Our Birth

I was born on the day Henry was born.

For the last few weeks, I have been constantly thinking, "What was I doing this time last year?".

I began my dive into nostalgia on the last Friday of August when I realized that it had been one year since my last day or work before maternity leave. One year ago, how relieved I felt that I could now focus for a little while on only Henry. Relieved and scared. I felt like the roller coaster was just approaching the top of that big first hill, and that the next few years of my life would consist of my gripping as tightly as I can as my life went careening through twists and turns, but also some really fun loopdy-loops.

And on Labor Day I remembered how I spent last year organizing and cleaning with my nesting instinct on full blast. I had felt so serene; it was the calm before the storm. What a contrast that was to this year when on Labor Day, Matt and I were throwing a second birthday party for Henry and we were both frazzled and harried all day long. In the thick of the storm.

And yesterday around noon I remembered how one year ago Matt and I were just checking into the hospital. I was somewhere between one and six days late (who really wants a 'due range' instead of a due date? NOT I, never again.), and the nurses were really thinking I was only one day late, so we had to state very clearly that we did not want to go home after the first attempted induction failed. Matt and I walked the halls all afternoon long. I had these pink little sock slippers with cherries on them. Matt and I would walk for a half hour and then go back to be checked by the nurses. Henry's heartbeat was strong. Always steady and strong.

And at 10:00 last night as I was going to bed I remembered one particular time that a nurse had checked on Henry and me. He was just getting into his nightly aerobics session, which I was accustomed to. It happened every night around that time. As I was going to bed, he was just getting things going in there. The night before he was born the nurse had exclaimed, "I have NEVER felt a baby this active!"

And this morning as I was lifting Henry out of his crib at 5:30 in the morning I remembered how one year ago I had been in hard labor for an hour. After starting a pitocin drip on the evening of the 9th, Matt and I had tried to get some rest. My water broke at 4:30 in the morning, waking me with a start, and fluids gushing everywhere. People sometimes say that your water breaking can feel like you're wetting your pants, but no, this was not to be confused. The nurse even commented in awe on the amount of fluid that Henry had expelled from his soon to be former home. Um thanks, I think?

And at 7:30 this morning, just as I was getting to work, I remembered how one year ago, the anesthesiologist was carefully and precisely aiming a large needle at my spinal chord. A needle that would bring such relief. Such needed relief, and I took a three hour nap.

And at lunch time today, I remembered how one year ago the doctor had just told me that I was dilated to an 8 and that Henry might be on his way in just a few hours. All day long I had been texting and calling my family. They were all together in Utah, at my grandpa's funeral. I wrote,

"Hi Mom... You guys are probably in the funeral right now. I'm still in labor but I have the epidural! Woohoo! My water broke around 4:30 this morning, so we're making progress! Call me when the funeral is over... Love you."

And as I left the office today, I remembered how one year ago, I was still not ready to push, even after being dilated to 8cm for hours. We spent the afternoon chatting with Matt's mom and watching Ghostbusters on VH1. Things were not moving along as quickly as I thought they should. I began shaking and then I vomited. I was entering transitional labor (which was a good thing), but I had developed a UTI (which was not a good thing). The doctor decided one round of antibiotics was necessary and so the nurse got that started.

And around 5:00, when I was walking through the door, finally home today, I remembered how one year ago, I was just beginning to finally feel the urge to push. Around 5:30, I started to push. I had no idea what I was doing. I finally got the hang of it after a while, modifying one of my favorite Pilates exercises to really activate my abdominal muscles and only my abdominal muscles to try to keep the rest of my body from getting to tense. I didn't want to hold Matt's hand because it threw off my balance. My efforts were peppered with Matt's exclamations of, "I can see his head!" and "You're doing so great." The nurse also chimed in with "You're making progress." and "You're almost there". That last one really bugged me. I knew I wasn't making fast progress so why did she keep saying that?

I pushed for three hours. My epidural was wearing off. I was exhausted. I was crying. Near the end I felt lost inside my own body. All I could hear was the doctor's voice. My world was collapsing and I felt like I was floating. All at the same time.

And then It was over.

At 8:25 tonight, I looked at the clock and smiled. One year ago, I said to my little boy, "Hi, honey" for the first time. He had cried at first, but after he was in my arms, he was calm. He opened his eyes wide and arched his back. He was pink and huge and wonderfully perfect.

I would learn later that both my mom and Matt's mom had been standing right outside the door at the moment Henry was born. My parents and brother had returned from Utah and made it to the hospital. My mom had wanted to come back to the room and let me know that she was there, so Matt's mom walked back to show her where it was. They reached the door just as the doctor said, "Stop pushing", which they knew meant that Henry's head was almost delivered so they didn't come in. But through the door, both of Henry's grandmas heard his first cry, his first wail.

"Here I am."

Henry slept most of that night. He was so weak and exhausted. So was I. But I was too excited to sleep as much as I should have. I couldn't help but sit up every once in a while, rest my chin on the side of his bassinet and just stare at him. I had no idea what to expect. I would have to learn everything all over again. We were both infants.

But I do love roller coasters.