I'm Still Here!

Well, here I am. After a 1 year hiatus, I have rejoined the land of the bloggers and decided to pen (type?) the beginning of my story as a mother. Folks, prepare to be awed and amazed!

First of all, my little baking lasagna decided to arrive on February 8, 2007. Due date was the 1st, but baby had other plans...I left work on Friday, February 2, with high hopes of delivering before the weekend was out. Nevermind that nothing - and I mean nothing - was going on inside my ginormous belly. The days passed...I walked on the treadmill as fast as I could, I ran errands all over town, I dilligently cleaned the house - even the basement - willing the baby to get the heck out! I wasn't uncomfortable, I was just so darn anxious to meet the little one that I could hardly contain myself.

On February 7, I began contractions and for the entire day, I grimaced through the pain of every five minutes contractions. I even made a trip to the hospital (I swear they told me to!) and was embarassingly sent home after an hour. So, I ate the spiciest salsa known to man and paced the house. I stretched out on my exercise ball. I drank chamomile tea. I took a bath, a shower...I watched my beloved Jayhawks play the hated KSU Wildcats in pain and could barely enjoy the victory. During the night, I'd sleep for 1-2 minutes at a time between contractions. I was exhausted. At 5 in the morning, I took another shower and hubby said, forget it, we're going. I've seen enough! Of course, I had to put make up on (don't tell me you wouldn't) and make sure the hair was somewhat in tact.

We settled in at about 6 in the morning and I had made it to a 3. At this point, I was still opting for no drugs (stupidly) and an hour or so later, I found myself agreeing to something to "take the edge off". Hmmm. Not so much...no edges touched, let alone taken off. I felt like a drunkard on spring break. Hideous. When I got to about a 5, the nurse simply stated, "You don't have to be a hero. Get the epidural." Consider it done. By this time I was so exhausted and needed a break from laboring through contractions for 24 + hours, I figured I'd done enough. The true work would begin later and I wanted to rest up. I remember being checked and the nurse saying baby's heartbeat would rise when she would tickle its head. I was getting so excited. The next few hours passed - I tried to sleep a little, chatted with the family and waited for the time to come. I slowed down, then progressed from 5-9 with pitocin and was told that by noon I'd be pushing. They weren't lying...at 12:15ish, I began and it was so hard. But easy. Can that be possible? Somehow, my body knew how to push, my head was going to explode...hubby said he thought my veins would burst. The doctor and family were exactly how I wanted them - everyone was relaxed, we all talked between pushes and baby got a little closer each time.

Now, I just want to remind you all (first time preggers, especially) to never, never look at your reflection in the tv hanging on the wall. You know what it looks like down there, ladies. I did - I peeked at the urging of the nurse (who the hell are you, lady?) and saw a bursting mess with a baby's head barely peeking through. Yes, yes, it sounds beautiful and wonderful, but it's not a sight for sore eyes by any means. The good news was that I actually could see the baby. It had tons of hair. A little moppet! Was it a girl? A boy? Who was this person that I had already begun to love enormously?

I pushed for about 45 minutes and at 1:03pm, the little one was born...a boy!!! Jack Everett, he would be named...Jack because we loved it, Everett after my beloved, wonderful Grandpa who'd passed away less than a year before (I'm crying just typing those words). I can't describe how I felt when he finally came out...love, relief, exhilaration, joy...so many emotions all tied up into this little wonder. He came in at 7lbs 2oz and 19.5 inches long. He hollered and my fabulous doctor and nurse laid him on my chest and I was in heaven. Nevermind that I was open legged on a table surrounded by my sister, mom, dad, and husband, or that we were both covered in gunk...it was the best moment of my life. He was perfect...a mop of delicious brown hair and dark blue eyes. We all cried at this amazing little person and I looked at my husband and loved him even more. I loved this baby. Baby love is incredible...it's instant and wonderful. There's nothing like it in this world. I felt like I had joined a secret club that only moms know about. Jason took him out into the hallway (I can't believe they let him do this!) and he lifted him in the air to a deliriously happy waiting room full of family members - who at several points during the labor had listened anxiously by the door. Did I mention that photos were being snapped and by some wondrous event, my lip gloss had stayed in tact the entire morning. So there I am, tears running down my face with this baby wrapped in my arms, with a delicious sheen of whatever flavor I threw on that morning. My vanity was still in tact and I managed to look decent. Any mother will tell you that it's paramount to look presentable because millions of pictures will be taken and no one wants to look like they actually did just give birth. Ha.

Now, I will not tell you about the events that ensued "down there" because that would just be unladylike, and we all know that if anything, I am a lady. For the rest of the day, I think we were the McDonalds of the hospital...over 1 billion served. The line of visitors and well-wishers was endless...and although I was thrilled that we had so many loved ones, I just wanted to sit and stare at my swaddled little delight. He looked just like me. He really did! Our baby pictures are identical. And I have to say, that something inside of me was so pleased...I felt like he lived in me and I worked hard for him and to have a little mini-me was just the most darling thing. I wanted him to be all mine. I never wanted to let him out of my sight.

I skipped over the nursing part. I didn't mean to do that to all of you devoted readers...but within an hour of being born, I was nursing my baby for the first time. It was amazing. I didn't know how I would feel, but I immediately felt a bond with him that I cannot put into words. I loved that he needed me so much because I needed him more.. I loved that this was our private time. No one else could share these moments with him.

During the course of the night, we did allow Jack to go to the nursery...we were advised to get rest and relaxation over the night because we needed it. Poor hubby slept on a ridiculous reclining chair. I seem to recall being invaded by the nurses twice...taking blood and what the hell, did she really ask me if I had farted lately? What was that about? Did I mention that the shrew turned on the light for this nonsense? Did she not see the lamp next to the bed of steel I was laying on? Not that it mattered, I was so tired I could have slept outside on the sidewalk.

When I woke up in the morning and remembered that I was a mom and that my life was forever altered, I was so happy. It was real. He was here and I couldn't wait to get him home. But first I had to shower - possibly the most exquisite shower I have ever taken. I was timid and sore and moving pretty slowly, but things were good. The numbing spray was working! Going to the bathroom was a whole other experience...changing my "diaper" (oh lord), spraying the hot water all over myself (random, but delightful) and gently tending to my war wounds. Sounds bad, but it's not. It's not great, but it's worth it.

Jack's go-home outfit was huge! It was a newborn and it was hanging off his little body. What a peanut he was...he couldn't even muster up the energy to open his eyes during the picture. We carted him off with all of our equipment, bags, pillows, and the rest of the cargo and headed home where we'd begin our new lives as a family.