And baby makes five...

Originally published June 8, 2010

Oh, God. Just writing out the fact that we now have five people that I’m responsible for feeding and taking care of is almost overwhelming. Five people? Really? My cat died a few weeks ago, and I’m sure it was my fault. Who put me in charge of three kids, and what were they thinking?

Anyway, she’s here!!!

Her name is Scout Evangeline Stone. That’s the first time I’ve ever typed it or written. It fits. Evangeline is not my all-time favorite name, but if she hates Scout and has an identity crisis when she’s 13, she can call herself Eve, or Eva, or Angie, or Ellie, or Lina. Or maybe she’ll just hate everyone and go for Crash Panther, and all my hard working plotting to make her life easier will be in vain.

She was 7 pounds, 12 ounces, born yesterday, June 7, at 10:39 a.m.

She is, of course, beautiful and perfect. And since she’s a newborn, she’s also funny looking and alien-like with skin that’s like no color you’ve ever seen, unfocused eyes and funny hair.

But mostly gorgeous and perfect.

Birth story: Mark was supposed to go deliver a speech yesterday in California. I didn’t want him to go. He said it was important, and he’d leave Monday night and be back Wednesday. He’d be gone 36 hours, and the chances of me having the baby were slim.

So he was leaving Monday afternoon.

Apparently, the baby wanted him here for her birth.

At 4:30 a.m., I woke up to feel my water breaking. Weird, oozy, feeling, followed by a “what the hell do I do now” feeling.

Woke Mark up, called the doctor, took my boys to my friend Courtney’s house, (yes, at 5 a.m. -- thank God for Courtney, because they went willingly and cheerily,) and went to the hospital.

Came in, went into labor on my own, started to hurt and within the first minute suddenly the repressed memory of Sander’s labor came flooding back.

Labor hurts. Not a little bit. Not like cramps. Not like, “Ow, this really hurts.”

Labor hurts like someone sticking their hand up inside you, grabbing your guts and squeezing really, really hard while you scream for them to stop. Then they stop for a moment, just to let you catch your breath, and do it again while you scream obscenities and the nurse says, “Oh, just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth and you’ll be fine.”

There is no pain like labor pain. I’m astounded and amazed that the human race has survived. However, it’s really hard to remember in the middle of good sex, which almost feels like the opposite of labor (if you’re doing it right,) how much labor hurts. 

With Sander, the epidural didn’t work. I had no pain relief, and the labor lasted about 12 hours. I came out of that emotionally scarred. Seriously.

So with this one, I told them I wanted an epidural, and I wanted one that worked, and the doctor took that as a challenge.

He said that since I was a redhead, I needed more pain relief than most, and he’d make sure I had no pain at all. Ten minutes later, I drifted off to sleep. Without pain. In labor.

Complete with little button to press if I needed more medicine.

That was around 8 a.m.

At 10:30 a.m., I came out of my fog to a crowd of  people starting to gather around the monitors, whispering words like “heart rate” “decelerations” “really lasting too long” and “got to get her out of there now.”

Then I heard a phone call to my doctor, with the same words whispered to her.

They did a check. Only 6 centimeters dilated. You need to be ten to have the baby. She wasn’t ready to come out.

The doctor ran into the room three minutes later. Looked at me and said, “We’re having this baby now. Let’s get you ready to get her out.”

She did a check, and I was ten centimeters and ready to push. She had literally scared me into getting that baby ready in under five minutes.

The doctor grabbed a vacuum, said, “I’m going to pull, you’re going to push, and she’s going to be fine,” and at 10:39, out she came.

And then silence.

No crying. No noise.

The crowd of people moved over to the baby.

They looked over at me. 

“She fine, really.”

“She’s breathing. She’s all right. She’s just not crying. Let me try a few things.”

Silence.

Mark was running back and forth. “She’s fine. She’s breathing, and she’s turning pink. She just doesn’t want to cry.”

More murmurs from the baby table. 

“Oh, that’s not a good sign. We need to get a neonatal doctor in quick.”

“We’re taking her to the nursery.”

Meanwhile, the doctor is stitching up the pieces of raw hamburger meat that ten minutes ago were my quite useful and much-valued sex organs.

She’s trying to fit together the pieces of the swollen edges of meat to put them back in the right places so they’ll eventually function again, so I don’t really want to stress her out, but this is worrisome.

She said, “The baby’s eyes are moving back and forth from side to side, and her arms are stiff. Babies should have curled up arms. It could be nothing, or it could be a lot of things. They’re taking her to the nursery for observation.”

And I held her for a minute, said hello, and she was gone.

A lot things means everything from nothing to cerebral palsy, brain damage, or seizures.

Not impressed.

I finally made it to the nursery to see her once I got cleaned up, and the doctor was looking her over.

The doctor pronounced her healthy and happy, except for the fact that she still hadn’t woken up and still hadn’t cried.

Worried.

Not impressed.

But I was able to take her back to my room, and coo over her, and have her brothers come to visit her and meet her, and she slowly started to look better and better. 

At 3 a.m., she finally woke up. She looked around, mewed a little like a tiny kitten, and went back to sleep. But I did get to see her eyes and know she was capable of being awake!

And now, I’m not as worried anymore, though I always will worry anyway. She’s bright pink, very cute, and starting to come around.

I think she just didn’t like the transition from womb to room in five seconds flat.

But she’s waking up a little here and there, and doesn’t like it if you change her clothes or her diaper, and I think she’s going to be just fine.

Scout’s a good name. I’m happy with it.

I think she’s going to be a keeper.

And as for me?

I feel like a Dr. Seuss character:

The things I can do! The stuff I can say!

And all because I had a baby today!

I can get up when I sit on the ground.

I look in the mirror and I’m no longer so round.

I can see my knees, my ankles and feet, and you know what’s the best?

I can eat, eat, eat, eat!

I could eat green eggs and ham --

I could eat ten cans of spam.

I could eat a horse, you see --

and another thing -- I’m able to pee!

You know what I did today that amazed me?

I brushed my teeth, with no vomit to faze me.

No more medicine, no more pills,

I feel so healthy, no longer feel ill.

My belly is small(er), diabetes is gone,

pelvis is fixed, nothing is wrong.

I love my kids, and new baby too,

but being pregnant? Well, I’m through.

Yeah, I might be a bit loopy from the painkillers.

But I’m happy. I hated, hated, hated being pregnant, hated being sick, hated having to have others take care of me.

But boy, I love being able to say I have a daughter.

And she’s very, very cute.