Baby Girl

Here's my birth story. Feel free to skip it if it's not your thing. But remember, you've all got moms who have one of these stories.

Will this baby ever come? That's what I was thinking, five days before my due date. I tried nipple stimulation like they say in the books, but The Old Man just looked at me funny when I rubbed his little nubs through his shirt.

Annie and B came over on the 17th, and we had some girl laughs and Annie rubbed my swollen feet. I'd like to think this feminine energy laid the groundwork for the next couple of days.

I woke up on the 19th and four hours later had a baby. My husband and I thought we would have more time. With The Kid, I was in painful labor for over 24 hours.

"I feel funny," I told The Old Man, while I was on hands and knees in the bathroom. "I don't think I'm going to work today."

He started timing contractions and then gave up, because they were too close together.

In between primal screams, The Kid was making me giggle. He was following me around with the camera, his favorite hobby. What we tell our children is always reflected back to us. "Does your tummy hurt, Mommy?" he asked. "Drink some water. Go poop, you'll feel better."

"I need a Tylenol," I told The Old Man, as I was mimicking the ooh, aah death scene of Paul Reubens as Amilyn, the evil guy sidekick, in the orginal 1992 Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie. "I think we need to call your parents, and we need to call R." The contractions were powerful, painful. R is my coworker, who had agreed to take care of The Kid while I was in the hospital and before The Old Man's parents could make the five hour drive to take care of him.

"Let's wait a little," said The Old Man.

Nope, no way, nuh uh. I called R, The Old Man called his parents.

The nurse on the phone said to go to the hospital right away, and if I felt like I needed to push, to stop and call an ambulance. The Old Man started packing at 8:00 am. Got The Kid ready to go. I took a shower, alternating on hands and knees and then back up when a contraction had passed. We got The Kid to the car, the hospital bag loaded. The Old Man couldn't find his keys and went back inside. I was on the sidewalk on hands and knees moaning, dreading sitting in the passenger's seat.

Finally, we were in the car.

"Let's go to a restaurant," The Kid said.

I screamed. I held The Old Man's hand. He was making eye contact with me and held my hand through the pain. He was crying a little, just like the last time when I was in labor with The Kid. Every time I looked in his eyes I grabbed a little strength.

R was already at the hospital. We all walked up to the third floor. No one offered me a wheelchair, which was good, because I would have refused. Some sort of pride thing, which seems fuzzy to me now.

I checked in, and The Old Man and I walked to the labor and delivery room which took a while because I had to grab the wall and moan every five steps. R and The Kid were in the waiting room.

It was 9:10 AM. The nurse checked and said I was 9 cm dilated. I told The Old Man to go get The Kid and R on their way, put the car seat in her car, etc. I thought we'd have time.

Not two minutes later the nurse told me it was time to push and asked if I wanted to wait for my husband.

Nope, no way, nuh uh.

A frickin' angel of a nurse held my hand and coached me. Twenty minutes passed. "Where is her husband?" I heard.

Turns out he got The Kid loaded in the car, and right afterwards The Kid needed to go potty, so they ran back in with him so he could go. The Old Man finally got back up to the third floor. "Hurry," the nurses said.

"Really?" he asked.

"Run!" they said.

The Old Man showed up out of breath. The nurses told me they could see the head and it would be only two minutes of pushing. Yeah, right, I thought. The Old Man told me that he could see the head too.

The pain can only be described as a ripping-open sensation that you cause yourself, to get your baby out. Angel Nurse pointed out I was the only one who could make this baby come, and pushing hard was the only way to do it. Good point.

"Do you want an epidural?" A nurse asked.

"Will it help?" I asked.

"No, you're probably too far along and it would slow things down."

"Then, um, no thanks," I said.

Eye roll.

Two minutes later, Baby Girl was born. And yep, the pain is gone instantly once the baby is in the world. No drugs, just two Motrin afterwards.

The Old Man and I felt like we had woken up, done some work, and then there we were with a family of four and a light lunch offering from the hospital staff. Turkey wrap, anyone?

The next 24 hours were full of nurses and breastfeeding and blood work and checking my vitals and the baby's vitals. What I remember the most is how happy The Old Man was. The guy doesn't grin very often. I think he was grinning in his sleep on the squeaky plastic chair during the night. Kissing him when he's smiling is one of the best feelings in my whole world.

When we were getting ready to leave the hospital, I had a moment alone with Baby Girl. She looks like The Old Man's side of the family. Black hair, not red, thank the good lord and all the Angel Nurses in the universe.

There she was, in my arms. Easy is relative, of course. Three hours of bone-splitting pain is nothing to sneeze at. Still, it felt easy. There she was, despite the fact that she was accidentally conceived, despite my depression throughout the pregnancy, despite us. Completely relaxed in my arms. A new soul on the planet, her first day. Sarcasm and self-pity and wit and humor and clever words had no place in that moment when she opened her eyes and looked at me. What we tell our kids is reflected back to us. It seemed like in that moment she was telling me that she forgave all my drama, and was simply saying hello.

A young nurse walked in, and saw me crying. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"These are good tears," I said. "Don't worry."