I remember sitting on the table when the doctor peered over the stirrups telling me I was at 4cm. Even though I had read all the books you're supposed to read, this didn't seem like any big deal to me. It also didn't sink in that I had not felt one contraction up to this point.
The doctor also knew all of this and decided that it was gonna take my water breaking for me to realize I was in labor so we planned on inducing me two days later.
It was the last Friday of my Christmas break and seemed as good a day as any to have this baby. I asked the doc how big he thought my son was going to be. I'm not a big girl at only 5'2" and only gained 129 lbs with the pregnancy weighing in at 135 lbs (I would kill to weigh that now.) He looked me up & down & replied that the kid should only be around 6-7 lbs especially since I was still 8 days before my actual due date.
I leave the appointment and go home. The fact that the pregnancy is coming to an end still hasn't sunk in. It still feels like every other day to me. I pack the bag and make the calls. Since it's an induction, my entire family starts making arrangements to come in town that weekend. It still isn't sinking in what is about to happen.
Fast forward to Thursday night: it starts to hit me what I will be doing the next morning. I lay in bed, watch tv & freak out. How was I going to have a kid? Why couldn't I just stay pregnant just a little bit longer? What if it hurt too much? What if I couldn't do it? I might have gotten 3 hours of sleep when it was time to go to the hospital.
We arrive, they hook me up to everything and get the pitocin started. Still no problem. I talk to my friends, watch tv & even play cards with my boyfriend. I start progressing, but not too quickly. My OB at the time was an older man and had been practicing medicine since the beginning of time. Not to say he wasn't skilled, but definitely old school. I will never forget the terror when the nurse came in and told me it was time for the enema. If it happened now, I would flat out refuse and tell the doctor he could give it to himself. But it wasn't now, it was then. And then I was 17 and scared shitless. Literally. Things came out that I had no idea they were in there. Hands down? That was the worst part ever having kids.
After the nastiness, the doctor checked my progress and broke my water. Without warning me. People, I thought I peed on myself & started apologizing. He laughed and told me what happened. After that was when the contractions started. Prior to the water breaking, I had yet to know what an actual contraction was. I could see them happening on my fancy monitor but didn't feel it. Post water breaking? It hurt like a mother and I quickly agreed to the epidural.
The anesthesiologist prepped me for the epi even though I was truly shaking like a leaf. I knew how big the needle was and had heard horror stories about how bad it could be. They were fabulous and kept me talking even though I was having hellacontractions at the moment. It wasn't long after that it came time to push.
I pushed. And pushed. And pushed. I remember the doctor commenting on how he didn't understand why girls pull their knees back to push. Ever the smart ass I asked him when the last time he was in stirrups. I truly don't think my old fashioned doctor had ever had a girl stand up to him and I think he liked it. He just laughed at me and told me to do whatever worked. So I kept pushing.
That went on for over an hour and nothing had happened. I had nothing left in me to give. They could see my son's head, but he wasn't going anywhere. His head was stuck in my hips and couldn't get to the birth canal they brought out the tray of terror. There was more stainless steel on that one cart than I had ever seen in my life. Since the baby's head was apparently too big, my doctor used forceps to help. That's all it took. He was unstuck and I finally pushed my beautiful boy into this world.
He weighed 8lbs. 3 oz and 21 inches long.
That was 14 years ago. That kid is now 5'8" and weighs 145 lbs. He wears a size 12 men's shoe & has a 32 inch inseam for his jeans. And although I have to look up to him when I talk to him and he likes to use me as an arm rest if he stands next me, he's still my baby boy. I see that same baby I rocked every night to go sleep and the same sweet toddler who carried a blankie with him every where he went. I can also look into his face and see the man he will become. I'm not ready for that day to get here.
Right now? I'm just glad I get to be a part of helping him get there.
Love you forever, like you for always. As long as you're living, my baby you'll be.
And in case you missed his birthdays before: