There’s those young girls who fawned over babies and couldn’t wait to have their own. You know, those kids who didn’t get troubled looks when they tied their baby doll to the tree. And those kids who begged to hold babies and counted down until they were old enough to babysit. As it is now; I essentially worship my children, but I was not one of those girls. If my memory is correct my son Daniel was the 3rd or 4th baby I’d ever held. He turned 23 this week and birthdays are always a good time to reflect on just how miraculous humans and their entry to the world are.
My pregnancy with Daniel was smooth. The only complications were 1) the time that I fell down because I’d tried to spinning back kick Todd and forgot that my center of gravity had changed dramatically and 2) how if I dropped coins in my teller station in the bank I’d kick them to the corner so I could minimize my bending down. My skin felt like it was clothes that were too tight, but aside from that, I good. Good enough to even pull a prank at the request of the bank manager on April Fool’s. A water balloon and squeezing pressure from my knees was involved.
On Easter, people asked me why my belly looked different. I felt kicked in new places. Week 38’s prenatal appointment ended with Dr. DeSoto asking me to join him in his office, which was scary as shit. “Your baby has turned breach. Do you know what that means?” “Yah, feet first…” I wanted to “duh” but he wasn’t asking for my comprehension of the word. He wanted to know if I understood that now I’d be having a baby cut out of me. Oh. He asked me when I wanted to do it. I didn’t want to choose a birthday so I asked “when’s good for you?” Maybe if it hadn’t been 1999 I could’ve texted Brian for a date, but honestly it seemed like choosing a birthday isn’t what’s supposed to happen.
Being cut open was not my goal, but on the upside you get to tell your people “I’m having the baby Wednesday at 8am if you want to come by.”
There were a few people quite excited to meet the new baby; my parents, Brian’s parents, my gpa and co, and Todd and Sandra. I walked by this crowd in my hospital gown, dragging my IV along, smiling for the film cameras because I was in zero labor at all. The 8mm video cassette recordings of their wait is filled with their excitement “Here comes the baby!” as they pace and peer as best they can through tiny windows as if to will the process to hurry up.
Meanwhile, the nurse told me that the anesthesiologist who she called Crockett the Rocket Man is very hard of hearing so I need to be sure to speak up if there’s something wrong. I tried to hide my “what the fuck!?” face, but probably failed. He jabbed some needles in my spine and it was go time.
Brian sat next to my head. His version of the story is that Crockett briefly assessed if he’d be able to manage what was about to happen and determined that he could allowing him to stand up and see beyond the curtain.
I guess after they cut outside and in, they essentially winch your belly open and then put some of your guts outside of you. Brian’s intermittently would look at me, “You really can’t feel that?” No man, see how I’m not screaming here? That’s how you can tell I can’t feel being cut open.
I guess my baby was enjoying his stay, and as a result squirmed out of grasp necessitating the other doctor to push on my low chest like he was getting the last bit of toothpaste out the tube to force him down for capture. “You sure you can’t feel that?!”
What seemed like forever passed then I heard tiny baby noises, “It’s a boy. It’s definitely a boy!” Being breach caused some swelling of little baby Daniel’s man parts. They brought his little ashy gray perfectness up to my head so I could marvel and instantly have my universe tilted to so that it revolved around him. Everything changed in an instant. We got some more quick film pictures and off Brian and Daniel went.
Recovery was dumb. I wasn’t going to be able to hang out with my baby until I could wiggle my toes. It was probably less than an hour, but it felt like an eternity.
Finally my bed got rolled in to a room of excited people who oohed and awed as I held Daniel for the first time. I just stated in wonder. I still do. A wise person points out that there is, dare I say, no skill involved in making children; instead the skill is in raising them. But even though there’s no skill needed, it’s still quite miraculous.
Thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 