A Red Sox Rally Monkey Is Born
Have you noticed that the Red Sox have won the last four games? Did you know that I gave birth to our son four nights ago (okay, technically three nights ago, but work with me)? Coincidence? We think not.
Not acupuncture nor pelvic tilts nor bags of frozen vegetables on my abdomen got him to turn, but he decided he wanted to come out anyway. Friday was both mine and Adam’s last day at work, and we had planned on spending the following week getting ready for Brown Brown. Adam had a final internship outing on Friday night: a cruise ride around the Newburyport Harbor (which is 45 minutes north of Boston). I waffled until the last minute on whether or not to accompany him, and ultimately decided I was just too tuckered out. It was a really stormy night, so after a quiet last day at work, I went to the video store to pick up the evening’s entertainment and headed home. I had a long to-do list, but I took one look at our filthy house and decided I was really too tired to do anything, so I lay down on the couch to watch trashy TV. At about 7:45, I decided I should have something to eat. Yet, I really was too beat to get up. I made it as far as the five feet to the chair in the living room, while I thought about dinner. All of a sudden, I realized, “Hey, there’s something really wet going on.” To avoid too much information, let’s just say it took about 15 minutes or so for me to realize I wasn’t peeing in my pants. I called our OB, who said, “Come on in!” I told her Adam was a good hour and a half away, and could I wait for him?, but she said, “Actually, you should get here as soon as you can. As long as there are no contractions, you can drive yourself.” And so I did but only after calling a very bedfuddled Adam who was in the middle of the harbor cruise and incredibly unsure of what to do. I made it to the hospital somehow (the drive is one big blur) and as I was checking in, the nurse assured me, “Your husband called. He’s on his way.” I’ll let Adam tell his side of things, but I sat in the waiting room, feeling very self-conscious about being alone and wet. Luckily, I got to jump to the head of the line, which was great because Friday night was a packed house in Labor and Delivery. According to my OB, stormy nights are always busy; there’s an unscientific theory that the barometric pressure helps water break. Anyway, I was sitting there when I heard one of the nurses say, “The breech rupture goes next.” Never have words such as “breech rupture” sounded so good. “That’s me!” I said, jumping up. I was ushered back and tests were given, ultrasounds taken, and soon Adam showed up (yeah, he didn’t speed much). To condense the story here (because the Doodlebug really wants to get fed soon), he was still breech and a c-section began at 11ish. At 12:02 a.m. on August 23, Doodlebug was pulled from my womb butt first. Our own little Macbeth baby. A real Red Sox rally monkey. He was six pounds, ten ounces, and nineteen inches long with a full head of black hair. He’s been an incredibly fussy baby who doesn’t want to be put down for more than a second, but that's okay because I've been an incredibly fussy mommy who doesn't want to put him down for more than a second. It’s an incredible, surreal, amazing, emotional, awe-inspiring thing, and really, there’s no point in blogging any more about it because there’s no way to put into words the feeling of holding your very own child. Things are going to be a little quiet here in blogdom for awhile. (Side note: I won’t be responding to e-mail until we’re home from the hospital, and expect me to be slow about it.)
Not acupuncture nor pelvic tilts nor bags of frozen vegetables on my abdomen got him to turn, but he decided he wanted to come out anyway. Friday was both mine and Adam’s last day at work, and we had planned on spending the following week getting ready for Brown Brown. Adam had a final internship outing on Friday night: a cruise ride around the Newburyport Harbor (which is 45 minutes north of Boston). I waffled until the last minute on whether or not to accompany him, and ultimately decided I was just too tuckered out. It was a really stormy night, so after a quiet last day at work, I went to the video store to pick up the evening’s entertainment and headed home. I had a long to-do list, but I took one look at our filthy house and decided I was really too tired to do anything, so I lay down on the couch to watch trashy TV. At about 7:45, I decided I should have something to eat. Yet, I really was too beat to get up. I made it as far as the five feet to the chair in the living room, while I thought about dinner. All of a sudden, I realized, “Hey, there’s something really wet going on.” To avoid too much information, let’s just say it took about 15 minutes or so for me to realize I wasn’t peeing in my pants. I called our OB, who said, “Come on in!” I told her Adam was a good hour and a half away, and could I wait for him?, but she said, “Actually, you should get here as soon as you can. As long as there are no contractions, you can drive yourself.” And so I did but only after calling a very bedfuddled Adam who was in the middle of the harbor cruise and incredibly unsure of what to do. I made it to the hospital somehow (the drive is one big blur) and as I was checking in, the nurse assured me, “Your husband called. He’s on his way.” I’ll let Adam tell his side of things, but I sat in the waiting room, feeling very self-conscious about being alone and wet. Luckily, I got to jump to the head of the line, which was great because Friday night was a packed house in Labor and Delivery. According to my OB, stormy nights are always busy; there’s an unscientific theory that the barometric pressure helps water break. Anyway, I was sitting there when I heard one of the nurses say, “The breech rupture goes next.” Never have words such as “breech rupture” sounded so good. “That’s me!” I said, jumping up. I was ushered back and tests were given, ultrasounds taken, and soon Adam showed up (yeah, he didn’t speed much). To condense the story here (because the Doodlebug really wants to get fed soon), he was still breech and a c-section began at 11ish. At 12:02 a.m. on August 23, Doodlebug was pulled from my womb butt first. Our own little Macbeth baby. A real Red Sox rally monkey. He was six pounds, ten ounces, and nineteen inches long with a full head of black hair. He’s been an incredibly fussy baby who doesn’t want to be put down for more than a second, but that's okay because I've been an incredibly fussy mommy who doesn't want to put him down for more than a second. It’s an incredible, surreal, amazing, emotional, awe-inspiring thing, and really, there’s no point in blogging any more about it because there’s no way to put into words the feeling of holding your very own child. Things are going to be a little quiet here in blogdom for awhile. (Side note: I won’t be responding to e-mail until we’re home from the hospital, and expect me to be slow about it.)
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