don't read this if birth stories give you the jeebies (part two)

On the morning of May 9 last year, I talked to a student about the wonders of online learning and paused mid-sentence because of a contraction. I didn't acknowledge to myself that it was a contraction at the time. I thought it was just you kicking me extra hard or your giant body snuggling up to your favorite pillow (my bladder) or maybe a little gas. It was your due date, and I never imagined having you on your due date because we are not that punctual in our family.

By about 3 pm, it was clear that these were contractions, but my water hadn't broken so I couldn't be sure if this was the real thing.

By 4 pm, I asked Daddy to come home because your sister was almost up from her nap, and someone was going to need to take care of her. And also someone needed to take care of me.

By 6:30 pm, we called Baba and Roby to come pick Eiley up. This was happening.

After Eiley left, we timed contractions. This was not very interesting. By 10:30 pm, the contractions were not consistent in strength, and they were generally six or seven minutes apart so we decided to go lay down in bed to rest. I felt terrified of going to the hospital, having a stranger stick his or her hand in me, and getting told to go home, so we were going to waitwaitwait to leave.

By 11:30, the contractions were five minutes apart and it was time to leave. Really a wasted walk up the stairs.

In the ten minute drive to the hospital I had three contractions, and I had two on the walk into the hospital. I then had two at the admitting desk and they let me skip the intake room and go straight to the labor room. This is probably how it feels to skip a grade. It was a relief.

I immediately asked for an epidural. The anesthesiologist came quickly, but he sounded nervous as soon as he saw my awesomely-shaped back. "You have scoliosis!" he declared. I think I nodded at him. I won't tell you what I thought in response because there's a cuss in it.

He numbed the area with a couple of shots, but the memory of the anesthesiologist missing once when I had Eiley filled me with such terror that I sat there shaking and whimpering, Chihuahua-style. He was freaking me out, I was freaking him out. Pretty soon the fear overcame me and I felt like I might faint. Thoughts that quickly passed through my brain: If I pass out, will something horrible happen here? Should I lie down? Or should I risk it for the sake of trying to hold still for the epidural? My vision began to tunnel, so I squeaked, "Is it okay for me to pass out?" and the nurse quickly began to help me onto my side on the bed. Daddy likes to tell everyone that I had you without any drugs. I like to tell everyone that it was not by choice.

Once on my side, I immediately felt certain I was peeing my pants. Somehow mortified (even though there are about a hundred equally embarrassing things that had already happened by that point that hadn't fazed me a bit), I announced my leakiness to the room. And then I made an elegant follow up speech about how I needed to poop. A more together person might have recognized that her water had broken and she needed to push the baby out.

In came the midwife, and about 20 minutes later at around 1 am, out came you! Before the midwife left the delivery room, she asked if she could pray with us. She prayed for you and your little life and I cried like a baby, pardon the analogy.

For a long while after you were born, I looked at you, wondering how on earth such a huge thing had fit inside me. I fretted about your super weird toes that looked like lobster claws. I marveled at the distinct dimple in your chin. And I've basically been staring at you ever since. You continue to surprise me with how easily you smile, your passion for shoes and Buster, and your ability to make Daddy and me laugh. I love you, Margot Mikkele!