Jun 3, 2011 by Sara
Two days into my maternity leave, on a hot and muggy night in the burbs of New York city, I hoisted myself into our bed and promptly passed out. Tired from a day of nesting with swollen feet and unrecommended weight gain, I appreciated why pregnant women waddled.
In what felt like only 10 minutes later, my eyes begrudgingly focused on the red numbers projected on the ceiling: 4:12 AM.
You shouldn’t be awake.
I shifted in the bed and stopped. It was wet.
I peed my pants?!?
I maneuvered my leaden body onto its left side and did a sideways push up to separate the foreign mass that was me from the indented mattress. I swung my legs over the side and did my best impression of a mallard to the bathroom, grabbing a new pair of underwear along the way.
This sucks.
Methodically, I changed in the bathroom. Balancing in the tiny space as my enormous belly grazed the towel rack and barely cleared the doorway.
I waddled back, threw a towel down on my side and flopped carelessly back into bed. The heavy methodic breathing from the other side paused and asked:
‘You ok?’
‘I peed my pants, go back to sleep.’
‘OK’.
[Author's note: I do not regularly wet my pants, so yes, there should have been more cause for concern on both our parts here.]
Two hours later, I stared up at the numbers on the ceiling again. 6:23 AM. The alarm would buzz in 7 minutes. My abdomen was tight and knotted and just as a wave of nausea swept over me, I realized I’d wet my pants yet again.
This is ridiculous.
I heaved myself out of bed again, this time less careful about prematurely waking my roommate.
What are you doing?
I wet my pants and… I feel kinda sick.
Hunh? Did your water break?
What?? No!! Um…I don’t think so. Um… maybe….
Isn’t it supposed to gush or something? It’s just a little wet. How the hell do I know?
Panic and stubbornness sweep over me simultaneously.
Let’s call the doctor.
No, I’m fine. Go to work.
I’m not going to work. Let’s call the doctor.
Fine.
Of course they wanted me to come into labor and delivery and get checked, but they wanted me to wait until shift change was over. So while I was technically “leaking” and cramping, I started to gather my things to head to the hospital. Before hanging up with the doctor they added: “Don’t eat anything before you come in.”
Don’t eat? I’m pregnant – I wake up ravenous! Don’t eat? Seriously?
We grabbed the hospital bag and I waddled to the car. Alex decided he couldn’t function without coffee and sustenance. So despite the obvious torturing of it all, he decides the McDonald’s drive-thru is in order and taunts me with the most foul smelling coffee and Egg McMuffin ever.
I could have killed him.
The nurse’s name was Jennifer. I remember this because I decided my life was now in her hands and she was going to keep me safe. Within two minutes she did some sort of litmus test and concluded that yep, I had been slowly leaking amniotic fluid. My water hadn’t broken but there was a small whole somewhere.
Antibiotics were started, monitors were attached and the pitocin drip turned on. I was going to be induced. and this baby girl was going to come that day, ten days early.
Family was called and we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Around 3:30pm, I was officially uncomfortable and volunteered for the epidural. They made Alex sit in the chair across the room to make sure he didn’t pass out. The word giant doesn’t really start to describe how big that needle is. But it is worth every inch and I immediately became human again. My husband was no longer nervously pacing since I was not a raging lunatic anymore. Thanks to the drugs, I was eerily calm. Smiling, content and calm.
Forty five minutes later it was time. Time to push. Little Miss M started to enter the world but then got a little stuck. Some monitors beeped a little bit loudly and next thing I knew there was an added sense of urgency to get her out. Something was stuck. Wrapped?
I pushed and pushed.
Alex was no longer above the “fifty-yard line” like he had promised but instead had a birdseye view of his daughter being born into the world.
I didn’t care. I just wanted her out. I wanted to meet her.
This baby that they first told me was going to be a boy. This baby girl that was such a blessing after failed pregnancies and countless doctor’s appointments. This baby who’s little feet had danced in my belly for almost 39 weeks fluttering like a butterfly.
The doctor said something about her having a lot of hair.
Next they were all yelling at me to push and monitors were beeping.
The tone changed in the room. The doctor spoke with more of a sense of urgency.
One more time. I pushed.
Finally – she popped into the world.
And we waited again until we heard her sweet, sweet wail.
Six years ago, Miss Anna Susan was born, and my life changed forever.
I became a mother to the most amazing little girl in the world.
Dearest Anna,
This is the story of the day you were born.
I may not get this motherhood thing always right, but I love you more than anything and will do anything to make your life full of love, laughter and incredible memories.
Thank you for being the sweetest daughter and for continuing to teach me each and every day in the ways that you do.
I love you.
Love, Mommy.
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