Darius was due on June 1st. On June 2nd, I went to my OBGYN for our weekly visit. I told her that I was done being pregnant. She told me to wait another week and then we’d talk of induction. The week had nearly passed. I swear in that one week I had gained 15 lbs. My legs were so swollen. I no longer had feet. I suffered with pregnancy induced insomnia.
By some sort of miracle, I feel asleep that night around 12:30. It was the first time in two weeks that I had made it to bed before 3am. An hour later, I woke up with a startle. I had peed the bed. I was so embarrassed. Here I am the size of a whale and I just peed the bed. But then when I got up, I actually felt the need to pee. Who pees the bed, wakes up, and then pees again? I remembered the teacher from the birthing class talk about how many women confuse their water breaking for peeing. And the way to tell the difference is to smell the liquid. Yes folks, pee has a distinct well pee smell. And amniotic fluid does not. So I did what any desperate pregnant woman the size of a whale would do...
I woke up Neville and made him smell my pants. Yeah, that’s why I love the man. He didn’t even question me when I asked him to smell me. Total and complete love, people.
Thirty minutes later we were at the hospital where I was being hooked up to fetal monitors and getting the usual pokes and prods. I hadn’t had a contraction yet. Nothing was happening. We sat in the labor and delivery room staring at my enormous belly as if to say “Well…. Do something already.”
As soon as Neville found out that I could get all the free juice I wanted, he started demanding that I put in juice requests. The man must have drunk a gallon of juice in an hour. You’d think that he was more excited about the juice than the fact that we were about to become parents.
Around 5:30am we started to call family. My dad first since he gets up at 4:45am every day. Then my mom since she had the furthest to travel. My contractions were barely contractions. I have experienced worse menstrual cramps that those early contractions. When our family would ask me how I was doing, I responded with “I’m fine. I think I can do this naturally.”
Of course, as soon as you use the word “natural” your body has to play a cruel trick and make sure that you really know what a contraction feels like. Within an hour, I had dilated to nearly 5cm. The contractions were only managed by me crying uncontrollably through it. The nurse offered a narcotic to “take the edge off.” I agreed.
Five minutes of pain free bliss were all that the narcotic would give me. It would be another hour before I’d be able to get another 5 minutes of reprieve. And so I reluctantly accepted the epidural. Neville was against it but supportive of my decision. I swear the anesthesiologist was in the room within 15 minutes. But by 7am, I was no longer in pain. And my mom had arrived.
The epidural allowed me to rest for an hour. But I couldn’t get comfortable in the bed. And my left leg had gone completely limp. It was such a weird sensation. Neville got cut off from the juice as the nurse was afraid I’d throw up since I was “drinking all the juice.” Little did she know that it was really Neville. And now I was really thirsty and had to bargain for ice chips.
Around 8:15, the pressure from the contractions was unbearable. My mom and Neville did their best to massage my lower back where the pain was too much. They did well dealing with my bi-popular responses to each contraction. “Touch me there.” “Stop touching me!” “Hold my hand” “STOP TOUCHING ME!!!”
By 9:00, I was fully dilated. And ready to push. The midwife came in and my mother left the room. Neville and I wanted to do this alone. Well, him, me, the midwife, RN, and whoever else from the hospital staff that happened to be there. The epidural was turned down so that I could feel the contractions better. Neville and the nurse got me into position. And then we waited.
And waited.
20 minutes later, the midwife advised to administer pitocin. They added it to my drip. And then we waited.
And waited.
20 minutes later I thought that maybe I wanted to push. So we tried. But nothing happened. And so the epidural was turned completely off. And the pitocin was turned way up.
Finally, around 10:00am I felt the need to push. And push I did. Over and over again. I really don’t need to go into the details. The pushing piece it really not a part of the story that I want to relive. Let’s just say that it isn’t any fun.
10 minutes into pushing, I decided that I was over it. I really didn’t want to push any more. I told the midwife I was done.
She looked me straight in the eye and said “The only one who can get this baby out is you. So push, honey. Push.”
10 minutes later, our baby boy was born. The midwife placed him on my chest. I was so out of it. He looked like an alien. Covered in gooey stuff. His eyes were swollen. His mouth puckered. Reality had not set in. I did not just give birth to a baby. My baby. This did not just happen.
Neville was instantly bonded. He followed the nurse as she weighed, measured, and tested our infant son. I asked for a cup of water.
The card on his hospital bassinet read:
Baby boy
8 lbs, 7 oz
20 inches
10:20am
June 9, 2004
A day later we would name him Darius and bring him home. When I laid him in his bassinet for the first time, it finally hit me. I was a mom. And this teeny, tiny child was mine.
