Babies, Pizza and The Full Moon
I can completely understand my eldest daughters aversion to spicy food, as a previous ‘Tale’ explains.
But it is very recently that I’ve pieced together her love of salty things.
(Warning: There is some strong language and a few bodily function details in today’s story).
I was three days overdue, and I felt as big as a house.
Sleep was getting more and more elusive. My stomach felt tight enough to pop if I sat down too quickly.
By then, I was beginning to think my firstborn child just didn’t want to come out. I mean, I didn’t entirely blame her: she was faced with being parented by a woman who had never even babysat, and who had already tried to murder her in-utero… the chances of her surviving her first vulnerable months seemed slim.
And she was getting oatmeal raisin cookies (via her mom) in a warm, cosy spot on the daily. Who would want to leave that Utopia?
I awoke to the feeling that someone was tightening a really wide belt around my midsection just after midnight on 14th of December.
“This is it!” I thought to myself. “She’s finally ready!”
I wandered around the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea.
Timing the contractions.
“Hmmmm. Still in no hurry, eh?”
After a couple of hours of nothing too exciting going on, I decided to try to go back to bed.
When Jack woke in the morning, I told him: “Today is probably the day”.
Of course, me being me, I wasn’t making any big fuss.
So neither did he.
By about 2pm the contractions were getting a little more intense, and the space between them was shortening.
Literally clueless, we decided to head down to the hospital because we didn’t know how quickly she might show up — and neither of us felt prepared to deal with a home birth.
We arrived at the hospital mid-afternoon.
The labor ward was quite busy, and the nurses seemed only mildly interested in the beluga-sized woman who waddled up to the counter telling them in a very matter-of-fact way that she was in labor.
Nurse: <barely looking up> “Ok, please take a seat. A nurse will come to check you soon.”
Me: “Okay” <slightly freaked out that I might pop her out while sitting on the chair… cos I’d never done this before>
About half an hour passed, and finally someone came to bring me into a room to ‘check me out’.
Apparently I was only 2 centimeters dilated. Not enough to admit me.
Also, all of their L & D beds were full.
(I overheard a nurse joking about how it was a “Full Moon”).
Figures, I think to myself.
My child waited to be born on a Full Moon.
So, off we waddle.
Told to “come back later” and “you’ll know when because it’ll get harder to walk and breathe.”
Got it.
Wait to come back until I feel like I’m going to die.
10–4.
By this stage, it’s close to 6pm. And I haven’t eaten all day.
Between contractions, I realize I’m starving.
And I decide that the only thing I really feel like eating is Pizza.
Specifically, ANCHOVY pizza.
We stop at this great little pizza place just doors away from my mothers apartment.
Fishy, salty pizza in hand, we sit with my mother at her place.
I happily shoved mouthfuls of greasy ‘za in my face in between contractions.
Never had I tasted anything so delicious.
(The look on my husband and mothers face suggested they thought otherwise. Fools.).
Not long after getting home, I realize I’ve arrived at the “OH MY I CAN HARDLY BREATHE DURING A CONTRACTION” phase.
This. Is. It!
So, we get in the car and head to the hospital again.
A little ‘deja vu’, I find myself approaching the nurses’ desk in the L & D ward.
Me: “Uhm, I’m definitely in labor now. I need to check in”
Nurse: <again, barely looking up> “Okay, take a seat and someone will see you shortly”
Me: <groan/gasp contraction> “UGGHHHHHHHH…. Okay”
Nurse: <now looking at me directly> “Don’t worry — we will see you right away”
I was seen pretty quickly (the contraction helped), only to be told that I was “Only 4 cm dilated” <seriously?>…
Nurse: “Perhaps you would like to go take a shower and sit on an exercise ball? Unfortunately, the ward is full and we don’t have a bed available for you right now.”
Me (to myself): WTF? You’re kidding, right? I would distinctly NOT like to do that — I would much rather the huge ball in my stomach come out NOW… but I did remember reading somewhere that a shower and exercise ball combo can help alleviate some of the contraction pain.
Me (outside voice): “Sure. Okay”
I sat on that ball for what felt like forever (probably no more than half an hour), until I literally thought my child was going to be born in the shower.
The flood I created by plugging up the drain sitting on the ball was motivation to move along as well.
Seriously didn’t want my child be born in a backed-up showerstall. Ew.
Me <soaking wet, to nurse at desk>: “I really need someone to check me again. It’s so painful now. Oh, and someone needs to check the shower stall — I flooded it. Sorry.”
Nurse: “Okay. Head into the triage room. A nurse will check you soon.”
Some time later (also felt like nine hours, probably 15 minutes), a female doctor came in and introduced herself as the labor doctor for the evening.
She asked me a few questions.
I had a full-blown contraction or two while trying to politely answer.
She informs me that “Theres very little chance you are in active-labor. You are managing your contractions far too well. I’d guess you’re at most 6cm. I have an unscheduled C-section to attend to, but I will be out in plenty of time to attend to your birth. Don’t worry.”
Me: “Okay”
Also me (in my head): Holy f*&* I’m about to die. I know I said I didn’t want an epidural, but I need an effing epidural. STAT. And I’m definitely worried. And I’m probably going to die. And I remember every detail of that chart about labor in the ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ book and it WAS ALL A LIE!!”
The doctor left the room.
I’m almost in tears.
Me: “Jack, I really, REALLY need someone to check me. I’m hurting SO BAD. And I’ve changed my mind. I know I said I wanted a natural birth but I lied. I’m going to get an epidural. Holllyyyyyyyyy SHHHHIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTT”
Jack: “Uhm, nurse, one of you really needs to come check my wife.”
Nurse: “The doctor was just in. Did she check your dilation?”
Me: “Uhm, no. She just told me I’m ‘handling it too well to be in active labor’ and I’m ‘probably about 6cm’. Please, please get me an epidural. If this isn’t active labor, I won’t be able to do this.”
Nurse <checking, face goes white>: “Uhm… you’re at 9cm. Just a second”
Nurse (overheard speaking in an urgent tone to the other nurses): “Holy s*@t. We need to get this woman a room RIGHT NOW. She’s about to have her baby.”
Highlights of what followed (otherwise this ‘tale’ will be a ‘book’):
They magically found me a room that hadn’t been available an hour before.
A nurse with experience was heading up my delivery — the doctor was still in C-section.
My mother nearly passed out watching a nurse trying to find a vein in my hand to hook up an IV (my veins are notoriously hard to find).
The nurse scolded me for groaning too loudly (seriously, wtf?).
“Unfortunately, it is too late for an epidural. And anyway, the anesthesiologist is in surgery right now for an emergency C-section” <I had literally never hated an innocent person so much as the poor woman having her C-section>
The doctor apologized in a stereotypically Canadian way, asking my permission to use a vacuum “I’m so sorry to have to do this… I know you didn’t have an epidural (no shit, Sherlock!!!), but we need to use a vacuum to get your baby out quickly.”
(Honestly, if you have ever been in labor you know that you would allow them to use a blunt bread knife if you thought your baby was in danger.)
I appreciated the apology, though it wasn’t nearly enough to compensate for the pain.
Full Moon my A**
But then she was here.
In the wee hours of December 15.
After more than 24 hours in labor. And a bunch of other crap that didn’t matter anymore. (Not even a tiny bit).
The little girl with a full head of red hair — courtesy of 15 Hunan peppers.
The little girl who had ten fingers and ten toes, and when placed on my chest lifted her head up to look around (almost unheard of in newborn babies).
The little girl who chose her name before she was born.
The little girl who made my heart swell bigger in that moment than I thought it could ever grow.
The little girl who wasn’t quite ready until she was ready… which is EXACTLY the way she is to this day.
Pure love and feistiness in a little 7lb 13oz body.
A little time later (while I was getting all stitched back together) the nurse turned to me and said “I just noticed the time — most moms are really starving right about now, especially since you obviously haven’t eaten in quite a while. Would you like me to get some food sent to your room?”
Me: “Oh no, thank you, I’m not that hungry. I had anchovy pizza while I was waiting to come back to the hospital last night”
Nurse: 😳
(Apparently that’s not normal)
As always, thanks for reading! It is always fun to share and I always love reading your comments and personal experiences. This #tuesdaystale was originally shared as a Facebook post.
Originally published at https://www.tanyatinney.com on September 3, 2020.
