What Have I Done to Deserve This?

I never know how much detail people want about things like birth stories and transitioning to motherhood and all that crap. On the one hand, I loved reading others, because I think this is one area where there is not enough information from real people, no matter HOW many people tell their stories, at least to those who are thinking about making the leap themselves. On the other, my God, really? Does anyone care about tearing in the hoo-ha other than the person who is torn? Really?

I’m forging ahead anyway, because I don’t want to forget and because again, dude, I was a sponge for this sort of stuff before I experienced it myself.

And first of all, let me say that everything so far has been way more pleasant — nay, MUCH MORE FUN — than I ever imagined, but again, let me remind you that I was expecting BAMBOO SHOOTS in my fingernails and misery the likes of which I’d never seen. But, just as many of you warned, I could not have anticipated how happy I would be to see and spend time with my daughter outside of the confines of my body. So yes, it’s hard. Yes, it has moments of flat-out ohmygodwhatthehell, but for me, it’s been a thousand times better than I expected. I can’t believe how happy I am, and I am honestly flabbergasted by how much I love her.

I am amazed and astounded and more than a little humbled at how beautiful she is, how lucky I am and … well. No one could have prepared me for any of THAT, I tell you. And I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it, but I am beyond grateful. And also a newfound sap. How lovely for everyone.

Onward! To birth! Though I had no real birth plan to speak of, there WERE four things that I was hoping to skip heading into this whole thing, and one of them surprised even me:

1) Pitocin. I’d heard horror stories of the miserable labors it wrought, not to mention higher incidence of C-sections (see: fear of strapped-down Jesus arms), and I was, apparently, secretly hoping that I would go into labor on my own so I could see if I could hack it.

2) Epidural. I know! Shocker for me, too! But remember, my birth instructor scared me, and I still harbored terror of the death/paralysis portion, thanks to hippie birthy lady and her fearmongering. So really, trust me, this wasn’t because I’m all NATURAL and shit, it was because I was TOO SCARED.

3) Tearing in places the sun doesn’t shine. Does ANYONE want this?

4) Um, that thing that really should be #2, if you know what I’m saying. As in the appearance of that number during, um, LABOR. And uh, whose list of “wants” does this TOP? Or even MAKE?

Let us guess what happened during labor, folks. ALL FOUR OF THESE THINGS. Sorry for the detail, but I could have used someone admitting to #4 before I’d gone in there and been so freakin’ horrified. (I even SAID SOMETHING ABOUT IT DURING PUSHING, so upset was I.) So there. I’m admitting it. Now you know. It happens to real people, not just the vague, “Will I or won’t I?” statistical people designed to make you feel better. So if it happens to you, know that it happened to me and was so not a big deal. Let me repeat, it was SO NOT A BIG DEAL AT ALL.

My water broke with a pop at 6 a.m. during a dream I was having about, uh, Cheech & Chong. I don’t know why I remember this, but I was having a conversation with Cheech Marin when I woke to a weird little start somewhere in the general vicinity and when I hit the bathroom, I KNEW.

And off we went, where I was monitored and checked out and sent away … to breakfast, to see if I started labor on my own. It was quite the joy telling my parents over pancakes that no, I wasn’t in the hospital, I was at Henry’s Diner giving the hostess a heart attack when she overheard that my water broke, fearing the birth of an infant on her nice clean floors.

Needless to say, I started nothing but the mildest of contractions, and with bigtime water breakage, the risk of infection increases after six or more hours, and though I hated to do it, I reluctantly welcomed Pitocin into my life. Fuck.ing. Pit.O.Cin. Not only does it come with a mandatory IV of, you know, PITOCIN, but it also includes bags and bags of fluids to ensure that you’re peeing every ten seconds and puffed out like a balloon with Hobbit feet. Oh, and a fetal monitor, that, even though wireless and waterproof, SO does not stay on during contractions, requiring an L&D nurse TOUCHING YOU during contractions, which is basically THE LAST THING YOU WANT.

Oh yes, PLEASE. Touch me and hover in my ear while I’m enduring agony the likes of which I’ve never SEEN.

And the contractions! HA HA. That seems to imply that there was more than ONE GIANT SUICIDAL CONTRACTION, because even though they were two minutes apart, they were not dying down between, and no matter what I tried — the birthing ball, the bathtub, walking around — I was a sniveling MESS and in so much pain I thought I’d die. Oh, and while in the bathtub, I got pummeled by a rogue birthing ball that appeared out of NOWHERE, clonking me on the head mid-contraction while again, a nurse hovered over my ridiculous naked body telling me to picture my baby heading down the “tight turtleneck of my cervix” and wasn’t that a great visual to get me through it?

No. No, it wasn’t, and I told her so, after I deflected the birthing ball hurtling towards my head. That sounds like it hurts, right? THE TIGHT TURTLENECK OF THE CERVIX. WHAT A MOTIVATING VISUAL.

Anyway, after four hours, I’d had enough and sobbed my way through the epidural, grilling the pants off of the anesthesiologist over and over again saying things like, “Please don’t let me die or be paralyzed. No, really, I WANT TO WALK.” To his credit, he indulged me every time, explaining that no no, I would survive, really, don’t worry. And he was right, because I actually felt my legs and could walk through the whole rest of labor if I wanted to. Which again, is a fact I did not know was feasible. Birth: a learning experience!

Clearly, it made a bit of a difference:

It also sped things up incredibly, and within the hour of having the epidural, I went from five to nine centimeters and HOLLA! There was pushing, and let me just say that the epidural spared me ZERO of the ah, BEAUTY that is childbirth and ramming a kid out of your Special Lady Area (TM Emily) and an hour after that? Well. As much as I hate to be a walking cliche, let me just say that it was the single greatest moment of my life, bar none.

I think I said, “It’s you! It’s you! It’s YOU!” over and over again, because she was, of course, weirdly familiar, with a hearty cry and freakishly large feet. And even while they, ahem, stitched me up — talking through the finer points as they TAUGHT A RESIDENT how to stitch a vagina (“Heather, see how this tear is angled like this? Let me show you how to stitch that …” SERIOUSLY.), I didn’t care or even notice, because she was here, she was healthy and oh, my fracking God, I’d do it all over again, a thousand times, I swear I would.

(TOTAL SAP. TOLD YOU.)

Today? I want twelve babies. Octomom better move her ass over, is what I’m saying.

Then again, I’m pretty sure I’ll change my mind about this. But if they’re all like her? HELL YES SIGN ME UP.

(I don’t think I really mean that. Right?)

(I will post more pictures of her, but Adam keeps hogging the camera and downloading them before I can see them.)

Happy whatever day today is! I have NO IDEA!

*Pet Shop Boys

119 comments March 12th, 2009