So, yes, it was my second pregnancy, and no, I didn't know a lick about having a baby.
During my first pregnancy, in the seventh month, our workaday life turned upside down at a visit with the obsterician when I was told, in no uncertain terms, "Go home, get in bed, lay on your left side and don't get up, unless it's for the bathroom, a daily shower, or a doctor's appointment." I did as I was told, and our firstborn was delivered by C-section, at eight months, because "it was safer on the outside, than on the inside." We were thrilled and grateful to bring home a son, even if at 4 lbs 11 oz, he looked very small, indeed.
Life has a funny way of erasing challenging pregnancy memories and when we looked at our precious one and a half year old, we took a deep breath and tried for another. And except for a few bumps along the way, this pregnancy went, mostly, according to plan.
Except, I had little knowledge of what a typical plan was.
We attended childbirth classes, absolutely clueless, and with a baby in a punkin' seat. We got a fair bit of side eye.
And then a surprise at 8 months. It was a Sunday morning, around 7 am and I popped up as quickly as woman the size of a manatee can pop up. Firt stop, bathroom, because I felt like a manatee with a bladder the size of a pea. I settled in for a quick pee, which I realized was taking an inorinately long time. I peed, and peed, and peed and seeminly with no effort! And then it the question slowly formed - had my water broken? I had no idea.
The optimum solution seemed clear to me. It was early morning. And I was only 8 months along. Nat, our firstborn, was still asleep. I wasn't even sure what was going on, so I would drive myself to the hospital, while Earle stayed home with Nat. En route, I realized, yes, I really did need to go to the hospital. But there was no rush, labor takes a while, right? Earle called my parents and told them they had time to go to church before they headed to Durham. "No rush," we both said.
I was fine. The ER staff was less so. "Where is the baby's father?" "Who drove you?" I did a fair amount of explaining as I was rushed up to the Labor Ward. I was quickly evaulated and it was decided, for a variety of reasons, that I was to have a pitocin drip. This would speed up labor. Okay. No problem. Called hub, who called parents. Arrival would still be after lunch. So I hung out by myself. No worries, I had a book. And then, things began to speed up. Our wonderful next door neighbors welcomed Nat so Earle could join me sooner rather than later.
And a good thing. The pitocin was cranking up the labor pains so I asked for an epidural. (OF COURSE I DID. MAMA DIDN'T RAISE NO FOOL.) The anesthesiologist just about got it going when some kind of emergency took precedent over me (IMAGINE!) and I was left with only partial pain relief on one side. But okay, I can breath through labor. Millions and millions of women do it every day!
But on TV, the push stage lasts many 3 pushes at most. NOBODY TOLD ME I'D BE PUSHING FOR AN HOUR. I heard other women yelling and screaming in other rooms and I was Pretty. Darn. Uncomfortable. I was holding Earle's hand which was beginning to look like a crushed tomato. I needed...SOMETHING TO HELP WITH THE PAIN. So I causually asked the nurse between contractions:
"Would it be okay if I scream on the next push?"
She was nonplussed.
"Sure, go ahead."
So I screamed. I gave it the old college try. I gritted my teeth and grunted and groaned. I let out the mother of all screams. A real Rebel Yell. But...
It did no good. I looked at the labor nurse. "It didn't help."
She arched an eyebrow. "I didn't think it would."
But she reassured tha us that I was getting close. By now it was around 4 pm. I'd only been in labor proper since about 9 am. My hair was soaked from effort and I was ready to meet this baby. The obsterician and the resident were in deep discussion at my nether regions. She was expaining to the resident that she was going to demonostrate how to do an episiotomy on me.
I leaned back to the labor nurse." I really need to push again, can I push?"
"Go ahead," she responded, expecting very little as I'd been pushing for some time. Maybe, I wondered, the episiotomy would help me push that baby out like a cork out of a champaigne bottle.
Turns out I didn't need the episotomy after all. The last push did it and I heard the doc say "Never mind about the episiotomy." to the resident. She moved into catcher stance and she said quickly afterwards, "Look at those cheeks." And she wasn't talking about mine.
Zack came busting into the world on his on terms. One more push and he was out and on my chest, covered in white, pasty vernix. One eye cracking open to look up at me. And he seemed enormous. In my mind I was prepared for a baby, like Nat, small because he, too, was a month early. But Zack looked like a linebacker, weighing in at whopping 8 lbs, 5 oz. And yes, blessed with cheeks that quickly earned him the moniker "Chairman of the Board" from Earle's dad.
And that's still Zack today. Busting into the world on his own terms. Always a bit ahead of the curve, including grad school in California, first job in Japan. (Was his love of Japan influenced by the fiirst face he saw? His Japanese OB?) And today, on his birthday, in Utah, on a hiking trip, still discovering new worlds. In many ways, he still feels larger than life. He brings joy, humor, love, compassion, and smarts to the table and we couldn't be prouder or love him more.
Yep, He's a grown ass man. But he'll always be my baby boy.
Great story!
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