A family's story

Posts tagged ‘motherhood’

Nine. Wow.

Today is Jake’s ninth birthday. NINTH. How in the world has it been nine years since we welcomed our little man into the world?! My children’s birthdays have a way of vividly conjuring up the memories from their birth days. I cannot forget the details of their stories…they have been imbedded into my memory bank.

Jake’s birth story starts nine years ago, yesterday. It was Friday, September 26, 2003. The weather had suddenly turned cool after a string of warm days. I was a little worried that I’d have to invest in some more maternity wear, as my due date was 2 weeks away, and well, everyone told me that “you” always go late with your first baby. I waddled myself down to the cafeteria at noon. I wasn’t exactly hungry, but I knew I had to have something in my tummy for the baby. As I got some salad from the salad bar, he kicked me so hard in the rib cage that I had to pause. Holy Mary, Mother of God that hurts!!!  I whined to myself as I made my way through the check-out. The girl at the register asked when the baby was coming. I told her 2 weeks. She smiled like she knew something I didn’t. I wished her a happy weekend and went back up to my desk to eat lunch.

My salad didn’t seem to sit well with me or the baby. He was moving differently. I felt nauseated. My back was twinging every-so-often. I had a conference call that I chose to dial into that afternoon because I was not in the mood for any more questions about the due date. I knew I was huge. I knew I looked like Shamu with legs…I didn’t want to talk about it..and the upset tummy and slight backache I had were making me cranky. As I sat on my call and listened to a few other people bicker over a launch plan, I was looking up “Signs of Labor” online. I just *knew* I couldn’t be in labor, as the baby wasn’t due for 2 weeks. The night before the OB told me that he was high and only some really good contractions would evict him. I was convinced that we’d be at home that weekend, sitting on the couch and getting some last moments of couple time together.

I usually left the office around 4 on Fridays, but that day I decided to leave at 3:30. Who was going to cross the cranky, waddling, ginormously huge pregnant lady?! I let my manager know I was heading out early, and she said to take care. The drive home took forever. My typical 40 minute commute took an hour and 20 minutes. Rain, apparently, makes people drive like idiots. The entire ride home I was shifting all over the place, unable to get comfortable. And my freakin’ back was killing me!!

Per my usual routine, I called my mom once I was home. She asked if the baby was coming that weekend…she had a feeling. I told her he couldn’t come that weekend–the house was a disaster and I had cleaning to do. I assured her that we’d be there all weekend long. I wanted him born in October, when he was scheduled to be there. She laughed at me and said she’d talk to me tomorrow. Hubz came home and set up the deep freezer we had delivered that day from Sears.

Because neither of us wanted to cook, and neither of us wanted to sit in our own filth disaster of a house, we opted to go out to eat that night. We drove to Bennigans, which was about a 5 minute drive. Hubz asked why I was so quiet in the car. I told him I was tired…but the truth was, I just felt funny. He pulled into the parking lot. I opened the door, and heaved myself out of my seat. As I stood up on the ground, I felt a *pop*, and well, um, I told him I needed to make a dash to the bathroom.

He waited for me in the front of the restaurant as I ran hobbled back to the bathrooms. I am glad I was sitting down, so to speak, because it was quite evident that my water had broken…HOLY CRAP!!! OH MY GOD! THE BABY IS COMING…I ONLY HAVE 24 HOURS BEFORE HE HAS TO BE BORN! AHHHHH!!!! I’M NOT READY FOR THIS!!! (This was my inner monologue.) I calmed down, washed up and walked out to Hubz. He looked at me anxiously. Um, I’m pretty sure my water broke. We need to go home. He sped us home, and we were both pretty quiet.

We got in the house and I changed my clothes. I called the OB on call. (It was my favorite doctor at my practice–yahoo!!!) She said to come to the hospital to be checked. We threw a few more items into my mostly-packed bag (I was a first-timer, and all), and we drove to the hospital. On the way, I was quiet as ever. Hubz leaned over and said, “Hey, this is exciting!!!” Sure it is…for you. You don’t have to push a baby out!!

We got to the hospital, and the receptionist sent us up to the Labor & Delivery unit. The nurse came to check me. I was already at 4.5 cm and my water had definitely sprung a leak. I was admitted. I was trying to hold off as long as possible on the epidural. You know, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Two hours later I was having more and more trouble talking through contractions. I was so uncomfortable. The nurse checked me again, and I was almost an 8. She said I should get the epidural. So we got on the list.

After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the anesthesiologist came into my room. She did not have the best bedside manner. She jabbed that freakishly long needle into my back during a contraction. I.was.in.hell!! But then, the meds kicked in and I was in a happy place. Hubz called his parents to let them know I was in labor. They were 3 hours away, so they said they’d drive out in the morning. Then, Hubz and I played some Uno as we watched the evening news. The nurse came in and told us we should try to get some rest. Hubz fell asleep. I was trying my hardest, but all of those beeps and the blood pressure machine were driving me nuts…ugh.

At 1 am, the nurse came to check on me…and it was time for pushing. I *may* have freaked out a little bit. I told her that I couldn’t feel anything, and she assured me that it would get easier. I pushed…and pushed…and pushed…An hour later nothing. NOTH-ING!!! The doctor came in and checked. The baby was anterior and had, what they called “cappit”. His head had gotten wedged and he was stuck. Oh. Yay. After some repositioning of me, and of the baby, Jake was born at 3:14 am on Saturday, September 27. As he was born, the doctor noted the presence of mecomium. Jake was kind of, um, blu-ish, and required some oxygen. He pinked up pretty quickly, but it was scary for a second there. I had spiked a fever at the end of my delivery, so they whisked Jake off to the NICU for a bath and monitoring and oxygen. I got to give him a quick, and I mean VERY QUICK, kiss goodbye. They let me hold him for like a minute. I was sobbing.

Once I was done with the delivery process, they wheeled me to my room. I was encouraged to get  some rest. Hubz went home to pick up some of our mess, let out the dog, and catch some sleep. I found it damn near impossible to fall asleep. I was waking up every 20 minutes. Oh my GOD! I am a mom. A MOM! Speaking of mom, I want to call mine…what time is it? Crap. Only 5. Ugh. I couldn’t sleep. I began reading literature in a “You’re a Mom Now!” folder that I had been given. The first flier covered the importance of breastfeeding immediately after delivery to bond with your child. Oh my GOD! I have been a mom for less than 5 hours, and I’m already screwing it up! I am not bonding with my baby. What if he doesn’t want to nurse?! What if he doesn’t love me?! What if…I hastily threw that flier in the back of the bunch. I read more about things to worry about. That wasn’t helping. I decided to look out the window.

As I looked out, the most beautiful autumn sunrise I’ve ever seen was occurring. The sun was popping up over the hill outside my window, and there were glorious strands of gold and amber. The clouds were illuminated with golden edges. There was a little bit of lavendar in the clouds. It was nothing short of divine. I sighed, and dozed off for a few minutes. When I awoke, morning had broken. And I was alone in the quiet. I turned on the Newborn channel on my hospital tv. I watched as the “nurse” instructed the audience to bathe the baby this way and that way…how to diaper the baby, etc.

At about 7 am, I called my mom. Please pick up. Please pick up. 


Hi Grandma!

Yeeeeee!!!! He’s here?! I knew it!! How are you? How is he? Oh, my gosh….Casey, Casey…we’re grandparents!! Oh, Lisa…Oh, I am so happy for you….

We talked for a bit. She was going to come see me before her tee time. She couldn’t wait. After I hung up with her, Hubz called. He was going to head into the hospital around 9. I waited some more. I got up and got cleaned up. My mom got there at 9 am sharp. She was our first visitor. Not even an early tee time could keep her away from her daughter and newborn grandson. She didn’t get to see him, but she was there for me when I needed her. Like always.

The rest of the morning is a blur. There was a flurry of activity with family coming to visit and Hubz demanding that we be allowed to see our son. A lactation consultant came in and gave me pumping equipment. I needed to pump since he wasn’t nursing yet. Um, I am supposed to attach those to my what now?! Oh my GOD! Suffice it to say, later that day, I got to hold my son for the first time. In my arms. On my chest. I got to nurse him and love him and whisper all of the promises that a new mom whispers to her little one. He was so tiny. So fragile. So dependent. We were going to be responsible for his everything. In those moments where I got to hold him for the first time, my own son, I will never, ever forget the overwhelming sense of contentment.

Flash back to the present…nine short years later. He has grown into an amazing person, who I am quite honestly honored to have the privilege to parent. He is one of the good ones. He has a heart of gold. He is genuinely kind and caring. He constantly thinks of others before himself. He is patient (it must skip a generation….my mom had it…I do not. So grateful he got this trait from her…). He is empathetic. He is hard-working. He is a terrific, protective big brother. He is a son anyone would want. He is amazing.

Happy Birthday, P-man. I love you more than these mere words can say…

Should I sweat the small stuff??

In two days my oldest son will make his First Communion. I am so excited for him, as it is a big rite of passage. At the same time I am feeling overwhelmed. Will we get everything done in time to celebrate? Will he feel special? Will he remember the day fondly, as I remember mine? Will his brothers remain entertained and not interrupt the Mass?

I feel akin to a school kid who’s muddling through finals week. I’m going through the motions, but am I doing this right? Am I giving it the correct balance of celebration and reverence?? Will I pass the test?!

On top of the First Communion, I am trying to get summer figured out. Registrations, payments, transportation, etc. I feel like I’m always behind the 8-ball. Do my kids know how frazzled I am? Do they know I feel like a basket case? In the end I am usually able to pull it all off, and they go where I tell them…and life is good. But it’s the behind-the-scenes minutae that is driving me insane right now.

These are totally the moments where I miss my mom. Did she fumble around like this? Did she have insecurity? Because, to me and my sisters, Mom was the master. She sailed through this motherhood thing like it was a small, calm lake. To me, she was self-asssured and had it all figured out. She made it look easy…and I strive to be like her…but right now?! I feel like a mess. I could use a hug and a pep talk right about now…

Two years ago as my mom was convelescing, we talked about many things…and I made sure she knew how much I loved her, how much she meant to me and the boys, how she was my role-model. I didn’t think to ask if she ever felt like this…or how she got through it…or if it made her life frought with anxiety. Oh well, I guess if it didn’t seem important then, in the scheme of things, it mustn’t be so important….and as long as my boys know that they are loved and feel celebrated, at least I am doing something right….right??

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