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.