I could probably be coy and pretend to be in wonder about why I haven't posted in over a week, but I know we can all assume why I haven't been around. On June 30th, at 1:18 AM, my entire world changed around, all because of one tiny little person. I will share the story, but I want to let you know, it might be one of those that is a trigger for people, so if you get bothered easily, skip to the end. There's a picture there. Otherwise . . . Her birth is proof that man plans and God laughs. We went to the appointment on Tuesday thinking it would just be more wait and see. Well, after the cervix check (TMI alert here, I never want to hear another man complain about a prostate exam. No excuses, this had to have hurt WAYYYYY worse. And men can cough), he told us to go home, get packed and get to the hospital, because I was ready to be induced. He'd call us. So we raced home, me in hormonal tears, Left-brain thinking about cleaning the house so whoever took care of Beazer wouldn't think we live like slobs, LOL. Got home, waited for the call . . . and it never came. I started having labor pains around 2, called the doctor finally, and was told that the hospital did not have room for us, and that my pain was not severe enough to go in. And he'd call in the morning. I was miserable. Back pain solid for 8 hours. Left-brain kept rubiing my back to try to get it to go away, and I started crying. I know he knew it was for real, because, unlike when I cry at ASPCA commercials, he didn't tell me to stop being a sorry sap (he's teasing, of course). I told him if I hurt like that on Wednesday, we were going into the hospital. Any hospital. And of course it went away. Wednesday, doctor told me they didn't have time to induce me til Friday. I started crying. Left-brain was mad because he had now missed two days of work, and when you're a small businessman, that hurts.But we hung out. Thursday, we went down to his parents' house, because I was scheduled to be induced at 7:30 AM, and I was not doing that drive from Crazyville at that hour in my condition. Friday, we went in. Set us up in a room, we were completely ready to get the party started, in a sense. Left-brain decided that, if the baby had come by noon, he'd go home, feed the dog and come back. But she didn't come. I didn't feel contractions, nothing moved along. Not too displeased about the contraction issue, LOL, but they kept giving me meds that were supposed to help bring them on. Finally, Left-brain's dad said that there was no way that Left-brain was coming home and going back. He'd go check on the dog. And I am glad he did. At 7, they added Oxytocin to the mix of drugs. And then it got to be fun times in Suburban Maryland. The family gathered, my father made several inappropriate comments, as is his wont, and upset Left-brain, who chose to ignore it. I started feeling the contractions, and it took everything I had to not start screaming for drugs immediately. Some camping place called Left-brain on his cell to pester him to buy a lot to park the camper. Finally, he said, "Um, I am at the hospital, my wife is in active labor with our first child, and I think I need to be with her." And the person said, "Camping is a family-friendly activity." UM, HELLOO! I did finally break down and ask for drugs. Life was a peach after that. I started joking and talking to people. And still no baby . . . And then the storm hit. The DC Metro area was right in line with probably the worst thunderstorm cell we have had in years. My husband and his sister were watching the transformer across the street from our delivery suite arc and make that wierd noise they make when they blow (not a problem, I was high as a kite and didn't really care, as long as labor didn't hurt and my dad shut up. That may sound harsh, but he said a few things that were completely inappropriate, including his judgement of the amount of pain I could possibly be in, apparently far less than Dad has ever been in, as I was sobbing and they were prepping me for the epidural). When the storm rolled out, it left a million people without power in the DC area, trees down, power out, it was a war zone in the county I grew up in. And the baby didn't come. Doctor could not figure out how I was getting so much pitocin and the baby never moved. He asked me if I wanted to do a C-section or go home. Well, my water had broken hours before and I wanted it done. So we went for the C-section. And good thing we did. After we started and the baby hadn't come out (another TMI moment, I started to realize there was a problem when I saw blood spatter on the drape and realized I was the only person in the room bleeding.), and then heard the doctor yelling, "The cord, the cord." OK, my last worst pregnancy fear was that she would get the cord wrapped around her neck, and that came true. She had that sucker wrapped three times around her neck, as well as her arms and leg. I got frantic, and started asking Left-brain if she was OK. He kept telling me that she wasn't even out yet, but I kept asking. And then started crying. Not even my normal way of crying, just hitching sobs, because I was so scared that something bad would happen to Babygirl. They got her out, held her up, and showed her to us, then went back to work, sewing me back up. I just cried and cried. Left brain went to check on her and kept telling me she was beautiful, she was perfect, she was OK. He took such good care of me. And then they lowered the drop, and I saw my OB. It might have been the drugs, it could have been the hormones, it might have been my last lame attempt to be cute, but I told him he looked like he came out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Blood everywhere . . . not like how they are on TV. And I will say this now: I am grateful that man was my doctor. He saved my daughter's life, he gave me the person who more than completes me, and I will never forget that. I don't know if she was too tangled in the cord to even be delivered, or if she flat-out refused, but we are lucky. She spent most of the day in the NICU just to make sure she was OK, but we've had her since. We had our photo session yesterday with the hospital photographer. It was a show! She "christened" her pretty outfit two times, then had a blowout midst photo. She had a binky that she did not want out of her mouth, and the photographer kept taking it, so her photos are all of her with duck lips, wanting her binky back. Or else with angry face--one of the little things they do is a slide show, and there was a saying about Happiness is personified in a baby, and my little girl is looking at us, quite mad. Today was checkout day. I had a UK onesie for her to wear. Our colors are royal blue and white. Her bow got packed yesterday, so . . . two people at the nursing station told me my son was adorable. I just said thank you. She looks like me, people used to confuse me for a boy, it's her legacy. She's a girl.
And here she is: