You're Still Here? Well then ...

Feel free to join in on Rain's first year of life, and possibly the last of mine:
http://diaperwrath.blogspot.com/

The End

To all those who have kindly (or was it the curiosity of watching a car wreck?) read this blog and kept up with Rain Annalise's (formerly Baby Dowdel's) entry into the world, thank you. I hope I haven't frightened away anyone considering becoming a parent, because hey, at least we can all be crazy together. For those of you who are already parents: you are the unsung heroes of the world. May God bless you and keep you from losing your minds! To Tim: What an adventure, no? You put up with far too much, but I wouldn't have it any other way (*wink*).

And, finally, to Rain:
After I went to my doctor to find out if I was pregnant (at least, that's what I thought I was doing), I was shaking. I was excited and surprised, because somehow I knew you were there. I sat in a small restaurant and ate alone. I knew, I knew, I knew, but still I thought, "I'm not pregnant. God knows I'd be a terrible mother, so He won't put some poor kid in my care." But, I knew. I also knew I wouldn't tell anyone, not even your daddy, because you were a whisper, a secret in my heart. There are many things I will explain to you later about why I thought I'd be a terrible mom, but someday you'll be old enough to read and understand this: one day, before anyone knew you were here, before I ever had a chance to be your mom, before we ever shared a good or bad day together, you and I were alone in a restaurant sharing a secret, and I was in love for the second time in my life.

The Beginning

The rolled her into the room on top of a simple cart. A package of diapers, a package of wipes, a few blankets, an eye dropper, alcohol pads, and a nasal aspirator--that's all she came with.

With unending shock, I realized that the rest of her needs, from food to love, would be up to Tim & I.

TVLG (Part 3.7): Loose Ends

Lying alone in my bed after the delivery, it was almost like nothing had happened. The lights were dimmed and everything was quiet. The only evidences of the delivery were an IV and my shaking legs, an effect of the epidural. The baby was in another wing, though it was hard to believe she was really there. Just like my first sonogram, I knew the baby was real (the picture was hard to deny), but my reality would not accept that changes were imminent.

When Tim finally returned, I said, "Can you believe we had a baby?" Nope, he couldn't either. The doctor (or was it the nurse? I was still under the influence, mind you) came in to ask if we'd like the baby to have her first of two Hepatitis B shots here in the hospital.

My reality ran away screaming, "Changes are here--run! Every self-centered creature for herself!" I thought, "I don't even know what Hepatitis is! How should I know if a baby needs a Hepatitis B shot or not? Why don't you just ask her paren--oh." All I could say was, "What do most people do?" Right then I knew the baby was better off staying with the nursing staff for the next 18 years than coming home with me.

After an hour, they moved us to a new room. A damage control nurse came in to tell me what parts of me would be unrecognizable for a time, what parts would never be the same, and what parts could go either way. She left, Tim fell asleep, and again I was alone with my thoughts. I wondered if the baby was scared. She was in a new world with strangers--did she wonder what happened to me? Did she care?

I fell asleep without even trying. I woke up, eyes wide. It had been five hours since we'd seen the baby. It was time for a face-to-face meeting.

TVLG (Part3.6): Loose Ends

Love at first sight. That's what some moms feel when they see their new babies. My mom said she felt an instant love for each of her children the moment the nurses handed one of us over. My mom is a great mom. She's the kind of woman who says at any family meal or holiday, "This is what makes me happiest: all my children together." My mom, and mothers like her, are Hallmark cards waiting to happen. Mothers like this probably wanted to be mothers since they were children, so in a way, motherhood is like a life-long dream come true.

When my baby was born, they held her up for me to see. My reaction was less than motherly. I mean, they hold up this bloody, blue (no oxygen to make her pink yet), writhing, slimy, dark being and say, "What do you think?" What do I think? It looks like I had an affair with Jabba the Hut! Not only did the baby (it was a baby, right?) not look like Tim or me, she (it was a she, right?) didn't look like anyone I knew!

To be completely honest--and I realize I'm loosing my chance at Mother of the Year for this, I was disappointed. In my pathetic defense, I was exhausted, hungry (I wasn't allowed to eat all day), sleepy, and drugged. On top of that, they were busy sewing me up (see? I left out some scary details as to not overly terrify MTBs). The kid was out and apparently healthy, and that's all I cared about. I could learn to love a baby Hut, couldn't I? The nurses took her away and cleaned her while I stared at Tim. I was shocked more than anything, and Tim looked surprised, too. We had a baby now, for crying out loud. A baby!

A minute later, they brought the baby to me. She was all cleaned up and in a soft blanket. She actually looked like a baby, and not only that, she was a pretty baby. As I joked with Tim later, "They can go ahead and keep the other baby that came out, and I'll keep this one." They quickly took her away again to be tested and observed for several hours in the nursery, due to some of the labor complications. She was gone. The room cleared, and Tim went to show the baby to my family on the way to the nursery.

I was alone in the room. It was only me & my thoughts ... and it didn't take long for one or the other to become troubled.

TVLG (Part 3.5): Loose Ends

Jeff Foxworthy did a funny routine about parenting a few years ago. One joke he told, I didn't truly appreciate until the day of my delivery. He asked the audience why anyone would want to film a delivery when it looks like "a wet St. Bernard trying to get in through the cat door."

Yes, it does. When I woke up from my nap, I knew it was time. I felt the baby sort of hanging low on me, and I didn't need the doctor to tell me to get ready to push. I told the nurse, she checked me, and it was on. They moved around equipment, turned on lights, and a few new faces appeared. I told my mom to leave for her own good, but she wanted to help. So, Tim posted himself on one side of the bed, my mom posted herself on the other, and we got down to business.

Delivering a baby feels exactly like, well, pooping. The difference is, you push through pain as a fan club watches. Every time a contraction would come, the head nurse would count to ten as I pushed with all I had. We did two more sets, rested, and waited for the next contraction to start all over again. We tried several positions to make the most of the contractions, but the most effective one was a shameless number I'll call "The Frog," but I digress.

After an hour and a half or so, the doctor came in. She told me that if the baby wasn't out in another hour, we'd have to consider--wait for it--options. I'm sorry, madam, but after all the pushing I did? No, there will be no options here. We're pushing this kid out!

"Would you like to see a mirror?" the doctor asked. "We find it helps a lot of moms to push harder."

I sat there, frowning. "OK, but if it grosses me out, will you put it away?"

They put a standing mirror near the foot of my bed, and three things happened.
1. I was shocked, because I didn't recognize myself. What was all that??
2. I was disheartened, because the outline of the head they were showing me couldn't fit through a doorway, let alone my body.
3. My competitive nature kicked in, and I actually pushed harder.

Before I knew it, "Keep going!" and "You're almost there!" filled the room. When even Tim cheered (and he's not the cheering type), "You have it! Keep going," I knew I was a breath away from finishing. At 2:05 a.m., just in time for her due date, the baby did it.

Release. That's all I felt. It was like birthing a big, squirmy squid. There was cheering, and someone asked, "Can you see her?"

"No," I gasped. Someone held her up, and they laughed. The baby had one look on her face that everyone agreed said, "WHO AUTHORIZED THAT?"

She's going to be like me then, I thought. Yikes.

The Very Long Goodbye (Part 3.4): Loose Ends

Today marks my 95th (can you believe it??) entry on this blog. Entry 100 will be my last, so have no fear, the long goodbye will eventually be a goodbye. Now, onto the show ...

While my regular doctor was off buying eggs to make potato salad for his Memorial Day barbecue, my new doctor was popping in and out of my room to check my progress. This wasn't hard to do, seeing as how I had gotten to 7 cm dilation and stalled. Faced with the image of my baby doing the breaststroke in her own pooh, I opted for the epidural, figuring I'd have the energy to finish dilating and push.

Besdies, I had a pleasant bias towards anesthesiologists since my sister and others had told me how wonderful they and their bags of magic tricks were. I pictured a jovial man with a steady hand and James Earl Jones-ish voice coming to rescue me. The man who briskly walked into the room a half hour later was just like James Earl Jones--when he was Darth Vader. His greeting to me was a sigh, a frown, and an, "Everyone clear the room but him [meaning Tim]."

Why he couldn't have just turned to my mother (the only other person in the room) and said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, you'll have to leave for a few minutes now," I don't know. I knew at that moment that the guy wanted to get in and out of the room as fast as possible, and if that meant I'd have to experience extra pain in the process, oh well. Later, I found out he was late for his shift and was irate, but that information neither then or now means much to me. There's no excuse for being a jerk.

Anyway, he told me to sit on the edge of the bed, hunch over, and drop my shoulders. A contraction hit right then, but he wouldn't let Tim come near me to help, though we hadn't started the epidural at all. All he said was, "Don't move!" and continued prepping my back for the needle. Even the nurse who was with him had the sense to know he was being unnecessarily rude. She kept trying to encourage me and soften the commands he gave, but it was clear he was out of line.

He said "Pinch!" as he poked me with needles (though he never said, "When I say, 'pinch,' that means I'm going to give you a shot"), so the nurse tried to preempt him by warning me gently each time. He kept bending my back forward until I finally gasped, "I can't breathe!" Another contraction hit, followed by a "Don't move!" I thought to myself that it would have been better to have struggled without the epidural. He stuck the needle in, and for the first time during the entire labor I said, "It hurts!" Something felt very wrong. I must've been right, because Mr. Needles said, "That's not going to work. I don't like that." He pulled the needle out to START OVER. I wanted to cry. He did it again, and asked, "Do you feel anything?" I whimpered, "Yes." That wasn't the right answer. He let out a testy sigh, and the nurse helped me onto my back again. After a minute, he said, "Are you having any contractions?"

"Why don't you check the monitor, idiot?" I wanted to say. Instead, I said the truth: "I don't feel any."

"See?" he said, to the nurse, "She doesn't even know if she's having them." With that smug comment, he packed up his gear and left. I determined that even if my back broke in half from the pain, I wouldn't admit it for fear he'd come back.

After five minutes, the doctor came in to check on me. She said, "Take a nap. When you wake up, there will be work to do." A nap? During labor? Sweet!

I rested for almost 45 minutes. When I woke up, I didn't have to be told that the baby was making her way to the Outs.