Ten and a Half Months

The kid turned four years old on Christmas Eve, but let me start at the beginning.

Here’s a little background, a few months after the husband and I started dating, over ten years ago, we had an accident. The doctor told us that I might had gotten pregnant, but miscarried without any problems. That scared the bejesus out of us, not because of anything serious. We both were old enough, we both had really good jobs, and we both had a “relatively” good head on our shoulders. But we had just started dating and we wanted to enjoy the rest of our twenties and the life that we had. The entire episode happened with no long term consequences and we were both unbelievable relieved. That’s when the seed was planted and the possibility of us ending up together forever actually started. We talked, and realized that we loved each other and wanted to spend all of our time with each other.

For years we talked and debated the idea of having a kid, how we would raise it, when we would have it, where we would live, how it would be thought, what we wanted from the kid, what we would need from each other, who would be involved and to what degree.

First we moved out of New York City, then we got married, completely changed our lifestyles (meaning we stopped smoking and drinking) and we still waited over a year to start trying. We read this book, this book, and this book. I read endless amount of birth and parenting blogs. We talked to other parents. When I say that this kid is planned, I’m not exaggerating. Shoot, we knew we only wanted one and we knew we wanted a girl, but even if we had had a boy, we still didn’t want a second one. This is when we agreed to NOT find out the gender of the baby. It only took one cycle and three pregnancy tests. The husband wouldn’t believe it cause it was a “faint” second line, and I finally had to look at him at tell him “this is a POSITIVE pregnancy test!”

We then preceded to find a midwife and started coming up with a birth wish list. We found a hippie birthing center with plenty of tubs to give birth in. I watched endless amounts of birthing videos. The husband says that because all I wanted to do was sleep, he found plenty of time to play all the video games he wanted. I had a horrible first trimester. I actually lost weight, which frightened us, but then it got much better by the forth of fifth month. We binged watched Amazing Race.

Around this time, we closed on our house and because it needed a lot of work, my nesting period had nothing to do with shopping. We painted, fixed, waited two weeks to get internet. We took a Lamaze class, a breastfeeding class, a “first seventy-two hours with a baby” work shop. We went to infant CPR! My baby shower consisted of my best friend (one of The Godfathers ) flying from Seattle to help the husband get a new bed and to buy me a car seat. (Have I mentioned that my family sucks ass? They do.)

My midwife, who’s actually a very close friend of ours, was amazing! Not only was she a bottomless pit of information, she was understanding, accommodating, respectful, funny, smart, and all around just wonderful, but she has also done unspeakable things to me! (Whatever you do, DO NOT google ‘stripping membranes’!)

My due date was December 9th. By that time, my tolerance for hot sauces and spicy food had increased by ten fold, at least. I was clocking in about a mile walking a day. I danced in my living room for twenty minutes twice a day. But December 9th came and went and nothing. At this point, I was miserable. I had had a cold for months and the only thing I could take for it was garlic tea! I couldn’t see my toes, nothing fit, my back was a disaster, my wedding band didn’t fit, and the husband later told me that I had “man hands” gross! I was lonely, sad, stressed out, and starting to panic about a kid that wasn’t coming.

I had an appointment on my due date, and my midwife said:

“I know you’re miserable, but two things: one, nobody has ever been pregnant for ever and two I’m about to make you very happy”

She then proceeded to tell me to start taking castor oil with orange juice and a shot a vodka, first thing in the morning. I was drunk instantly. For the next two weeks, the contractions would start in the evening, but before they went too long they would stop, and I went to bed. I did labor inducing acupuncture, labor inducing yoga, labor inducing belly dancing. One of the midwives at the center said:

“During the full moon, you need to go to the beach and walk where the ocean meets the sand, that’ll make you go into labor.”

I did that and it didn’t.

Monday December 23rd arrived, forty-two weeks, and I was force to go to the hospital. If you’re doing the math, that’s ten and a half months pregnant. I got admitted.

I know the godfathers were there, but I’ve been told that at one point I kicked them out of the room, threw the oxygen mask at one of the nurses, and just started crying. This is probably true. My poor wonderful doula, was this young tiny little thing, giving me ice chips

“squeeze my hand!” She said at one point

“I can’t! I’m gonna break it!” I said.

Forty hours in, nine centimeters dilated, and the Doctor pulled ranked.

“That’s it. I can’t let you keep going. I’m calling it, we’re going to the OR” She said.

“NOOOOOO!” I said.

For the record, I don’t think I actually said anything, because I was literally passing out between contractions. Just falling on the arms of who ever was holding me. I was then taken to the OR, given an epidural and cut opened. The doctor was a plastic surgeon, so she did a great job. I don’t know how I don’t have a scar.

On December 24th at 1040 pm my kid was born.

My little girl was brought to my arms and the first thing I said was

“Somebody needs to take this cause I’m about to drop it”

Having a kid it’s not for everyone. It was for me. I was born to be this kid’s mom.

This post was inspired by somebody else’s fears.