Late at night June 14, 2004 I was restless. I was also 39 weeks and 6 days pregnant with my oldest child, Zach. It was so so so hot and humid, and even though I hate baths I would have given anything to have one. Instead I settled for a shower, staying in until the hot water turned ice cold. I got out put on my favorite, old, ratty, baggy, comfy shirt and a pair of super stretchy shorts. I was a bundle of nervous energy due to the fact that I was terrified of the idea of going in for my 40 week checkup the next day. I knew the doctor would check dilation again, and that always hurt bad enough to bring me to tears. It was too hot upstairs so I laid down on the couch downstairs to read a book.
Unlike most moms who hit the 40 week point I wasn't obsessing over when my baby would come, matter of fact, I was trying very hard not to think about the fact that soon the baby would be coming out of a very tiny opening. Even though I'd had roughly 40 weeks to prepare I was in no way ready for this baby to come out. The idea of being a mom, and being responsible for another human being scared the crap out of me. I mean what did I know about being a mom? I was seventeen years old and had just finished my junior year of high school. I didn't have a job, I didn't know how to drive, I didn't even know where I wanted to go to college, if I would, or what I'd study. I was in no shape way or form ready to be a mom.
So, I'm laying on my mom's couch reading a book when all of the sudden I feel this horrible pain. It literally leaves me gasping when its over. I look at the clock and it is 12:32 am, officially June 15th, my due date. Ten minutes later the pain comes back again, then again ten minutes after. Logic would say to go wake up my mom and let her know I think I'm in labor. Instead I go upstairs wake up my nineteen year old brother and ask him if he thinks I am in labor. After him doing much cussing, mumbling, and throwing stuff I conclude he doesn't know and finally go ask my mom. I make it back downstairs just in time for another contraction, 8 minutes apart now. It takes me 40 more minutes (and 5 contractions) of banging on my mom's door (which was locked) before she wakes so I can tell her. I call John and tell him, then sit around and wait for an hour for him to get to my mom's.
I get to the hospital at 3:45, they check me and admit me, then give me an epidural at 4:30 am. Once it kicked in I slept until 9, at which point my dad, step-dad, step-mom, and maternal grandmother had all come to join my mom, John, and I. Between the contractions that I am starting to feel again, we take pictures and joke around about how my mom is going to be a grandmother at 37. At 10:30 the doctor comes in checks my dilation and decides to break my water. As he does it I am screaming and crying because it hurts so badly, and the doctor has the nerve to tell me that it didn't hurt and I didn't feel a thing. My mom and John come back in the room to see what's going on, to which my doctor and I both answer. My mom says if I say it hurts it must and the doctor told her no, my epidural should still be effective. They argue for a while until the doctor says he'll prove it. He tells me to close my eyes, then he pokes me in the pelvic bone with a needle, as soon as he does it (with my eyes still closed) I kick him in the shoulder and say he would feel it too if someone poked him with a darn needle. The doctor tells my mom he'll go get the anesthesiologist to get me taken care of. At noon I get more medicine. I am in tons and tons of constantly overlapping pain and now I feel this new sensation. The nurse checks and I am fully dilated and effaced, she tells me not to push, that she's going to get the doctor. The other nurse stays down there saying "Don't push, don't push, just breathe." I'm calling her (and the doctor) all sorts of nasty names and telling them "I am breathing you idiot!" Zach was out by 12:30 and the pain medicine had still not kicked in. (It kicked in about 10 minutes later when I didn't need it.)
My beautiful boy came out red, screaming, and with a full head of red hair. He was six pounds twelve ounces and nineteen and a half inches. I loved him the instant I saw him. I no longer wondered how I was going to be a mom, I was a mom and it changed my life in the way that no other even has. I was no longer me, I was his mom, his world, his everything, and I needed to live up to that.
Now its five years later and my boy is turning five. It seems time has just blurred by. There is so much I can't specifically remember about him growing up in the past five years, but I still remember with perfect clarity the day I had him, and my first time seeing and holding him. I remember the look on John's face when he cut the cord, and when my mom said "Congratulations Daddy." I don't remember the first time he said "I love you" or "Mommy" but I remember the first time he nursed. My boy is so big now, and has a year of school under his belt, and start kindergarten in the fall. He's so handsome, and though he can make me so angry and upset he's still my first baby, and he'll always be my baby no matter how old he is.
Now I'm going to go finish crying.
