You, our precious heavenly gift, were born unto us at 5:16 on August 20th, 2009. You weighed 6 lbs, 15 oz and were 21" long. And I can barely breathe looking at you; you're so captivating. Literally, it takes my breath away how much I adore you. You had me at first blink, and I am hopelessly, utterly, ridiculously devoted. Miracle doesn't even seem to cover it, for some reason, but you truly are miraculous.
I'm getting ahead of myself, though, so let me start at the beginning and tell you how it all went down ...
A-hem..
It was the middle of darkness. The sticky hot time of year was bearing down hard in the boro (but props to the fan and air conditioning for sustaining the load). Though mercilessly rotund and functionally limited, I'd still been able to get some good sleep most nights and was surprised to find myself up (and fairly coherent) just after 1 am five days before your due date.
Then I noticed the puddle of wetness beneath my bum and felt a flush of embarrass-/excitement. Or something else. Crap, I wet the bed. Again? (Just kidding, for the record that never happened). Did I forget to turn the fan on and get too hot? Maybe I sneezed in my sleep..
Of course after this lovely stream of consciousness, it dawned on me that being pretty pregnant + less than a week from d-day might-could just equal: H20 break (duh, mommy)!
I snuck quietly from the sheets and stole to the bathroom to assess the situation. I wasn't about to disturb daddy and risk the crazy eyes for a false alarm. Certainty was a must. Upon further inspection, the river was still intermittently draining [weirdest thing ever. thus far] and I knew my hypothesis to be correct. I was going to have a baby. ;)
{sidenote: Seriously, though, I do not understand how those women on the Discovery channel go all the way through pregnancy, wind up at the hospital in labor and then claim to have had NO IDEA they were pregnant. Did you not feel kicking and junk going on in there? I mean my baby was practicing for Cirque Du Soleil. Not to mention the absence of your dot and a myriad of other symptoms. But maybe I'm the ignorant one? I do suppose there could be some medical explanation.. Apologies for the tirade.}
Anywho, the next step was alerting totally snuggled up, firmly passed out, soundly-sleeping daddy, which I liken to awakening an opossum playing dead. Or maybe actually dead for like 2 minutes. This scenario generally involves a good amount of initial jiggling and patting and tender attempts to inveigle him away from the arms of slumber, but inevitably ends with a startling shout and Jon jolting abruptly upright (though still not fully awake and therefore prone to strange bouts of sleeptalking and discombobulation. More on that in later posts). Needless to say, I was stricken with terror.
…Sorry, that was kind of dramatic. Amidst my trepidation, I actually realized that I could first attempt to rouse the beast by peeking round the corner and calling his name (in my mind at pitch-black-in-the-morning this was safe, because should he happen to shoot the Medusa-like crazy eyes my way, I could practice the duck and cover in a timely fashion). To my surprise, he stirred at only the second call, and when he heard "I think my water just broke," daddy responded sleepily "what? …she's coming??!" and was up in a heartbeat.
As we hopped about dizzily and celebrated your impending arrival, we tried to think back to our "training." Of course, no one tells you that as soon as you get clued in that your little one is on their way, you promptly forget everything you learned in birthing class and second-guess even tiny details … or big stuff.
All I kept thinking about were the stories I'd heard and voices echoing "I went to the hospital and they sent me home," and "a common first labor is around 20 hours." I'm sure they clearly stated that water breaking = hospital visit in our class, but apparently we required positive confirmation. Daddy deferred to me to call the hospital and feel like a total doofus when they corroborated our instinct that yes—that particular action did, in fact, warrant a visit. When our heads cleared enough to think a little, we reaffirmed via babyclass literature that you would be summoned forth in under 24 hours (due to the still-random still-drizzle between my legs). Woo-woo!!
Dad set forth to notify the grandparents while I waddled about making sure we were thoroughly packed. My mom was the first call.
After a few seconds I heard him leaving a message that went something like this "Hi mom, it's 2:05am and I'm calling to tell you that your daughter's water broke and we're heading to the hospital, but obviously you are not answering your phone, so … you fail."
And then another, similar message to granny Mac: "Mom, it's Jon. McKenzie's water just broke; Ansley is coming, and you're not answering. This is your first test as a grandparent and you have failed. Enjoy your sleep."
Hmmn, this was getting fun. I waited for Bumpa's answering machine to pick up next and heard yet another scolding (daddy was losing patience) "Dad, you are the third grandparent that has not answered your phone, and your daughter is in labor. You fail."
Uncle Bronson was the first to answer. Of course, when he asked if he should notify the household I got nervous and told him to let your Bumpa sleep; knowing that it would probably be a good many hours before you actually arrived. By that time, though, the other failed grandparents were beginning to call back all aflutter. News had spread, and they were ready.
Me? Not so much.
I was just sure you'd be late. In fact, I'd been coasting along under the assumption that you probably wouldn't want to join the party until a good week after you were due (sometime around my birthday). After all, it's just the Stevenson way. But here you were, knocking at the door, and dropping (not-so-)subtle hints that we'd better get ready with a quickness.
Naturally, that didn't stop us from piddling our way to Women's Hospital though. Granny and aunt Jenna almost beat us there (I'm going to call it a combination of their enthusiasm and our unpunctuality). Under the cover of blackness, we managed to locate the correct entrance after 2 unsuccessful tries and scurry to the front desk. The world seemed still.
Mommy had been on the ball and checked us in online, yet they had us sign enough paperwork to make me even shakier than I was (nerves and hunger; not a good combo, in case you were wondering). There was a short exam/question&answer session, and it was determined that we be admitted. Holy crap about sums up my thought process at that moment.
Seriously, though, I was incredibly excited (slash scared) and could barely stand the anticipation as we were escorted to our suite. We settled in just after 3:30am. Mia, Granny Mac and Aunt Jenna had the first shift (followed closely by Bumpa and Grandpa Mac).
As you'll learn if and when you ever have a kid, there's a lot of preparation and waiting around before any of the real action starts.
The first order of business was hooking mommy up to a multitude of scary, beeping machinery all Frankenstein-style. They adjusted and readjusted the fetal heart monitor to get a satisfactory read on the goods inside (i.e. you). And mommy's greatest immortal enemy, the IV, was next. This evil device is basically a tube (inserted with a needle the size of my cankle, btw) that delivers medicine and various other fluids to your body via the forearm. I tried to be strong, but when the nurse announced that the first try was in vain [pun intended, because it was definitely NOT in the vein…], I could have passed out. Or punched her, if my arm wasn't wounded by her incompetence. At least she was nice. FYI, aside from the 45 minutes I'll discuss later (and only because that was like a constant hurt), this was the most painful part of your birth. Bless you, little one. After the nurse left, Granny Mac (who witnessed the IV altercation), said it took everything she had not to step in and offer to do it herself because "that girl was doing it wrong." Thanks for having my back, G-Mac.
The birthing suites, though nice enough, have a definite lack of amenities (save the softcore educational porn channel with instructions on breastfeeding and how not to shake your baby repeating every 15 minutes). I would advise bringing a laptop and music for alternate entertainment, but we were so thrilled about your nearing arrival I think we just talked to pass the time. Several hours flew by, and they kept pointing out some alleged contractions on the screen, which were apparently minute enough that I didn't feel them. Yesss.
When things weren't hastening by morning, they started a drip of Pitocin (labor speeder-upper). Mommy had a most awesome labor & delivery nurse named Lisa, who asked all about you and how daddy and I met. I'm not sure if this was part of her training, but strangely I did feel less awkward with her having to be all up in my business [if that's possible] since she seemed genuinely interested in the other stuff.
As the time droned on, we spotted larger and more frequent contractions on the screen, and they kept upping the medicine to hurry you on your way (daddy insisted it was because Dr. Cousins' shift ended at 5). I was happy to munch on the excellent soft ice and listen to my babytime playlist while texting back and forth with your aunts and family (after daddy had sent the initial "we're in labor!" text).
Funnily enough, your godmother Aunt Heidi did not believe daddy when he sent that first message, as he had cried wolf before and tried to pretend we were in labor on our way to your last baby shower. Obviously, when Heidi confirmed it through me, she was much more enthusiastic. I really should have gone for that unlimited text plan if just for the month of August..
Adrenaline still pumping and still crazy-hungry, mommy started to feel some contractions in the early afternoon. Fortunately they were tolerably docile and felt more like pressure than pain. Nurse Lisa checked it out and passed along the news that Dr. Cousins said I could have the epidural "whenever I felt like it" after a certain point. I felt like I should wait at least until it hurt a little, and opted to take the hit a couple hours later.
The epidural was not remotely what I expected. Partially because it barely hurt (compared to that IV? pshhh), and partially because of the remarkably cool anesthesiologist, Dr. Jackson. When all 6 foot 7 inches of Dr. J walked in and started joking with us, mommy thought "Crap, there's no way he can be good at this. He's far too jovial." But the good doc knew exactly what it felt like each step of the way and explained things extremely well (like he was reading my mind..). He'd clearly done this before. When the tube was in, he even let Jon push the last bit through and said "Congratulations you're a doctor now! You'll even get a certificate in the mail. But it will look strangely like a bill…" Hah.
There was one spot on my side that didn't seem to be affected by the 'dural, where mommy could feel the more frequent contractions, but they turned me on my side (in a manner disturbingly similar to moving a 2-ton whale, what with the numb legs and such) and it disappeared.
After a few more rounds of contraction-watching and progress checks, word was we were getting close. In the meantime, mommy thought she'd have some chicken broth and a couple orange popsicles for lunch. The liquid diet was killing me. Interestingly, though, no one had thought to warn me that lots of meds, little solids and sudden movements (you know like sitting up) can lead to the expulsion of such orange-tinted liquids. I was assured that pukage was totally normal, but that didn't make it any more dignified.
Eventually, we learned that you were twisted sideways—and I guess they generally prefer up-facing babies for delivery, so mommy was encouraged to prop myself edgewise in hopes of persuading you to start the spin-cycle. Incidentally, the act of turning me on my side seemed to turn off the effects of the epidural (and instantaneously bring the pain). Contractions then were maybe two minutes (that felt like two seconds) apart. And they made my mommies clear the room, leaving Jon and I alone to cope.
Those videos aren't lying, it hurts something fierce when you can feel it (how do women who have natural births DO that?); so while I was Lamaze-ing it up they called in the anesthesiologist for a bolus (quick, large dose of medicine) that was supposed to work in 15 minutes. Clearly, they tell you 15 minutes so you don't quit from despair, though, because it didn't start working until Dr. Cousins came in and turned me upright (almost 45 minutes later). Upon further inspection, Dr. C explained that maybe it had hurt because I was ready to push. What?! So where were you 45 minutes ago, doc?
{On another side note, uncle B had gone in to work that day and was not permitted to leave early "just because [his sister was] having a baby." "She'll have more kids," his boss had said. Umm.. dude. Heartless much? So B was still slaving away on the other side of town at this point in time}
Lisa psyched us up and instructed mommy on the best pushing techniques. I was essentially folded in half, but Daddy held my leg and hand and was absolutely excellent with the encouragement. By the time we figured out that all the real action happens only during contractions (of which I was again comfortably unaware), I was laughing at the irony. Naturally, the epidural had kicked back in. We watched the monitor for a good hour and a half with little progress, since I couldn't feel much to push but was doing it anyway. At least we were getting somewhere. They had asked a few times if I wanted a mirror, but mommy [like many people who have not yet had a child] was a bit horrified by the idea of watching… everything. Daddy had agreed that he too would rather not risk a glance, and was perched solidly at my side. That is until nurse Lisa commented on your light blonde hair color.
All hesitation left daddy's face and curiosity got the better of him. From that moment on, he was captivated. He said later "I really didn't think I wanted to look, but I'm so glad I did because it was the most amazing and incredible thing I have ever seen." Ok, so perhaps if we are blessed with any siblings for you, I'll consider that mirror.
You faked us out with a couple semi-appearances before nurse Lisa exclaimed "Ok! Stop pushing!!" (which was odd, since we'd been doing this for 2 1/2 hours). But lo and behold, it was go-time.
Dr. Cousins appeared for the last 4 or so contractions, did her thing, and you were out and on my chest in all your long pink perfectness; looking at the world with wide, perceptive eyes (and not even crying!). I could not believe that you were growing inside me for 9 months, and now you were there. It was magical and surreal and so many things I can't describe. Like baby intoxication. I'm crying just typing about it! I kept trying to memorize exactly how it felt, and all I could think was 'is she really mine?'
Like I said, you didn't even shed a tear—just emitted a couple tiny wails to announce your presence. Daddy, however, was bawling and followed you immediately to the station for cleaning. He stood over you—teardrops streaming on your makeshift crib—and offered sweet words of comfort, saying "I'm here baby girl. I'm not going anywhere. I love you already!" He was so proud he could barely wait to show you off to the rest of the family in the nursery.
When the commotion calmed a smidge, they whisked you off to meet your public and mommy was left to recover (well, as much as anyone can in an hour or so).
After you birth a child, I guess they pretty much figure you should be rewarded with your choice of food—especially after withholding it from you for like ever, so they offer up any meal you can think of. For some reason, grilled cheese sounded like perfection right then (I know, amazing I didn't even consider the filet ;), so that's what mommy ordered just before Bumpa walked in.
He started toward me with tears on his cheeks. "She's beautiful," he said.
But mommy must have looked a little worse for the wear, because he seemed shaken and afraid to approach.
"I'm fine!" I insisted, "Dad, I promise.. I'm ok!" I didn't realize how overwhelming it must have been for him to see his little girl after having a little girl of her own.
We'll show you the video, but your triumphant entrance and meeting of the family was, in essence, a blur of camera flashes, "awwww!"s and happy sobbing. Luckily, you waited just long enough that Uncle Bronson was able to be there for your big moment. :)
I downed the toasty cheese in 1.2 seconds and was on the verge of sleep when the cavalry arrived. Mia asked what I'd eaten and said "oh my gosh I just said before Jon came to get us that I had a strange craving for grilled cheese." Freaky.
The next couple days were filled with tons of visitors (including all your aunts and immediate family). We both had to get the hang of feeding, changing and burping. I don't think I slept a wink on night one, anticipating your hunger and affirming (then reaffirming) your itty bitty breaths.
On day two, you were lying quietly in daddy's adoring arms when you choked and stopped breathing without warning. I was petrified, but within 5 seconds of us hitting that panic button, a nurse was in the room flipping you over and slamming your back to clear the obstruction. You expelled it on about the second whack (thank goodness, because mommy was about to black out from the anxiety of witnessing this process).
And then we had an ant infiltration and had to change rooms, which I know was great fun for your fans as they tried to navigate the halls to find us. ;)
Daddy was very protective of you from the beginning, making sure everything was done correctly. He helped anywhere he was needed, from b-feeding to swaddling & changing diapers. He was made for this. And you should know he did it all despite the fact that hospitals do not appear to hold fathers in very high regard and cannot be bothered to feed them (while mommies are served a hearty breakfast, lunch and dinner; which you also enjoyed).
The fatigue caught up to us on the second day, but it was mixed with the excitement of your newness (and we just had a hard time putting you down 'cause you were so darn sweet!). Though we wanted to throw a party with every visitor, it was physically impossible. We were lookin' pretty rough.
When news came that we could blow the joint in the morning once we were cleared, daddy and I rejoiced. Then we sat around and waited for forever to check out. You should have seen the cart full of stuff we were trailing. Oh wait, I'm sure I have a picture. :)
Daddy had been feeling ill that last day, and decided to wear a mask around you just in case. I found this quite comical, especially in our "leaving the hospital" pictures.
Once we were loaded up (with me in the back seat to watch you breathe) we mustered our courage and Daddy drove the slowest he has ever gone down Wendover to bring you home. Mia and the doggies were waiting to greet you and record the homecoming. And I know everyone says that having your child is the best moment of your life, but bringing her home is up there, too.
Now you're stuck with us, little A. We're together for good … and I can't imagine a more wonderful gift.
My sunshine. My blessing. My darling baby girl. I promise you I will love you with every fiber of my being for as long as I am able. Do you think forever is enough? ♥
