Birth Write

Okay, folks, I'm trying to change my ways. In addition to taking extended vacations from Vera Lynn, I am also notoriously wretched at giving up the rest of the story when I leave you hanging. Case in point: Alex's misshapen head. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. I will do better. Granted, I'm still not going to wrap that one up just yet, but I will take a minute to expound upon my sado-masochistic labor experience. Oooh, it hurts so good...

I have to admit, Libby handled herself with a certain amount of grace.

By the time I got to the hospital that morning, she was already hooked up to the Pitocin. Libby, her birth coach Cheryl, and her husband John (Ron's brother) were playing Uno. You remember Uno, right? You draw until you can match either the color or number, you get Skipped, Draw Two, go Wild, etcetera. They had combined 2 or 3 decks to make this monstrous, obnoxiously thick stack of cards that never seemed to get shuffled properly. Or I am just shitty at Uno and a sore loser besides.

So as morning became afternoon, we watched the clock. And time. Crept. Slowly. By.
I looked through the magazines I had brought along. I made and re-made my grocery list. I ate cups of Kozy Shack pudding from the visitors' fridge in the next room. I got my ass kicked repeatedly at Uno. Then finally, a little after six in the evening, things started to get interesting. The contractions were actually starting to hurt enough that Libby didn't feel like playing cards (I think they had ramped up her Pitocin by this point, since she had progressed only about 1/2 a centimeter all day). Since she wanted to go without painkillers, I suggested we go for a walk. "You should try to get up and move around," I said, "That's what helps get the baby down into position."
No dice.
So I got the big blue birthing ball out of the closet and sat down on it just past the foot of her bed. "Do you want to try this?" I bounced, "It's rather entertaining." I grabbed onto the end of her bed and took a few exaggerated hops. "Needs a handle, though," I added.
Still nothing from the bed.
"Come ooon, Libby," I tried again, "Maybe it would help you pass the time?" I shrugged innocently up at her and smiled.

She didn't go for the birthing ball, but that folksy little maneuver did get her to agree to a brief walk down the hall. Once we returned to the room her night nurse came in and basically told Libby in no uncertain terms that it was wonderful that she wanted to have a natural birth, but in order for that to actually happen she was going to have to get much more active (read: You're gonna have to get off your ass, Sister). It was roughly at this point that Libby opted for pain meds. A choice for which we were all grateful.

Next thing we knew, she was ready to push, and at 10:50 p.m. (after 3 little sets of 3 shoves), Hayden Charles Lee emerged. And I got to watch the whole thing, too. That was cool. I didn't watch when Lucas was born because I decided that I didn't need to see something that size coming out of my body. To be honest, I wasn't completely sure I needed to see something that size coming out of ANYONE's body, but Libby reminded me that I'd never have one "that way" again, so I decided what the hell, right? You only get so many chances in life to watch something like that. Actually, it was cute. Libby actually said, "I'm not sure what your comfort level is, but you're welcome to stay." To which my internal dialogue responded something like, She's not sure what my comfort level is? Has she met me?

So anyway, Baby Hayden has arrived. He was 1/2 an ounce heavier than Alexander was at birth and exactly the same length. I can't believe my little guy was ever so tiny. So delicate and curled into himself. So still. Already I can't remember those days. And in a way I'm grateful. And in a way I'm sad. And in a way, I'm considering having another one.