December 6, 2000

6 Dec
3:30 a.m.: Okay…ouch, this hurts. Maybe it’s just some more Braxton Hicks. I’ll lay here a few minutes and see…

3:40 a.m.: Nope…definitely not falling asleep. Something’s up. I’ll go into the living room and watch TV. Enters living room and clicks around. Nope, nothing on but Cool World…I guess I’ll watch that.

4:50 a.m.: Alright, they went from 10 minutes to 8 minutes. Time to wake up Scott. Waddles back into the bedroom of their small trailer.


“Scott…I think I’m in labor. They’re about 8 minutes apart.” Expects her boyfriend to freak out, instead he grunts…again.
“I’m serious!”
“Did you call the hospital yet?”
“Call the hospital….and start the coffee please.”
Okay, start the coffee and call the hospital. Sure, I can do that. Right after I beat the big jerk upside the head. A short conversation with the nurse occurs.
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“About 8 minutes.”
“You’ve got PLENTY of time ” the bored nurse stupidly comments. “You might as well just stay home where you’re comfortable.” Yeah, sure, my first baby and you want me to stay home.
“I have Group B Strep. My midwife told me to call when I went into labor to get the antibiotics started.”
Nurse sighs. “Okay, come on down.”
“Scott..” Her boyfriend walks into the kitchen and pours some coffee. “The nurse said to head on in.”
“Okay…I need a shower first.”
Am I in the twilight zone?! The nurse says stay home, my boyfriend wants a shower…I’m in labor people!
6:00 a.m.: The nurse has checked the patient and declared that she is only 1 cm dialated…and, after admonishing her for using her breathing, tells her she can either wait for her midwife to arrive in an hour, or go home. The patient, knowing that she is in true labor and that the nurse is an idiot, decides to stay for the midwife.
7:00 a.m.: “Randi…you’re 6 c.m. dialated.”
“WHAT! The nurse said I was 1 c.m. only an hour ago! Didn’t you say that going from 1-5 was the slowest part?!”
“Yes…I did. But you’re 6 c.m.” she says.
“And the nurse wanted me to go home.”
“Sweetie, you wouldn’t have made it out of the parking lot.”
7:30 a.m.: The patient is now comfortably ensconced in a rocking chair. Her boyfriend is watching the clock.
“You’re going to have a contraction in about thirty seconds.” The boyfriend comments.
“No I’m not, I feel………….” immense crushing pain…breathe…just breathe…breathe and think about how you want to beat your boyfriend….”fine.”
8-12:00 p.m.: Labor…more labor…pain…more pain…nice, warm whirlpool tub…pain…a long walk around the hallways…some time spent on the bouncy bouncy ball…wait…didn’t the midwife say that the bouncy ball was only for when something is wrong? She didn’t tell me anything was wrong. She’d tell me if something was wrong.
1:00 p.m.: WOW! Okay, this shit sucks! I’ve been pushing for an hour! Shouldn’t he have come out by now?! Damn…that was shitty to kick the midwife, but she had it coming! She should’ve gotten her hands out of my who-ha while I was having a contraction!
2:00 p.m.: I can’t do this anymore…awake for one minute at a time…wake up for contraction…push…pass out. One minute later wake up…push…pass out. Water…cold washclothes….push…
3:00 p.m.: They’re calling in the dr? What’s wrong…..
3:45 p.m.: God damn doctor…sticking his fingers in my who-ha just to make sure I was REALLY pushing! No, you fucker, I’m sitting here playing tiddly winks! C-section…yes…yes…anything…get him out safely. Head up? Stuck on the pelvic bone?! HOW BIG?!?!
4:15 p.m.: I love…LOVE the anesthe…anesta…pain guy. Will you marry me, pain guy?! No more pain….where’s Scott…shouldn’t he be in here? Far away voice says Scott will be in when they’re ready to begin the c-section.
4:23 p.m.: WHERE’S SCOTT?!?! The sheet’s up…where is he? The pediatrician’s here…everything’s ready? A voice snaps, “Someone get her boyfriend! NOW!”
4:27 p.m.: He’s not crying…why isn’t he crying? Oh…wait…there he is! The pediatrician’s holding him up for me to see. Oh…Oh my god..his eyes are wide open…he’s looking at me! He’s blinking at me! Cry sweetie..just cry…PLEASE cry….
4:28 p.m.: HE CRIED! He’s screaming! He’s healthy! What Scott? Ten fingers and ten toes?! He could have 12 toes, I don’t care, as long as he’s healthy! I’m crying…I can’t wipe the tears off my face because of the straps…someone untie me…please…
4:32 p.m.: I can touch him…he’s real. He’s here and he’s real and he’s healthy. Dammit, no fair, Scott go to hold him first. But he’s here, real, healthy and ours. I love you baby.
Six years ago one of the most momentous days of my life occurred. This morning as we walked to the bus stop he asked me if it was his birthday today (for the tenth time).
“Yes, baby, you know it is.”
“Am I 6 years old today?!”
“Am I a little bit taller?”
“Maybe…just a bit!”
Everyday he grows taller…smarter…wise-assier. I thought that there was no way ever that I could love someone as much as I loved the 8 lb 4.8 oz being that came out of me six years ago today.
I was wrong.
I love him more as each day passes.

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