that’s the best prayer.

Getting an IV in and being able to get off of my back (ugh) and up into a squatting position, the only thing that’s felt comfortable with you.  I had bad sciatic pain in labor with your brothers, hence the drugs.  But this time I had a talk with God about how I’d really like to know that my body can do this, that I have this image of being a physical wimp and would love a redeeming experience.  So apparently He went above and beyond granting my desire cause I couldn’t have gotten drugs even if I wanted to:  there was no time.

Thinking (and apparently verbalizing out loud, oops) that if your dad was going to pass/crap out on me that I was having drugs.  See, I couldn’t do it on my own:  we wanted to do this as a team.  So often I do things on my own:  ”It’s fine, I’ll take care of it” will probably be on my gravestone (as opposed to your Granddaddy, which Grandmom says will say, “I didn’t do it/It’s not my fault”.  We’re very gracious in our family, as you’ll find out ).  But nothing would de-tense me except the calm, verbal reminders of your Dad:  ”Breathe.  Take it down.  Unclench your face/jaw/hands/toes.”  And I would.  As much as I could.

In the words of A Knight’s Tale (which was going to be the movie I wanted to watch while killing time waiting for contractions to pick up:  HA!):  ”Pain.  Lots of pain.”  Ugh.  Labor.  Hurts.  Which I knew, but I didn’t know.  The nurses told me to let them know when I was going to push, because while they could deliver a baby on their own, they liked to have Dr. Tami around to catch her.  I remember a nurse saying that to me, word for word, three times.  And each time I was pushing, thinking, “Um, I can’t tell you that I’m pushing because I’m busy PUSHING.”  And they aren’t kidding when it’s TheIntenseDesireToPush.  Because logically I did not want to:  it hurt.  But nothing was going to stop that bearing down instinct.  Ugh.

That I don’t like pushing.

Dr. Tami wearing a really nice dress and having a new haircut, and wanting to tell her, but I couldn’t make any of the words coming out of my mouth sound nice or conversational, but mostly desperate please, groans, or fairly instructional directions.  She tried to joke with me, and I was glad that she knew the difference between Dren-at-an-Appointment and Crazy-Dren-in-Labor.

Grabbing the bar, feeling your head come out, hearing words of praise, thinking, “But her shoulders still have to come out, and they’re wider than her head, and I’M DONE.”  I pleaded to be done; your dad got teary.  I heard the nurses and Tami joking:  apparently your head poked out, you opened your head, and started looking around like, “What’s going on?”  No cries or alarm:  cause you’ve heard me yell a plenty, just usually preceded with a “JJ!” or “ABE!”  And a few of the longest.moments.ever. you came out.  They were so happy; I was simply done.

Not getting to be done.  Because while you came out really quickly (well, quickly according to the people who did not give birth to you), the bits and pieces that were supposed to come out afterwards did not.  And it hurt more than labor.  Which was saying something.  I reached my limit:  I simply wanted to hug you and cuddle you and call you George like the WB Abominable Snowman, but they wanted to push and pull and do horribly painful things to me.  I admit that I cried:  I felt like a toddler pleading with adults that I couldn’t do anymore but being treated like, “Oh, you’re just tired.”  I almost kicked Dr. Tami out of sheer reaction of “Leave me alone”:  instincts are crazy things.  After getting an OB in the room, having some pitocin (ugh), and hearing a nurse say “Let’s just pray that this just comes right out”, I thought, “Hmm, this is a bigger deal than I realize” and “Oh.  Right.  God.  Prayer”.

Again, with the “pleasepleaseplease” and “thankyouthankyouthankyou” when it all finally came out, people stopped poking and prodding so much, and we got to snuggle.

You are lovely, little girl.  Ten fingers – long fingernails.  Ten toes – none webbed (sorry, Unca Matt).  LOTS of black hair.  I remember someone commenting on that, and when seeing it the first time, me saying, “Oh, Gran’s gonna cry.”  Cause you looked like I did:  eskimo baby – all black hair and red red skin.  You and me and Abe will be hiding out in the shade while Dad and JJ run around in the beach without sunscreen, getting all tan and skin-cancery.

You nurse like a champ:  1hr. 15min. with the first go.  You love to snuggle.  Your cry hasn’t warmed up to full potential yet, methinks.  You like to use me as a human pacifier, which is okay while we’re on “vacation”, but honey, we got boys to take care of when we get home, so this eating thing will be more functional than luxury – for both of us.  Nights and days are mixed up, but hey:  who doesn’t love the night life? (love to boogie?).  Fluids and solids go in and come out in all the right ways.

People have come to visit, love, adore, and bless you.  No matter what you may ever think, know that you are a prayed for, wanted, planned, loved blessing from above, and we are so happy that you came to join us in these crazy trips around the sun.  I love you, Darling Daughter.

Love, Ma

Boo Blatherings, Mama Musings