I was going to do this for Talmage's birthday, but, you know, life happened full of details that I can't remember right now and I'm a good month late. But with the current state of pregnancy I'm in right now, I'm worried I'm going to forget my experience of labor with Talmage, so I thought I'd document it in celebration of the three year and roughly one month anniversary of his birth.
Credit and props to Dooce, maybe the most intelligent and witty woman in Salt Lake, for the format of this entry. (The writing teacher in me also feels compelled to tell you that she lifted it from someone else, and rather than link you to the original source, I'm just sending you to Dooce's site. Scandalous.) I fully admit to not being the most intelligent and witty woman in Salt Lake, so I apologize if this is not that intelligent or funny. History, people. I'm documenting it for history.
September 9. 37 weeks pregnant. My doctor (heretofore knows as The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara) tells me that I'm dialated to about a 4 and that I'm 60% effaced. She also tells me that this isn't necessarily anything to get excited about and that it could be several more weeks before the baby is ready to come. I of course ignore that last part and plan on having my boy the next day.
September 10. While continuing to tell everyone that I'm still not sure about the name, I buy and paint wooden blocks spelling T-A-L-M-A-G-E. Because while I'm not sure about it, that is clearly the most important part of getting ready for a baby. The Pottery Barn style letters on the wall.
September 11. I have dinner at my mom's house. She asks me if my Master's thesis is written. (It's not, by the way.)
September 12-22. Mom continues to ask if my Master's thesis is written.
September 23 about noon. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara tells me at my 39 week appointment that my body is very ready to have a baby. I thought that's what she told me two weeks earlier. But I have Group B Strep, a problem that can be cleared up easily with a round of penicillin, and so maybe I should go home and talk to my husband about when I want to have a baby. I say, "Leave my husband out of it. I want to have a baby right now." She calls the hospital and they are full, so she tells me to go home and wait for them to call me.
September 23, 1:00 pm. I call my mother and tell her "I'M GOING TO HAVE A BABY TODAY!" She responds, "Sounds like you have a couple of hours. Maybe you should get your thesis written." I passively aggressively ignore her and her misplaced faith in my ability to write roughly 120 pages in two hours and instead clean the fridge.
September 23, 4:00 pm. Fridge is clean. Still waiting for the hospital to call.
September 23, 4:05 pm. I decide that maybe if I stare at the phone it will ring faster.
September 23, 4:06 pm. I intensify the staring.
September 23, 6:00 pm. We take Lu on her last walk as the most cherished member of our family. We get Cafe Rio to go. Still waiting for that phone call.
September 23, 11:00 pm. Still no call.
September 24, 3:00 am. The hospital calls with a bed for me. I tell them I'll be there in 15 minutes. I have a momentary crisis, because I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to wear my LDS underwear to the hospital, so I instead shimmy a lacy black lingerie-style thong up over my pregnant thighs and hitch it up under my swollen and stretch-marked belly.
3:20 am. I arrive at the hospital and they direct me to a room. I change into a hospital gown.
3:24 am. The nurse arrives to hook me up. She spots my lingerie in the corner and very courageously stays composed. I'm sure a career with angry pregnant and soon to not be pregnant women who spend much of the time screeching in pain will do that to you.
4:00 am. They start me on a penicillin drip and hook me up to pitocen.
4:01 am. I ask the nurse if my eyes should be itching and and my lips should be swelling.
4:02 am. The nurse turns down the penicillin.
5:00 am. I feel the first contractions. Kind of a tightening. I decide other women are whiners.
8:00 am. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara shows up to deliver the baby. She is in green scrubs, with navy pumps and a full strand of freshwater pearls. She decides I'm ready and breaks my water.
8:05 am. I came fully planning on an epidural (really, do I need to know what the pioneers experienced when I was born with a full complement of painkillers available?) but the nurse assures me I should wait until I really feel something. Tyler leaves to go get breakfast and I figure I'll wait until he gets back.
8:06 am. The first real contraction hits. I feel something.
8:20 am. How long can it take Tyler to throw down a bowl of Cheerios? I'm ready for a nice breakfast of a stick in the mouth with a side of morphine.
8:40 am. If Tyler isn't back in 5 minutes, not only am I getting an epidural without him, but I am also refusing to change any diapers. For any of our kids. Ever.
8:43 am. Tyler returns. I immediately send him to get the anesthesiologist.
8:53 am. The anesthesiologist enters and begins to analyze my state. On a scale of one to ten I tell him I feel like an eight.
8:54 am. I vomit all over the room. It's a pretty convincing eight.
8:57 am. The epidural is in. I decide drugs are the most glorious invention of mankind. I'm ready for more. Any propositions to ammend the constitution and legalize marajuana? I'm ready to sign.
9:30 am. Tyler and I decide to watch a movie. We pick Top Gun.
11:30 am. Top Gun isn't as good as you remember.
2:00 pm. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara comes in and tells me I'm at a 10 and ready to go. The nurse turns down my epidural so I can feel the contractions to push against.
2:30 pm. I'm sure Tyler could give you more details from this part. I elected not to have a mirror so I could skip over these details. I'm sure you'd like to as well.
3:00 pm (ish). I push Talmage out. He is 8 lbs. 3 oz. and 22 inches long.
3:03 pm. Tyler has taken roughly 163 pictures.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
If only I could remember all my kid's births so well. Impressive Laura. What was Tyler's excuse when he returned 40 minutes later?
ReplyDeleteI like the format--easy to read, easy to remember.
ReplyDeleteYou really wore lacy black undies to the hospital? I wore Gs because I figured as soon as I got there anyway I'd be going commando for 3 days. :)
I've decided that the craziness/intensity/insanity level of the birth of each of the babies has turned out to be a good indicator of their personalities (so far....going 7 year only, though). I say write it all down in detail so that you can use it to make them feel guilty in 15 years when they're driving you nuts.
ReplyDeleteps- I think we should start a neighborhood writing group...
ReplyDeleteThat is hilarious! Especially the thong! I am pretty sure you don't need to leave your garments home. You are quite the trooper! You should be writing for "The Office" or some such comedy show!
ReplyDeleteentertaining and funny:)- esp the part about you wearing a sexy thong to the hospital to have your baby:)
ReplyDeleteImpressive for roughly 3 years later! Very funny too. Although I bet you weren't laughing much at the time!
ReplyDelete