Let me start by saying I'm SO not loving Tom Cruise right now...after that whole jumping on Oprah's couch shenanigan...pluuuuueaz. But I will steal his line from Jerry Maguire, because after birthing my last baby, there are no words more perfect than these. So, sue me, Tom.
So there I was, 3 days overdue with #5, and 4 cm dilated, begging my OB for an induction. "Okay Michelle. We can agree that the baby is cooked. I see an opening the day after tomorrow." To which I quickly replied, "I'll take it!" FINALLY...light at the end of the tunnel, for baby and mama.
I should have known better than after serving the eviction notice, that baby would decide to come on THEIR terms. So around 8 o'clock that night, I started to have a few contractions.
But my rule of thumb during labor is, when I start dropping the F bomb with EVERY contraction, then it's time to go. And these were painful, but definitely "La Maze" friendly. I called Foxy, who lives in Santa Rosa, and hubby, who was working late, and explained, "You know, I'm having a few labor pains, but I think I'm fine. (DENIAL) Why don't I put the girls down for bed, and call you if anything dramatically changes."
Well, Mama's just KNOW better, and my mom had herself in the damn car already, and started driving to San Jose.
Which was good, because within 30-45 minutes, I was on all fours in my bedroom, trying not to disturb the girls, while dropping the F bomb with every contraction. I called Tom and said, "Come home NOW." I mean, I really thought, I could possibly squeeze in an episode of Dancing With the Stars that I had on TiVo, between labor pains. Maybe I wouldn't get to the actual "Results Show", but c'mon, I could handle this, right? Wrong.
You know how you see those horrible shows on TLC, titled, "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant"? Yeah, right, she didn't know she was pregnant, until she went into the bathroom to move her bowels, and a baby dropped out into the toilet!
Warning: Only other women should read the next paragraph, ok?
Ladies, now that we're alone, let me tell you, I'm not gonna lie. Each time I had a contraction, I felt as though I would vomit, AND have a BM, simultaneously...only through the joy of LABOR, right?! Let's be real: NO ONE wants to poop on the table while birthing a baby. And our body has a natural way of cleaning itself out before hand, so that it probably won't happen. But, as God as my witness, I was scared shitless...literally. Fearful, that if I had a BM, I would look down into the toilet and see a tiny little person. You'll be happy to know, I made it through okay.
By 9:30, Tom still wasn't home. I called frantically, "Where the FUCK are you?"
Note: during this part of labor, the F word is used as a noun, verb, and adjective. "Honey, I'm coming from Watsonville...I'm 15 minutes away." AGHHHHHH! I thought he was in San Jose, NOT Santa Cruz.
In the meantime, my Auntie arrived to spend the night with the girls. "Auntie, I ate your chicken soup for dinner. But I'm a bit worried that if I throw it up, I'll never be able to eat it again." Kind of like that one time in college, you had waaaay too much Tequila?
She talked me through my labor, assuring me to "Just breathe through it." But I don't really think I was breathing. I would classify it as more of a moaning wail, sprinkled with obscenities.
Finally, Tom showed up, and we arrived at Kaiser around 10:30 pm, with Foxy hauling ass, leading the way. When we arrived at Labor and Delivery, I was taken into an observation room. Now mind you, this was the same room, where I "acted" that I may be in labor about 5 days earlier, and I was promptly sent home, defeated.
"I'm going to have the baby in here?" I asked the nurse. "We have to make sure you're in active labor," she stated matter of factly. After dropping the F bomb with the next contraction, I told her, "You're funny."
After realizing I was 5-6 cm dilated, I got the green light, and it seemed like things were speeding up. As they moved me to the birthing room, the nurses kept saying, "FIFTH baby? You need to push?" My reply was, "No, I don't need to push. I NEED an epidural."
And voila, like magic, the Anaesthesiologist appeared. After she hooked me up, we became Besties. Turns out, she's a runner too. We talked about different races, and training. ALL the while, I felt absolutely NO pain. SEE...that's what I'm talken' bout.
Around 7am the next morning, I was at 10 cm, ready to push. I love it when the Doc says, "Okay Michelle, go ahead and give a push," like it's a practice round.
Hey man, I got my game face on, you know? So I do as the good Doc asks, and give a push. All of sudden, she's back peddling, saying, "Okay Michelle, you can STOP pushing. This baby is going to come before I even put my gloves on." I'm like, you TOLD me to push woman.
I push again, "Okay, this baby is sunny side up. Baby is facing the wrong way so baby may be a bit bruised when they come out." I push again, a head appears. But then a HUGE nurse steps right in front of the mirror, and well, I didn't get to see the rest of the show, so to speak.
But I did get the best part ever. When that slippery little nugget was handed to me, so that I could make the official gender announcement. As I turned that tiny little peanut over and looked down, I said, "It's a GIRL!"
There was not even a moment, an iota, a hesitation, of disappointment that it wasn't a boy. Just a feeling of pure completion to my very soul.
Here she is. We were missing this very precious piece that I didn't even know we needed. But now, it's all so clear. I need her, way more than she will ever need me.
Welcome to the world, Charlotte Grace. I can't wait to see what you will teach us all.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Patience is a Virtue
A virtue that I absolutely do not practice or exhibit on a regular basis well...at all.
It all hit me like a ton of Jaigermeister this morning. NO, NO, NO. I haven't been drinking. Just dreaming about it. But you know how you do one shot of Jaiger, and you're feeling pretty darn good? But then 3 additional shots later, it seems like maybe that wasn't so well thought out?
Okay, so now that you're following me again, (alcoholics in da house...woop, woop).
So I'm standing in the middle of the crosswalk near my home, using my keen mommy vision to look both ways. I am waiting to assure my girls, who are on their bikes, that it is indeed, safe to cross. Ginormously pregnant, weighing close to 200 bones...hard to miss, right?
You know what happened? Some Yahoo whizzes by me at about 45 mph. Right next to a PARK. Across the street from a SCHOOL. With a big ol' prego in the MIDDLE of the street. If I'd have given my girls the "okay" to cross just 10 seconds earlier, this A-hole would have successfully taken out a family of 6.
And FOR WHAT? Because he's late for work? For an appointment? For Driving School? It left me thinking, what is the big f'ing rush? All he had to do was...gasp...stop for a moment, and allow us to cross safely. He wasn't wearing his patience panties.
But then I had a realization: this is ME all too often. I struggle with this very attribute myself. I want patience, and I want it RIGHT NOW, God Dammit.
When I get stuck driving behind Pokey McPokerson going 15 mph is a 40 mph zone, my sphincter automatically tightens up to the size of a raisin. It is then I feel entitled to refer to this driver, as "Grandma" or "Gramps" - even is they're in their mid 30's. And that's with the girls IN the car. You wouldn't want to know what pours out of my foul mouth when I'm solo.
When I used to run Willow Glen with my triple jogging stroller, onlookers on Lincoln Avenue would see me coming. And then continue to stand smack dab in the the middle of the sidewalk, gawking. I'm not sure if they were processing the Circus Act moving towards them, or WHAT. But I would have a good clip going, and have to stop...my triple jogging stroller, which had 3 kids, and was carrying over 100 pounds. Imagine running with a Costco cart full of BEER, while a clueless, snack-seeking Yahoo darts in front of you. I mean, it would take all of your strength to stop, and NOT plow them over. And what's left of your strength to get going again.
After doing this about 5 times in downtown, I was forced to make a decision: these people better move their asses, or I would simply run them over.
Hmmmm...but then, that's the same philosophy as the A-hole who almost took me out this morning, huh?
At my 36 week doctor appointment, my OB delivered some devastating news, "Michelle, the baby is down low....BUT your cervix is closed up tight." I wanted to scream at her, "Dr.C, throw me a bone here. Tell me I'm at a Cheerio, give me hope! 'Cause I'm DONE growing this human, and I'm really ready to rock a beer buzz."
So, when I went in this last time, at 38 weeks along, I pretended that I wasn't even pregnant as she preformed a pelvic exam. "Oh, looks like you're 2-3 cm dilated." What?!!! REALLY?!!! I tried not to get too excited, but it felt like perhaps, I would totally luck out, and birth the baby right then and there. How convenient!
Suddenly I was overcome with AMNESIA...forgetting that all of my previous children had rented my womb up until the bitter end. Case in point, I was induced at 40 weeks with the twins...that's the kind of crazy you see on the Discovery Channel, okay?
But here I sat, my feet propped up in the stir-ups, thinking, imagining, hoping, that this time it would be different. TWO less weeks of cankles. A release from waddle-filled walking. Closer to my destination of drinking 4 beers in a row. The possibilities were endless.
And here I sit, one week later, still pregnant. A dear friend said, "Michelle, this just #5 already telling you exactly who's in charge." Ain't that the truth?
You see, I'm a hard head. I like to think that I am in control. (Insert laughing from God here). But I am constantly reminded that I'm not in control of anything, at anytime, at all. It's frustrating and humbling all at the same time. And it's only when I take a big sigh, and let go of it all, that things play out just the way they are supposed to.
So I'm sighing, now #5. Did you hear that? You can vacate my uterus ANYtime now. We're ready for you. I really, really, really want to meet you. I want to see you. Hold you. And most importantly love you all up.
What's that you say? It's up to you when you will be joining us? Oh, that's right. The best things are worth the wait, little one. I get it. Come on out when you're ready.
It all hit me like a ton of Jaigermeister this morning. NO, NO, NO. I haven't been drinking. Just dreaming about it. But you know how you do one shot of Jaiger, and you're feeling pretty darn good? But then 3 additional shots later, it seems like maybe that wasn't so well thought out?
Okay, so now that you're following me again, (alcoholics in da house...woop, woop).
So I'm standing in the middle of the crosswalk near my home, using my keen mommy vision to look both ways. I am waiting to assure my girls, who are on their bikes, that it is indeed, safe to cross. Ginormously pregnant, weighing close to 200 bones...hard to miss, right?
You know what happened? Some Yahoo whizzes by me at about 45 mph. Right next to a PARK. Across the street from a SCHOOL. With a big ol' prego in the MIDDLE of the street. If I'd have given my girls the "okay" to cross just 10 seconds earlier, this A-hole would have successfully taken out a family of 6.
And FOR WHAT? Because he's late for work? For an appointment? For Driving School? It left me thinking, what is the big f'ing rush? All he had to do was...gasp...stop for a moment, and allow us to cross safely. He wasn't wearing his patience panties.
But then I had a realization: this is ME all too often. I struggle with this very attribute myself. I want patience, and I want it RIGHT NOW, God Dammit.
When I get stuck driving behind Pokey McPokerson going 15 mph is a 40 mph zone, my sphincter automatically tightens up to the size of a raisin. It is then I feel entitled to refer to this driver, as "Grandma" or "Gramps" - even is they're in their mid 30's. And that's with the girls IN the car. You wouldn't want to know what pours out of my foul mouth when I'm solo.
When I used to run Willow Glen with my triple jogging stroller, onlookers on Lincoln Avenue would see me coming. And then continue to stand smack dab in the the middle of the sidewalk, gawking. I'm not sure if they were processing the Circus Act moving towards them, or WHAT. But I would have a good clip going, and have to stop...my triple jogging stroller, which had 3 kids, and was carrying over 100 pounds. Imagine running with a Costco cart full of BEER, while a clueless, snack-seeking Yahoo darts in front of you. I mean, it would take all of your strength to stop, and NOT plow them over. And what's left of your strength to get going again.
After doing this about 5 times in downtown, I was forced to make a decision: these people better move their asses, or I would simply run them over.
Hmmmm...but then, that's the same philosophy as the A-hole who almost took me out this morning, huh?
At my 36 week doctor appointment, my OB delivered some devastating news, "Michelle, the baby is down low....BUT your cervix is closed up tight." I wanted to scream at her, "Dr.C, throw me a bone here. Tell me I'm at a Cheerio, give me hope! 'Cause I'm DONE growing this human, and I'm really ready to rock a beer buzz."
So, when I went in this last time, at 38 weeks along, I pretended that I wasn't even pregnant as she preformed a pelvic exam. "Oh, looks like you're 2-3 cm dilated." What?!!! REALLY?!!! I tried not to get too excited, but it felt like perhaps, I would totally luck out, and birth the baby right then and there. How convenient!
Suddenly I was overcome with AMNESIA...forgetting that all of my previous children had rented my womb up until the bitter end. Case in point, I was induced at 40 weeks with the twins...that's the kind of crazy you see on the Discovery Channel, okay?
But here I sat, my feet propped up in the stir-ups, thinking, imagining, hoping, that this time it would be different. TWO less weeks of cankles. A release from waddle-filled walking. Closer to my destination of drinking 4 beers in a row. The possibilities were endless.
And here I sit, one week later, still pregnant. A dear friend said, "Michelle, this just #5 already telling you exactly who's in charge." Ain't that the truth?
You see, I'm a hard head. I like to think that I am in control. (Insert laughing from God here). But I am constantly reminded that I'm not in control of anything, at anytime, at all. It's frustrating and humbling all at the same time. And it's only when I take a big sigh, and let go of it all, that things play out just the way they are supposed to.
So I'm sighing, now #5. Did you hear that? You can vacate my uterus ANYtime now. We're ready for you. I really, really, really want to meet you. I want to see you. Hold you. And most importantly love you all up.
What's that you say? It's up to you when you will be joining us? Oh, that's right. The best things are worth the wait, little one. I get it. Come on out when you're ready.
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