Happy Birthday, My Little Burrito!
My water broke four years ago today, and it was four days too early. I sat on the couch, crying to Eric about something inconsequential I can’t recall now, when suddenly I felt an internal pinch and an audible pop. I quickly rushed to the bathroom for the flood that would ra
pidly inundate the toilet. I wasn’t prepared for this baby to be coming today. I was told that most first moms go a week or two past their due date, so that’s what I was expecting. My new home, my nest, the one we just bought and just began renovating, was nowhere near being ready. I wasn’t mentally prepared for her entrance into the world either. I was completely awed and terrified of the whole birthing process. Couldn’t they just knock me over the head and wake me up when it was over?
And for some crazy reason, I had determined to try the au-naturel way, at least the first time. Having read The Bradley Method, I wanted no medication whatsoever. Yep, I was mad. I have no idea how some of you moms do it every time with no medicine. Hats off to you. But I gave it the old college try. It may have been what actually lead to the c-section, however, because after five hours of pushing (yes, you read that correctly), I was utterly exhausted, not just from the whole-body workout that pushing undoubtedly is, but also from the relentless pain. She was sunny-side up, as they say, and the pain was ruthlessly unremitting, even between contractions. Longest night of my life.
After thirteen hours of labor (eight with hard labor and five with pushing), they finally had me in the O.R. for an emergency c-section where I had to be put under because they couldn’t get the spinal block needle into my back; I was too tense. The whole thing is a relative blur, but the pain of it will probably never leave my mental chalkboard. Written clearly across it are the words, “Never again will I refuse medication during labor!” I remember holding onto Him alone in the last half hour especially, while I suffered, stiff-backed, on that cold operating room table, waiting for all the surgical preparations to finish. It was just me and God. I remember calling out to Him with every excruciating contraction, every urge to push that I had to squelch, every back-aching second until the next contraction attacked. Eric wasn’t allowed into the room because of the circumstances, so He alone was my rock. I clearly remember crying out, “God help me!” And for my make-no-waves personality, even hearing my own voice scream these words out was a bit chilling. In an out-of-body kind of way, I was trying to silence my own cries, agreeing with the nurses who tried to shush me from a distance. I don’t even remember the blackout of the anesthesia.
My next memory is like one of waking from the dead, which is pretty close to
where I just was, considering I was in surgery for over three hours due to a torn cervix and massive blood loss, and death warmed over is pretty much how I looked. The first memory I have is of her flushed, round cheeks and blonde hair. I didn’t even register anyone else in the room for several seconds; it was just the two of us. She was wrapped tightly in a hospital blanket, a little burrito, warm and asleep, safe.
Four years ago today. It hardly seems possible. The memories are as fresh and current as only a week ago.
Happy birthday, my little burrito. Mommy loves you so much.
pidly inundate the toilet. I wasn’t prepared for this baby to be coming today. I was told that most first moms go a week or two past their due date, so that’s what I was expecting. My new home, my nest, the one we just bought and just began renovating, was nowhere near being ready. I wasn’t mentally prepared for her entrance into the world either. I was completely awed and terrified of the whole birthing process. Couldn’t they just knock me over the head and wake me up when it was over?And for some crazy reason, I had determined to try the au-naturel way, at least the first time. Having read The Bradley Method, I wanted no medication whatsoever. Yep, I was mad. I have no idea how some of you moms do it every time with no medicine. Hats off to you. But I gave it the old college try. It may have been what actually lead to the c-section, however, because after five hours of pushing (yes, you read that correctly), I was utterly exhausted, not just from the whole-body workout that pushing undoubtedly is, but also from the relentless pain. She was sunny-side up, as they say, and the pain was ruthlessly unremitting, even between contractions. Longest night of my life.
After thirteen hours of labor (eight with hard labor and five with pushing), they finally had me in the O.R. for an emergency c-section where I had to be put under because they couldn’t get the spinal block needle into my back; I was too tense. The whole thing is a relative blur, but the pain of it will probably never leave my mental chalkboard. Written clearly across it are the words, “Never again will I refuse medication during labor!” I remember holding onto Him alone in the last half hour especially, while I suffered, stiff-backed, on that cold operating room table, waiting for all the surgical preparations to finish. It was just me and God. I remember calling out to Him with every excruciating contraction, every urge to push that I had to squelch, every back-aching second until the next contraction attacked. Eric wasn’t allowed into the room because of the circumstances, so He alone was my rock. I clearly remember crying out, “God help me!” And for my make-no-waves personality, even hearing my own voice scream these words out was a bit chilling. In an out-of-body kind of way, I was trying to silence my own cries, agreeing with the nurses who tried to shush me from a distance. I don’t even remember the blackout of the anesthesia.
My next memory is like one of waking from the dead, which is pretty close to
where I just was, considering I was in surgery for over three hours due to a torn cervix and massive blood loss, and death warmed over is pretty much how I looked. The first memory I have is of her flushed, round cheeks and blonde hair. I didn’t even register anyone else in the room for several seconds; it was just the two of us. She was wrapped tightly in a hospital blanket, a little burrito, warm and asleep, safe.Four years ago today. It hardly seems possible. The memories are as fresh and current as only a week ago.
Happy birthday, my little burrito. Mommy loves you so much.
Comments
I remember that day, suffering in not quite the same way as you (obviously), but almost feelig every pain. It's so hard to see your baby suffering. I remember going out in the hallway to cry because I didn't want you to see me crying. But oh, the reward! Precious Jewel, Abigail Charise.
mama