Hello Baby. Welcome To Earth.
A Birth Story.
I started feeling contractions around 9:00am on Saturday morning but there’s no way I was in labor.
My water hadn’t broken, I was scheduled to be induced on Tuesday night and besides, I had a mani-pedi scheduled for noon - the first one since I got married in December.
I can’t be in labor. I still need to pack the hospital bag, do a load of laundry, get started on thank you cards from the baby shower and edit a video for work.
“You know what this is?” I tell my husband. “This is because we ate Lupita’s last night. The red hot sauce was really good. I mean, they’re probably gonna tell us to go home and come back on Tuesday as scheduled. We should get Lupita’s again before I’m induced, babe. The flour-corn torti-owwwww….holy shit, what was that?”
I decide to text my doctor who tells me to head to the hospital and 30 minutes later, I find out that I’m 5cm dilated and being admitted because oh my God. I’m having a baby.
Labor
“How’s your pain level right now on a scale of one to ten?”
I’m rocking back and forth on a giant rubber ball while mulling over this question.
”Hmmmm, like a 3-4?”
The nurse shoots me a sideways look. I’m 6cm dilated and this doesn’t seem like the right answer.
John interjects, “She has pretty severe RA so a 3-4 on her scale is probably a 5-6 on someone else’s.”
If there can be a "great” thing about having a chronic pain condition like rheumatoid arthritis, it’s this - you’re so used to being in constant pain that the pain of impending childbirth seems manageable.
The contractions sucked while they were happening and then, the wave crested, receded and I felt OK again.
RA also makes you cognizant of the importance of pain medication and when asked if I wanted an epidural, I told the nurse that if they didn’t give me drugs, I would waddle down to the parking lot and try to score anything I could - weed, horse tranquilizers, Sprite from the McDonald’s soda fountain because I swear there is something weird about that stuff….
Some women opt for a natural, drug-free birth and if that’s their path? Good for them.
Me? Give me the best that medical science has to offer.
The experience of an epidural is an interesting one. Firstly, the needle looks like it belongs in the Seattle skyline and when they jam it into your back, it basically feels like someone is shooting the fires of Mount Doom directly into your spine.
And then, the drugs kick in and you feel great. Everything below your belly button just kinda gets comfortably numb and you find yourself wondering why epidurals don’t come with a champagne chaser.
My right leg was completely numb and I amused myself between contractions by willing myself to move it and failing miserably.
Delivery
A lifetime of pop culture consumption has lead me to believe that delivery involves a human woman essentially turning into the most banshee form of herself - howling, shrieking, wailing and basically destroying the bones and soul of the poor man who lead her to this moment.
My experience wasn’t like that and I credit that to a few things - amazing medical professionals, amazing drugs and amazing husband.
The L&D nurses at Palms West might just be the greatest people to walk the earth. Knowledgable, calm, supportive and kind, they reiterate the notion that nursing is about care and I felt so safe and well looked-after in the delivery room because of them.
My OB is pretty great too. He came into the delivery room, looks me up and down and goes, “I have a question for you.”
I assume he’s going to ask about pain or my epidural or something.
“What do you think about this new Supreme Court Justice pick?”
To which my response was, “Jesus, Doc. You wanna get a cardiologist in here because I might need one. Nominating a Handmaid’s Tale cosplayer spits on the legacy of RBG. She once said, “I ask no favor for my sex. All I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.” Well, this woman is jamming her ugly pump directly into my jugular.”
This is a pretty brilliant strategy because it evaporated any residual anxiety I might have had about giving birth and it gave me a chance to yell about politics.
This lead to a short conversation about Roe v. Wade and before I knew it, I was riled up and ready to push.
I pushed when they told me to push, I breathed deep, I white-knuckled the Oh Shit bars on the hospital bed and at one point during a particularly intense push, I said, “This is really hard and I deserve very nice things,” which cracked up the nurses.
But it’s true - childbirth is hard and I do deserve very nice things.
Like this.
I discussed the drugs earlier but to reiterate - the tape to remove after the epidural stings more than the injection itself. Epidurals are the good shit and if you have one, see if you can sneak in an adult beverage to accompany it.
In the shitshow year of Our Lord 2020, I believe we’ve all earned this kind of treat.
And finally, my husband.
I walked down the aisle to Hans Zimmer’s You’re So Cool from True Romance for three reasons:
It’s probably the prettiest piece of music I’ve ever heard in my life.
The movie is phenomenally entertaining - gritty, violent, weirdly romantic and so fucking cool. Also, Christian Slater and Brad Pitt with a bong made out of a honey bear which is just perfect.
John is the coolest guy I know. Obviously, I love the guy but I also like and respect him so much. He’s got this great sense of self-possession that immediately puts me at ease.
After one really intense push, I heard the doctor say, “Come here, Daddy. You’re gonna deliver your son.”
I’m sorry, what?
You want him to do what?
Are you sure you want the accountant to deliver my child?
Because you know that he’s my baby and not a tax return, right?
But, John stepped up and handled the challenge like a champ - pulling Will out into the real world, cutting his umbilical and placing him delicately on my chest.
Oh my God. I just had a baby.
My son.
Our son.
Laying on my chest.
I can see him, smell him, touch him.
Will.
You’re here, buddy. You’re here. Hi. I’m your mama. Hey kiddo. Welcome to earth.
Talking with his hands - definitely my son.
Things I’ve Learned From This Experience
Lupita’s hot sauce will induce labor.
Pregnancy, labor and delivery is wildly different for every woman and every single woman who goes through this process deserves Very Nice Things. Hell, women who don’t go through pregnancy, labor and delivery deserve Very Nice Things because historically? We’ve kinda gone through enough shit and we’re over it.
Asian Pear Hospital Underwear sucks. Get yourself the Always Disposable Underwear instead.
Nurses are better humans beings than either you or I.
You need to be inordinately kind to yourself after giving birth.
I had to learn a whole bunch of stuff really quickly while healing from pushing a human out of my body and being sleep-deprived. Breastfeeding, in particular, is hard and it takes time, effort and patience.
I had a moment the other day where try as I might, I couldn’t get Will to latch.
I was frustrated, exhausted, sore from the stitches and this was just….a lot.
I went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and said to myself, “You feed everyone. You literally tell people that everybody eats when they come to your house. You pride yourself on this and you can’t feed your own son. What’s wrong with you? Are you broken?”
Which, holy fucking shit - what the hell kind of emotional terrorism is that?
That’s the kind of poison that makes Regina George look like Lucy Moderatz.
Or Melania Trump look like….herself.
If someone said that to any woman I know, I would knock out their teeth, string them together with some murano beads and give the necklace to their mother as proof that they raised a ghoul of a human being.
If I wouldn’t let someone talk this way to someone I know, so why is it OK for me to say this to myself?
It’s not - I deserve kindness and compassion. From others and especially from myself.
We all do. I mean, guys. You’ve been around this year. It’s been a goddamn nightmare.
So, I’m being patient, I’m being more gentle with myself and I’m telling the heat-seeking missile of emotional terrorism inside me to pipe the fuck down and honestly? Where was this bitch when I was dealing with that rotten girl in 7th grade? Coulda used her then, don’t need her around now.
As usual, Bukowski was right - “Like the fox, I run with the hunted and if I'm not the happiest man on earth. I'm surely the luckiest man alive.” Not only do I get to be a mom, i get to be Will’s mom. Oh my God….how did I get this lucky?
I’ve been writing to Will ever since I found out he existed and don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. But it’s past 1:00am and almost time for another feeding, so I’m keeping this one short:
Hey Will.
It’s Mom.
Welcome to the team, kiddo.
We have never been more happy to meet someone and we can’t wait to spend our lives together.
We love you so much.
Love:
Mommy and Daddy.
