Our story: the next chapter

It’s really strange to know for certain that your child will be born the next day.

After weeks of hoping we could get this baby to flip or wondering if I’d go into labor on my own, it became clear the night of July 9th that one way or another, the baby was going to be born in the next 24 hours. I had all the same emotions I’d had before in both pregnancies – excitement, anxiety, curiosity – but this time there was a distinct feeling of calm. I’d be holding my baby in my arms soon, and soon was quantifiable.

Jonathan and I double-checked our hospital bags to make sure we had what we needed and wanted without bringing a zillion things we’d learned from experience we’d never use. Nice pajamas? You won’t touch them. Toothbrush? A must.

We reviewed our plans for what time to leave, when we wanted Sebastian to be brought to the hospital, etc. We turned out the lights and wondered if we’d be able to sleep (the answer: a little bit.)

We woke in the morning to an unpleasant surprise. The hospital called to postpone our c-section. They didn’t have enough recovery rooms to put us in afterward. Apparently a dozen other babies had decided they wanted to be born while we slept, thinking that this time our “labor” and delivery were all well-planned-out. Ha. The universe clearly thought we were complacent, so it threw us this curveball. {I would like to note that I saw this one coming, mentioning it as a possibility the day or two before. Jonathan or my mom can verify this.}

I was ordered to continue to fast, as they hoped to find a bed for me soon. Three excruciating, dehydrating hours later, we got the call to come in. Did I mention the raging head cold I had the week leading up to this, and the hundreds of Kleenex I was using? So by this point, most anxiety about the c-section had faded. All I wanted was some WATER.

The appointment was supposed to be for 11 a.m., checking in at 9. They finally called me just before noon and asked me to come. It worked out well that we had more time with SP before leaving, he was just about to have his nap, etc. But did I mention that I felt like I was dying of thirst? Yeah, so off we went.

When we arrived, the nurse told us to have a seat when I explained that I had an appointment – which sounds really lame when arriving at a childbirth center, as though it’s a dentist appointment or something. I’d like to think she didn’t look at me like Oh, it’s one of THOSE people who thinks they get to just schedule this whole thing, but I’m pretty sure she did.

We waited. and waited. for hours. Ok, it was only 15 minutes, but to my parched throat and empty stomach, it felt like hours before my phone rang. The labor & delivery nurse was calling me from behind the closed doors, asking if I’d left the house yet. She was dismayed that I’d been sitting in her waiting room all that time while the entire surgical team stood around wondering if I was serious about having this baby or not.

I was escorted back to the pre-op room at 12:30. Everyone was very kind, totally methodical and at-ease, which reminded me that they do this many, many times a day. The anesthesiologist did explain the procedure in more detail than I would’ve liked, but I managed to blur my hearing a little at the icky parts, and he promised not to say anything during the actual spinal.

With my people in place, we walked to the OR, at which point I began shaking. Shouldn’t that happen when the medicine wears off? Clearly it was a serious case of nerves. While Johny and my mom tried to think of a clever title for this sci-fi movie I had transported into, the anesthesiologist did his thing. And you know what? It felt like giving blood, and it was over in no time. He laughed when I said, “That was it??”

They laid me down – the first time I’d been flat on my back in many months – and began preparing while the spinal took effect. It was definitely freaky to feel the last of the prep before I became fully numb, wondering if they would begin too soon, but in less than 10 minutes the surgery was underway and I was chatting with my “team” – looking at the two of them rather than at the light above me that reflected a tad too much of what was happening beyond the curtain. Yikes.

And then…

“Ok, a few more minutes now.”

“You’ll feel some pressure.”

“Whoa, that was fast! Ok, Daddy, it’s pretty obvious, go ahead and tell her.” (at which point, I knew…)

“It’s a boy!”

The next half hour of putting my abdomen back together was lost in a blur of tears as they washed, dried, measured, and exclaimed over my little boy before wrapping him up and bringing him close to my head so I could kiss him and talk to him.

Theodore Nathan was born at 1:39 p.m., and they wheeled me back to the recovery room just after 2. An hour and a half. Compared to 21 hours of labor with Sebastian, not to mention the time it took to stitch me up afterward. So crazy.

We called immediate family, composed an email to more relatives, snapped some pictures to post on facebook, and just generally tried to wrap our brains around this whole fact of having a new munchkin. Add to that the wearing off of some of the medicine and I began feeling, as I announced to the pediatrician, distinctly weird.

The next forty-eight hours were a hazy mix of regaining use of my lower body, relearning how to nurse, and remembering the feel and smell of a tiny body curled up against mine.

Sebastian and his grandparents were the first visitors. When he walked in he looked so big and so small at the same time, shyly approaching the bed where I lay with his tiny brother and squeezing in next to us to take a peek at his “baby Fee-o.”

Auntie and X came down after that, and our dear friends rounded out the hospital guest list. But mostly it was just the three of us eating, sleeping, gazing at each other in awe that we’d gotten this far.

A year later, there is still a whole lot of that going on, tied together with a string of laughter from and with our snuggly, growly, silly little bear.

We made it, Theo! You’ve made me smile every single one of the past 365 days.

I think I know now why you wouldn’t flip around: you love to be upright looking at the world that you just know is ready to love you back.

And of course, we all do.

Happy birthday, Theo bear!