Your birthday story.
Because you can't pick your parents, I am regret to inform you your story will include some profanity. Your mother's profanity. And as you will one day later know, I didn't even push. So, yeah, ...yaw blessed.
So your Dad & I took a risk. We wanted to be parents. Your parents. One day I'll explain it, but know that we so wanted to know you, we took a big risk. And man, I still cannot believe this life we have because of it.
I've taken 2 pregnancy tests after trying to make a baby. The first time I took it alone, thinking "nah, no way but what the hell," and lo, we were pregnant right away with Daniel. I swore to myself the next time I did this, I would make sure I wasn't alone because me + what I think is a positive test+ all alone = IS NOT SOMETHING THAT SHOULDN'T BE WITNESSED. I quietly spazzed and paced the house with the need to unload and carry on with a string of "Oh My Gods" and "No ways" as I cannot be burdened to carry that level nervous joy and anxiety alone for much longer than, I don't know, 2 minutes? Long enough to Google the test brand's website to make sure I'm reading it right? I don't know.
But when I found out with you, once again I was alone and felt another "ha, what the hell" bravery because of the "it was just one time we tried" and sure enough, there was a very, very faint line and I was like,"I swear I am the poster woman for 'it just takes one time.'" A cameraphone photo or 2 later sent to "the consigliere" as your father calls it, just to make sure I wasn't seeing things (it was one of those early tests so I convinced myself that maybe I'd wanted it so badly I was, in fact, just seeing things), The Consigliere deemed I was seeing nothing other than a positive you.
28 weeks and you already know your angles. Miss Tyra would be so proud.
Carolyn, thrilled does not begin to express it. We were cautious, sure, but my pregnancy with you, though filled with some unfortunate toilet-centric events in the beginning (I still harbor some resentment over your father's ill-advised tuna sandwich which I could smell from upstairs which forced an impressive sprint to the bathroom), and some dire, looney need for Devil Dogs in the end, it was pretty event-free as far as these things go.
Because you were a planned c-section, we found out your birthday about 2 months in advance. June 22nd. It was to be exactly 2 days after Father's Day and 2 days before your Dad's 40th. For this, you got me off the hook for about finding the perfect gift or having to find the energy of throwing a surprise 40th in my last trimester. So thanks, I owe you one.
The very top of the day you were born, 12:01 a.m., your mother could be found in the kitchen, alone, boiling bottles. Yes, this is when I thought it would be a good idea to finally open the packages of new bottles and inherited pumping equipment I'd never bothered to look at and sterilize them. Not that I really knew what I was doing (how long should they be in there before they're considered ok?) but instead of getting my last good night's sleep for a long time, I was trying to clean bottles and pumps over a few boiling pots on the stove. And doing my laundry. And packing my bag.
OKay- I'm going to level with you- this is how I roll, have always been, and I'm sure this'll come into play and impact your life at some point. What I'm saying is, your dad will be in charge of being up in your face about getting college apps in on time.
I don't know what time I got to bed that morning, but I had to be up at 4:30 a.m. to be out the door by 5:30 to be ready to check in for 6:00. I shaved my legs and even manged to get the curling iron to my head. Never think I didn't care about our first meeting. Not ever.
Smile, bitches! It's 5:30!
We checked in ready to be the first surgery at 8:00 but someone else needed the OR ahead of us, and since you were in no hurry to get out (and actually 3 weeks early), we waited for about an hour longer than was planned. In that downtime, I took the time to check out my digs and take my last photo of me pregnant.
Pre-iPhone. Apologies for the Amish quality.
When they had decided to get things going, they had to put in the dreaded IV. Care, your mother has a terrible track record with the IVs. Last time I had one put in, I bit your father. Twice. Like he was a leather strap. They then had to have another doc a 3rd try because the nurse couldn't do it. Good times, that.
So to say I was not looking forward to this part was a bit of an understatement, and begged that they just but it in the crook of my elbow. No dice, but luckily this time, your day, they at least got it on the first try - but not without me breezily commenting, "Fuck,fucking fuckfucker, FUCK!"
The nurse looked up at me and laughed, "I have to say, I didn't see that coming from you." I think it was the dainty pearl earrings that threw her off.
From there, I was transported to the OR. More prep. Some small talk with the nurses. They asked me what I had in mind for names. I said we'd come in with 2 and were still deciding. I told them the two, and one nurse said to me, "I don't know if you can hear it, but the radio is playing "Sweet Caroline" if that helps." I felt like that was a sign- and if nothing else, you have a story.
More needles. This time in my back. This time be a VERY important needle and one I needed to hold very still for. I was informed that I was getting Very Important Back Needle from a resident, so, a doctor who works under the supervision of another top doctor. I wasn't exactly thrilled with this, although I understand that this is how things go, but honestly, I wanted to get the Top Cheese of Needle Experience doing this. Call me old-fashioned. I zipped the lip on my feelings and could feel him cleaning my lower back off. This was not my first time, I knew the drill, but as I am waiting for my warning, the doc just sticks me! Can you believe that guy? My involuntary response to get away from pain kicked in and I jumped a little forward, almost off the table.
"Woah, woah, woah, doc- you gotta count me off before you stick me."
I think Supervisor Doc gave him the "yeah,dummy" nod. We go again, he counts me up, and I only blurt, "BALLS_BALLS_BALLS_BALLS" this time as he's doing it. Because I am a lady.
This cracks up the entire OR. I tell them that was me actually cleaning up my language, based on what the poor nurse had to put up with for the IV and the doctor says to me, "Go ahead, if there's one place where swearing's acceptable, it's in here."
From there it's the matter of waiting to become numb. Numb enough to cut, sure, but also, to insert the catheter. Again, my self-protective instincts kick in and I tell them for I and only *I* will give the green light for this part, as this involved my lady parts and a tube. Hand to God, I pushed them off like 3 times. I somehow feel this is a bragging point.
Waiting for numbness, waiting, oh shit, I think I'm gonna puke, puke, feel better, okay, here we go, we're getting you out...
9:44 you were born weighing 7-11 (I will buy you your first Slurpee, and it should be a blue one.).
My first words upon seeing you wiggle in the doctors hands as he lifted you up over the sheet and hearing you cry:
1. Oh my God.
2. Is she okay? (I just needed to hear you were totally fine)
(a little crying from me)
3. GO TO HER.
(Not pictured: My guts.)
"...and decided to create a dream come true."
Look, you got your Dad to smile a nice (normal) smile. You got skills, kiddo.
"I can feel you heart beat through my shirt. This is all I ever wanted. All I want."