electric mist

birthdays

Eighteen years ago, I was two and a half weeks past my due date and had given up ever actually having the kid. I was pretty sure he had decided to take up residency and not pop out until college, I was so huge. My mom had decided that she wanted me to have the baby on the weekend because she had the weekend off, and if it waited all the way until the next Monday, she'd be stuck at work and unable to help. In order to facilitate that, she took me shopping at the local mall. It was rather amazing how every time we needed something, wouldn't you know it, it was on the other side of the mall. I must have walked three billion miles that day, to the absolute horror of every clerk in there. They'd see me walking in looking like I was about to give birth to a house, and they'd freak out. I've never had such good service; everyone just wanted to make sure I got whatever I wanted and got out of there in record time lest I go into labor right there.

Hour and miles later, we went back to my mom's. Carl was working on the house and had it slightly torn up and wanted to get it cleaned up before I got back. When I was lying down, I kept feeling odd. Uncomfortable but not in any pain. I stood... and my water broke. The excessive amount of walking had done its trick.

I waddled out to where my mom and dad were sitting on the back porch and informed my dad that my water had broken, which meant he was going to have to drive me to the hospital.

What I hadn't realized was that long ago, when my dad was a rookie cop, he'd gotten a call from a woman whose water had broken while she was driving on the interstate. She'd pulled over (bad contractions) and by the time he'd gotten there, she was having the baby, and he'd had to deliver it. I barely had uttered "water" and "broke"... they were hovering in the air right above my head, I swear, when my dad paled to ghostly white, shot straight up in the air and made it to the phone in light speed.

My parents live in a rural area outside of the city, and the hospital where I was pre-admitted was not only in town, but towards the south side. It was easily a good hour drive there on a medium traffic day. My dad thought he could arrange an emergency escort by the local cops, but they asked him how far apart were my contractions, and when I said I wasn't having any, they told him then I was obviously having false labor and to wait until I was actually in labor to call them.

My dad came out and explained to me why I wasn't having the baby yet. I countered (again) about water, breaking, forcing the whole birth thing whether there were any actual contractions or not. He stood there and looked at me with this expression that I was just doing this to annoy him and if he waited it out a moment, I'd change my mind and let him off the hook. My mom said, "Unless you want to deliver it, we'd better go."

I swear to god, we made the hour trip in 9 minutes flat. I wish I was exaggerating. My brother happened to pull into the driveway just as we were leaving. My dad shouted to him that I was having the baby and to follow us to the hospital. My brother, who apparently inherited my dad's inability to think during birth crises spun his truck around and followed us -- his bumper practically locking onto ours with the suction of a nuclear powered vacuum. Which wouldn't have normally been so bad, except that most of the way there was a curvy, two-lane road which was notoriously busy during that time of day and my dad was going to get me to the hospital because he was NOT going to have to deliver his daughter's baby if he had to make the car fly, and he would pass people IN CURVES and my brother, who knew exactly where the hospital was, stayed on my dad's bumper because if I was going to give birth in the car, he wanted to be there to be traumatized with the rest of us.

I was in the front seat with my dad and I had a white-knuckled grip on the dash and I kept squealing for my dad to slow down and trying to wave my brother off (this was before cell phones), but he'd just wave back, my dad would hear me squeal and accellerate. We got to the major highway the hospital was on, and both lanes were completely filled with bumper to bumper traffic. My dad had completely lost all sense of time and space and instead of hitting the shoulder and zipping up to the hospital, he got on the center line and started blowing the horn, trying to make people move out of the way. Some people did (of course, because he was a lunatic) and others tried flipping him off, but I think they looked into their rearview mirrors, saw the complete and total insanity and decided that he just might drive over them, so they grudgingly gave way.

We wheeled into the emergency entrance and the orderlies took me inside, straight back to one of the prep rooms. And when the nurse came to take my blood pressure, she freaked. It was so high (from the ride), I was about to stroke out. It took me an hour to calm down enough before they could even think about giving me an epidural.

Five hours later, with virtually no painful contractions, out popped Jake. Nine pounds, two ounces, the easiest delivery in the entire planet. (In fact, he popped out so quickly, the doctor had drop down to catch him. I am not making that up. I thought he'd dropped the baby on the floor, but Carl, who'd gotten there by that point and was standing back there with the doctor, said it was like a football player snagging the ball just before it smacked the ground.)

Jake nursed about thirty minutes later, slept like a dream and was generally the easiest, happiest baby in the whole world. I had no ideas babies could actually sleep. (Luke hadn't slept the first nine months.)

I can't believe that same little football just walked through here, all 5'8", 165 lbs. of him, gorgeous, funny, sweet, smart, and did I mention sweet? I cannot imagine my life without either of my two boys.

Happy birthday, Jake. We love you bunches and bunches. (infinity)

Posted by toni at October 18, 2004 12:05 PM