Roxie is two months old today, and that means I haven't posted to this blog in (checking my watch), oh yes, two months.
I spent the first month easing myself off of chairs and using my best Uncle Rico voice to declare that I "broke my coccyx." Then I got this zany, sleep-deprived idea to tell the story of Roxie's arrival using various applicable (sort of) quotes. Now, I'm not sure it's all that great of an idea, but it's been ruminating so long that I'll feel I've left something undone if I do not follow through. So here's how it all went down.
I delivered Roxie about 5 miles from the Canadian border, and it so happens that my OB is French Canadian and has a delightful French accent that I've come to understand. As she was not on call, the doctor who delivered Roxie was also French Canadian (and also now one of my favorite people), and his accent was less familiar to me. So when things came to a screeching halt in my labor, he was talking about an epidural, but all I heard was "eh-puh-dyuhr-AAAHL," and before I realized what he was talking about, it made an already exciting time that much more exciting as I played "Decipher the MD code in a foreign tongue" between contractions.
With phones and Kindle Fire in hands, Jed and I were notifying certain folks whenever any major progress was made, including when I was about to push. Now, we did have a slightly good excuse for the TMI because a very small glitch about halfway through had us contacting the prayer brigade who was then very interested in updates. Even at 1 in the morning. So, as a laboring woman with all the hormones and emotions that go into it, when I would look over at Jed on his chair with phone in hand, totally absorbed, I knew that right there was a sign of the times. (Before you get the wrong idea, I'll be sure to clarify that Jed is the best labor coach on the planet, hands down.)
I kind of hoped Roxie would come a day before her due date, which was January 11. The 10th was my granddaddy's birthday, and her middle name is my grandmother's, and I just thought it would be neat. I labored all day on the 10th, and by around 5pm, we realized it was the real deal, and it suddenly started to go into overdrive. We headed to the hospital, and as soon as we got settled, the engines really revved, and everything moved along quickly...like, maybe another two hours and we'll have a new kid. I like the idea of medication-free deliveries but have yet to follow through on that little dream. The intensity was enough for me to announce that an epidural, ten minutes ago please, would be just fine. I got the epidural from the weirdest anesthesiologist who had zero social skills, always slammed the door, and due to his job, had a plastic bag on his head. Not long after that, everything slowed down just a touch, so my MD ordered pitocin to give the engine a little kick-start. Then everything slowed down even more, and she seemed stuck in a weird angle that wouldn't budge (this is presumed to be from the ferocious nature of my water breaking, but why on earth would I actually say that and make you think about it?). She was still much higher up in my belly than she really ought to have been by then. They turned me on my side, her heart rate dropped drastically, they turned me back, the MD that I love began throwing out the possibility of a C-section, Jed and I had thumbs moving wildly on our phones to update the prayer brigade, then we asked medical personnel to leave the room please. Fast, slow, fast, slow...it was pretty strange. I figure she wanted to arrive right on time, so she just took a breather till after midnight.
After the room cleared, we put our hands on my belly and thanked Yahweh for our sweet little daughter, and we blessed the delivery to resume smoothly and safely come what may, but we also prophesied that any impediment be removed. A few minutes later, the doctor came in and decided he'd try taking me off the pitocin to see if Roxie's heart rate would normalize and maybe she would descend. To him, it didn't seem likely. And then the engine revved again! Contractions picked back up in intensity and duration, and I could feel her descending like nothing had ever happened. In not time, Jed and I were in the room alone again, and I knew it sounded crazy. It was just too soon! But I knew she was ready. I was about to call the doctor in to check when he walked in of his own accord. I said, "I know you're not going to believe me, but I think it's time to push. Could you check?" He sort of chuckled, then checked, then raised his eyebrows and laughed again, giving directions to the nurse: "OK, let's have this baby!"
I pushed for about 3 seconds (OK, it was through two contractions, so maybe 7 minutes, but it seemed really fast!) and there she was, Roxie Evelyn, the sweetest and the best!
The size of my cavernous appetite is no secret to most folks. At a camping trip after high school, some friends labeled me the Human Tapeworm (lovely, yes?) because I didn't stop eating and they didn't know where it all went. (Now I could show them where it went, but that's beside the point. Ahem.) Anyway, we went to the hospital around dinnertime, just before dinnertime that is, which is just poor form. One must eat for the marathon that is labor. I asked the nurse repeatedly for food, even though I knew the answer was a packet of crackers every so often. But all I really remember after the delivery was asking for, and eating, 30 pieces of toast, followed by 30 more pieces, followed by morning, finally!, when I could order a proper meal. I also remember my dear friends coming to visit the next night right as my dinner came, and impolite as it was, I didn't wait for them to leave before I stuffed my face. In fact, I'm not even sure I actually looked up at them. Delivering children really builds up the appetite. Not just mine, OK?
After I stuffed my belly with breakfast (Roxie was born around 1 in the morning; it's hilarious that I actually don't remember the time. It might've been right after 2 am, but moving on.), I decided to get out of bed. The eh-puh-dyuhr-AAAHL had worn off, and all I knew was that something had gone awry with my tailbone. Seriously. All the regular culprits were not part of my labor experience, so none of us knows why that was the case. I just know that I've enjoyed quoting Uncle Rico for some time now, and I'm cracking up that it's the inspiration for this post that is just waaaaaaaaay longer than it should be!
Dear slightly-off, middle-of-the-night nurse with the loose, squeaky wheel on your rolling cart: FIX YOUR CART! Exhausted parents of newborns don't want you clanking into the room in the middle of the night for a routine check like we're all college students, wide awake, with nothing to do but be noisy and annoying. Kind as you are, you get no brownie points for anything but utter silence. (All those raging hormones make new moms a little wild-eyed, ya know.)
"Hey, Ace."
"Yeah, Dan?"
"You got any more of that gum?"
Listen, one thing they never warn you about is just how many random people from random departments come into your hospital room after you give birth in order to give you information, take your information, make suggestions, ask if you have any suggestions, give you forms, take your forms, and so on. Our little family hospital was not sooo bad, but when I delivered Adelaide at the giant teaching/research institutional hospital in the city, it was all whack-a-doo. Jed said he kept waiting for the CostCo rep to come in to renew our membership. You feel a little like the world has been given license to get all up in your business. It was during one such visit that we made the Game Day switch on Roxie's name. The Social Security Administration worker ("Sure! Come on in! Come one, come all!) came in for the official name form, and Jed and I had been discussing making Roxie the first name instead of the intended middle name. My mom and dad both go by their middle names, and one of the only things my mom has ever been adamant about in life is what a pain it is on forms and explaining first-day roll calls. So she went from Evelyn Roxie to Roxie Evelyn. All while some stranger stood by and observed.
"Be careful, little ears, what you hear."
One of the visitors we didn't mind was my OB coming in to check how the delivery went. She is, as I said, French Canadian with very sharp facial features, particularly her cheekbones and jaw. She is also one of the tiniest people I've ever seen in real life. After she left, Jed said something I forever wish I could erase from my mind's eye: "She looks like Willem Dafoe."
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| That's right. Please ignore my total incompetence at cutting/pasting. |
(I do not condone the watching of this movie, by the way!)
We were pretty set to leave the hospital on Day 2, but I was waiting for my lunch. THEN we could leave. AFTER lunch. But the snowstorm the weather guys were discussing and that we were taking lightly started to blow in with great gusto. By the time we left, with our newborn in the car, the roads were absolutely nasty. And one of a parent's worst fears happened. We started to spin out with traffic behind us and a box truck coming toward us. We spun into the other lane with on-coming traffic headed our way, straight for the ditch on the other side. But Jed, who is masterful in such conditions, and the grace of Yahweh, steadied us on the road, and Jed pulled the car back around so that it faced the right direction, and was in the right lane, and we drove .0023 miles an hour the rest of the way home.
Driving your newborn home is nerve-wracking anyway. They're just so very fragile. But we finally made it up the driveway and brought her in the front door to her excited siblings, and our lives are forever changed!
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