actually, Jeremiah was not a bullfrog
My little-big-guy turned 7 recently. Wow! How did that happen? It doesn't seem all that long ago I drove myself to Baylor's L&D while in labor, pulling over every few minutes to get through a contraction. Ever so vividly I recall, as if just last week, my OB giving her assistant a bad look and asking her if I'd been catheterized because I had just unknowingly peed on her scrubs during a bit of practice pushing. And that memorable episiotomy repair, who would want to forget that med student taking notes while staring between my legs. Gosh, warm fuzzies for sure.
We went to the hospital early that morning as I was in what I'll call severe discomfort because this nearly 8 pounder was trying to make an exit. So, naturally my brain was telling my uterus to squeeeeeeze as tightly as it possibly could in an attempt to evict this squatter who had pitched camp in me for roughly nine months. I was not the happiest preg lady. I did not ever glow, though once a sister did accuse me of that very thing. I was short (I'm not blaming him for that), round, puffy, cranky, hormonal and ready to get this baby out of me.
SO, we went to the hospital early that morning. After being hooked up to all these machines that go bing, we waited to see if I was progressing. Give me a break. Despite my rookie status, I knew that baby wanted out, but more importantly , I knew I wanted it out. Every so often a nurse came by to "check" me, poking fingers here there and everywhere, but by late morning, it was decided I just wasn't ready and was sent home. No, I'm not kidding. What a slap!
I suppose they really don't have the room to let every grumpy laboring mother-to-be moan, groan and writhe in their observation area all day, so we took the party back to our place. Lawson went to work, no I'm not kidding here either, and I got in the shower to spend the next 3 and a half hours, standing, sitting, lying down - I even fell asleep a couple of times until the real hard stuff hit. It wasn't beautiful, it was not akin to ecstasy. Basically it really sucked being all by myself, lying on the floor of a scorching hot shower, kinda feeling sorry for myself, sometimes crying, sometimes cussing. Finally I said "forget" this, called my OB who suggested I come to her office so she could check me out.
Luckily, her office is only about 5 miles from the house. Unluckily, Gaston has oodles of stop lights, and they were all conspiring against me that day. I'm not sure how I wedged myself behind the wheel or if I was even able to buckle my sea tbelt, but I somehow manage to make it there. Apparently, all work and no play that afternoon had not made me a dull boy, but instead it had made me a preg lady dilated to a 7 - OUCH! My OB's nurse insisted on driving me the 4 blocks to the hospital, but I insisted harder because I knew one day I'd blog about it and it would just sound better. They called Lawson for me, telling him to get his hiney back downtown pdq, and I made my way over to the no parking zone in front of the L&D entrance. I may have been an eency bit concerned I'd get towed, then I decided let 'em tow me. Of course they did no such thing.
I found the hallway easily because we'd taken the prepared childbirth class up there (don't waste the $, buy tequila instead) and knew the layout. The large black lady with tall, intricately woven hair who sat behind the desk at the end of the hall checking in the mamas, beckoned me with her skinny fingers, at the end of which were very long jewel encrusted fingernails. She would NOT be the one checking my cervix, praise gawd!
From that point on, details are few, things are blurred (thank you epidural!), a few pushes, a little pee, a few more pushes, I notice Lawson had put my special chenille peppermint socks on me, a spank on the butt, a squeal and there was Jeremiah. Ta-dah! We did not save the placenta to plant a tree on top of it, cryogenically preserve cord blood or pierce his ears immediately, though we did sign him up for circumcision camp the next day, lucky guy. The two days in the hospital were great, they gave me some sex-saay undies, helped me go to the bathroom, no really, they insisted, and I was released when the insurance company thought I must know how to take care of a newborn.
The other day Jeremiah got some pretty neat presents. So where are my cool gifts? Because I'm not counting as party favors the stretch marks, episiotomy scar, decreased sensitivity in my nipples and breasts that lack the structural integrity of a twenty year old as a result of nursing him 18 months. But I'm just picky that way. Oh, now I remember. I got him. All that nutty stuff is more than worth it. Funny how he started out looking like a little cashew, and now he's a handsome, clever little guy. Thank you prenatals, thank you bumped up folic acid mcg's.
Making the decision to have a child - it's monumentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart walking around outside your body. A good friend signs her emails with this Elizabeth Stone quote and I bet she never thought I even read it.
We went to the hospital early that morning as I was in what I'll call severe discomfort because this nearly 8 pounder was trying to make an exit. So, naturally my brain was telling my uterus to squeeeeeeze as tightly as it possibly could in an attempt to evict this squatter who had pitched camp in me for roughly nine months. I was not the happiest preg lady. I did not ever glow, though once a sister did accuse me of that very thing. I was short (I'm not blaming him for that), round, puffy, cranky, hormonal and ready to get this baby out of me.
SO, we went to the hospital early that morning. After being hooked up to all these machines that go bing, we waited to see if I was progressing. Give me a break. Despite my rookie status, I knew that baby wanted out, but more importantly , I knew I wanted it out. Every so often a nurse came by to "check" me, poking fingers here there and everywhere, but by late morning, it was decided I just wasn't ready and was sent home. No, I'm not kidding. What a slap!
I suppose they really don't have the room to let every grumpy laboring mother-to-be moan, groan and writhe in their observation area all day, so we took the party back to our place. Lawson went to work, no I'm not kidding here either, and I got in the shower to spend the next 3 and a half hours, standing, sitting, lying down - I even fell asleep a couple of times until the real hard stuff hit. It wasn't beautiful, it was not akin to ecstasy. Basically it really sucked being all by myself, lying on the floor of a scorching hot shower, kinda feeling sorry for myself, sometimes crying, sometimes cussing. Finally I said "forget" this, called my OB who suggested I come to her office so she could check me out.
Luckily, her office is only about 5 miles from the house. Unluckily, Gaston has oodles of stop lights, and they were all conspiring against me that day. I'm not sure how I wedged myself behind the wheel or if I was even able to buckle my sea tbelt, but I somehow manage to make it there. Apparently, all work and no play that afternoon had not made me a dull boy, but instead it had made me a preg lady dilated to a 7 - OUCH! My OB's nurse insisted on driving me the 4 blocks to the hospital, but I insisted harder because I knew one day I'd blog about it and it would just sound better. They called Lawson for me, telling him to get his hiney back downtown pdq, and I made my way over to the no parking zone in front of the L&D entrance. I may have been an eency bit concerned I'd get towed, then I decided let 'em tow me. Of course they did no such thing.
I found the hallway easily because we'd taken the prepared childbirth class up there (don't waste the $, buy tequila instead) and knew the layout. The large black lady with tall, intricately woven hair who sat behind the desk at the end of the hall checking in the mamas, beckoned me with her skinny fingers, at the end of which were very long jewel encrusted fingernails. She would NOT be the one checking my cervix, praise gawd!
From that point on, details are few, things are blurred (thank you epidural!), a few pushes, a little pee, a few more pushes, I notice Lawson had put my special chenille peppermint socks on me, a spank on the butt, a squeal and there was Jeremiah. Ta-dah! We did not save the placenta to plant a tree on top of it, cryogenically preserve cord blood or pierce his ears immediately, though we did sign him up for circumcision camp the next day, lucky guy. The two days in the hospital were great, they gave me some sex-saay undies, helped me go to the bathroom, no really, they insisted, and I was released when the insurance company thought I must know how to take care of a newborn.
The other day Jeremiah got some pretty neat presents. So where are my cool gifts? Because I'm not counting as party favors the stretch marks, episiotomy scar, decreased sensitivity in my nipples and breasts that lack the structural integrity of a twenty year old as a result of nursing him 18 months. But I'm just picky that way. Oh, now I remember. I got him. All that nutty stuff is more than worth it. Funny how he started out looking like a little cashew, and now he's a handsome, clever little guy. Thank you prenatals, thank you bumped up folic acid mcg's.
Making the decision to have a child - it's monumentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart walking around outside your body. A good friend signs her emails with this Elizabeth Stone quote and I bet she never thought I even read it.
posted by becky at 8:07 AM
<< Home