I figured with Owen's second birthday looming, now was as good a time any to write his birth story. Yes, that's right, his birth story. I figured it will change over time; perhaps after a few tellings I will break the hospital bed headboard with my bare hands, or Owen will come out with a giant head for the record books. Actually, the latter situation may not be too far from reality. In any case, writing down as much as I can remember is probably a good Mommy Exercise.
I loved being pregnant. The pregnancy was mostly easy. A bit of morning sickness, a heaping dose of pregnancy paranoia, and a few dashes of shit from my OB about having gained two womens' worth of pregnancy weight gets us up to my 34th week.
Anyone who has met me knows that I am not...delicate. My sister's preterm labors, while upsetting and stressful in each case, were not altogether surprising considering how petite her frame is. But I would never in a million years have believed that my Amazonian frame would go into labor anywhere close to 34 weeks. I tower over the average woman, and can carry my weight equivalent easily on my head. Ok that last part isn't true, but you get the point. Preterm labor wasn't expected. Even now, when I mention this to well-meaning and often normally-tactful friends they inadvertently glance at my ample birthing hips and ask, "What was that about, do you think...?" I shrug and say, "I guess it's just something my body did."
I loved being pregnant. The pregnancy was mostly easy. A bit of morning sickness, a heaping dose of pregnancy paranoia, and a few dashes of shit from my OB about having gained two womens' worth of pregnancy weight gets us up to my 34th week.
Anyone who has met me knows that I am not...delicate. My sister's preterm labors, while upsetting and stressful in each case, were not altogether surprising considering how petite her frame is. But I would never in a million years have believed that my Amazonian frame would go into labor anywhere close to 34 weeks. I tower over the average woman, and can carry my weight equivalent easily on my head. Ok that last part isn't true, but you get the point. Preterm labor wasn't expected. Even now, when I mention this to well-meaning and often normally-tactful friends they inadvertently glance at my ample birthing hips and ask, "What was that about, do you think...?" I shrug and say, "I guess it's just something my body did."
Because, truly, when you're pregnant, you are no longer captain of your own ship. Whether it's the insatiable need to eat Cap'n Crunch for all 9 meals of the day, or whether it's gaining 46 pounds with a first pregnancy, your body will figure out how to be pregnant without any input from you, thank you very much.
So, in that spirit of complete powerlessness, I gave up and called my OBs office when, at 34 weeks, I was actually experiencing strong, regular cramping. Jackie, my nurse, told me to head to L&D for monitoring - do not stop to get ice cream. It was February 28th, 2007. Owen's due date was April 14th, 2007. I packed up my office, not knowing I wouldn't set fot at work again for months.
I figured it was all Braxton-Hicks, or, more likely, all in my head. But after several hours at the hospital, a few bolus shots of meds to stop the contactions, and some entertaining moments watching our nurse try to learn a new computer system, we were sent home with some prescriptions and strict orders to stay in bed. All the time. For at least three weeks.
I still didn't really believe it was true. I knew my OB was considered "conservative" in this respect, so figured she was overreacting. Much like the night Eddie, Keith, and I were held at gunpoint by a rookie and very mistaken cop, I figured I understood the situation better than the expert. But my husband was firm: bedrest.
A couple panicked calls to my boss later, an uncomfortable drive (sitting was the worst), and we were home, settling me into my new nest.
I'll skip the details about the upcoming weekend being the one I'd planned to do the baby's room, or the fact that I could not help from watching the Baby 911 shows about scary labor and deliveries where sometimes the baby actually didn't turn out great. I was a terrible patient: bored, restless, grumpy; sneaking out almost daily to buy baby things at Target. It's a miracle I made it to 37 weeks.
So, in that spirit of complete powerlessness, I gave up and called my OBs office when, at 34 weeks, I was actually experiencing strong, regular cramping. Jackie, my nurse, told me to head to L&D for monitoring - do not stop to get ice cream. It was February 28th, 2007. Owen's due date was April 14th, 2007. I packed up my office, not knowing I wouldn't set fot at work again for months.
I figured it was all Braxton-Hicks, or, more likely, all in my head. But after several hours at the hospital, a few bolus shots of meds to stop the contactions, and some entertaining moments watching our nurse try to learn a new computer system, we were sent home with some prescriptions and strict orders to stay in bed. All the time. For at least three weeks.
I still didn't really believe it was true. I knew my OB was considered "conservative" in this respect, so figured she was overreacting. Much like the night Eddie, Keith, and I were held at gunpoint by a rookie and very mistaken cop, I figured I understood the situation better than the expert. But my husband was firm: bedrest.
A couple panicked calls to my boss later, an uncomfortable drive (sitting was the worst), and we were home, settling me into my new nest.
I'll skip the details about the upcoming weekend being the one I'd planned to do the baby's room, or the fact that I could not help from watching the Baby 911 shows about scary labor and deliveries where sometimes the baby actually didn't turn out great. I was a terrible patient: bored, restless, grumpy; sneaking out almost daily to buy baby things at Target. It's a miracle I made it to 37 weeks.
Coming up: dancing the baby out...
