Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Firstborn Birth Stories

I was 19.  Married a year (yep, got married really young, like most of the military wives do!) and living in Orlando off base in an upstairs apartment on LeHigh street. 

I swam daily, the pressure from being super pregnant, still technically a teenager, and all alone without my family was severe.  Emotionally, I was a wreck.  Physically, I gained maybe 7 pounds and secretly hoped I'd have a small baby.  Ouch, do you KNOW how babies are born?! 



Speaking of lack of weight gain, I had to go and see this guy for some shots every week.  Protein, and probably Valium or Prozac because I was super high strung and sad all the damn time.  I loved him.  Or her.  Or shim?!  His/Her name was "VER" (rhymes with Bear, but pulled into two sexy syllables) and s/he was awesome.  Bald, about six foot three and the deepest sexiest man voice a woman ever could have.  S/he really knew how to accentuate his/her eyes too.  "OHMIGOD GUUUURL, you are juss da tiniess thaaang."  (My belly...)  "Gimme your arm, squeeze dis ball and we can get started.  haha, I always wanted to say that.  Squeeze this ball!"  I don't think my husband got a kick out of him/her as much as I did.  We talked about all the girly stuff you could talk about to a best friend who you only saw because you were paying them to keep you alive.  :)  Thanks Ver. 


Anyway, I had felt Braxton-Hicks contractions before, and on my due date, September 24th, I was sure I was in labor.  A quick visit to the hospital and yet ANOTHER person checking my whoo-haa confirmed that I was just being a wimp.  On the way back from the hospital, I decided I needed some watermelon.  I mean, I REALLY needed watermelon.  So, we stopped at a grocery store, I forget which one, for some watermelon.  Are watermelon in season in late September?  Only at certain places.  So, I settled for some red vines instead.



On the way back to the apartment, I swear my hips were breaking in half.  I mean, seriously, the pain was unbearable.  I thought I was going to die.  (Not really, but man, it hurt)  Even red vines weren't helping.  So, driving back from the hospital, in the dark, we hit something.  The (tiny) HUGE bump brought me to tears, what the hell did we hit?  BIGFOOT?!  I mean, it could have been a rock, but damn, my legs were falling off!



So, because I was in such pain, we decided that the best thing to do was go bowling.  We drove over to the bowling alley and got two games for each of us.  I don't know if you know this, but bowling with a big full term belly is hard.  But I still won.  Because that's what I do.  Win. 


Then as I was walking away from the snack bar, my water broke.  Like gushed out, in- the-movies-broke, Niagara-Falls, baby-juice-flowing-all-over-the-place, dammit-I'm-in-a-bowling-alley, holy-shit-are-people-looking-at-me, my-husband-looks-pissed, Gushed out.  Stanky, slimy baby juice.  All over my cool bowling shoes.

Dammit.  Shit just got real.

Unfortunately, there was a football game on, and we needed to see who won.  So I swayed like my momma taught me.  Well, she didn't really "teach" me cause she wasn't there, but I remember walking with her the night before Elsa was born and she would stop and sway back and forth on her heels, so I just mimicked that motion.  It sure as hell didn't work for me.



That kid was coming whether or not the Colorado Buffalos beat the Tennesee Volunteers or not.  Hurry up with that touchdown Peyton, we needed to GO.

And go we did.  We left the bowling alley and cruised down the road to the Winter Park hospital.  I tried to check in and they told me visiting hours were over.  I gently, or as gently as my breaking hips could tell them, told them I was in labor, and my water had broken.  "WHAT?!" 


They rushed into servitude.  Apparently my tiny body (I know, right.) and lack of weight gain prompted them to think I was severely premature.  They called my doctor, Dr. Wolford, and he assured them that I was indeed full term. 

I got dressed into that awesome butt-less hospital gown and wanted to walk around.  But, alas, my doctor came in and said, "You're getting an epidural." 



Who was I to complain?  Doctor's orders, man.  Besides, my hips already broke in half, so walking would have been difficult.  Right?

The anesthesiologist came in and said he was going to put this 8 inch needle in my back and that I needed to relax.  I said, "Cool, can I watch!"  Surprised, he agreed to let me watch.  The nurse came over and gave me a huge mirror, you know the Goody Mirrors you can get from Wal-mart?  She then stood behind the drug doctor and held another equally as cool Goody mirror back there so I could watch this dude stick a needle in my spinal fluid.  After I signed the "If I die, it's not his fault" liability form, that is.



After a few minutes, they checked if my toes could feel anything by poking a needle in my big toe.  Nope.  Nothing.  Naada.  Zilch.  Damn that stuff works.  Of course, the football game was going on in the tube TV behind everything.  Go Volunteers. 

The baby monitor told us that it was time for me to push this sucker out.  The contractions, apparently were really strong now and I was effaced and dilated all the way.  Did I know?  Nope.  The nurse kept checking me and watching a screen to let me know.  As far as I was concerned, my hips were no longer broken and I needed to keep this epidural drip for when I stubbed my toe. 



We did the normal, you-hold-one-leg-I'll-hold-the-other and the nurse said that I wasn't pushing "right."  Huh?  How the hell do you push a baby cantaloupe out of a lemon hole, then miss-know-it-all?  Oh, that way...  

She literally told me this:  "Have you ever been constipated?  Well, push like you're pushing that BM out.  Push from THERE."  And pointed.  Uhm..  uh...  I didn't think I was doing THAT.  I thought I was having a baby.  But my 19 year old self was like, "OK Whatevs, this epidural is the shiz."



After about 5 minutes, the epidural wore off.  In my mind:  "HOLYGODINHEAVEN HELP ME NOW!!!  WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP HAVING BABIES??!  OH MY GOD I'M DYING AGAIN.  Oh, ok 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, (breathe Maija...) 3, 2, 1... ONE more...  10, 9, 8, 7"  OK STOP, someone yelled.  "WHAT?  STOP?  How the hell do you want me to STOP!?  There's a BABY RIGHT THERE... holy shit there's a BABY right there...  oh my God, I had a baby.  Holy cow he has A LOT of hair."

My Andrew Jade was born.  Wait, my husband wanted to name him Shae or Kobe.  So no AJ for me.  Damn.  Well, if you know my son, you know that Colorado beat Tennessee that day, and therefore my son is named Koy (detmer) Peyton (manning).  A pretty fitting name for this kid.



Happy 17th Birthday son.  Since the day you were born, I've been cutting your hair, and today is no exception.  I love you.  I love your stoic looks.  I love your maija-attitude.  I love the way you've grown and continue to grow.  I love how you stick up for your sister, even if you get in trouble with me.  I love you.  Even if you did "break my hips." 


3 comments:

Golden Marie said...

Happiest birthday Koy! :D PS I love reading your posts Maija

Shelly Cunningham said...

This was so fun to read. You are hilarious! And you described labor perfectly!
Your son is so handsome. He sounds like an amazing kid.

Heather said...

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