I found out I was pregnant with Gerry in April of 2012. My niece was sleeping over, and she and Bailey were playing in the basement before bed while Scott and I sat on the couch down there with them. I remember having been exhausted for a few days before and I leaned my head on Scott's shoulder, yawned, and said, "God, the last time I was this tired I was pregnant with Bailey." We looked at each other, shook our heads and laughed, and went back to watching the girls play. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I very well could be expecting again. I was so tired that I was dozing off when the daycare kids took their nap each afternoon, I was hungry all the time, and could only stomach one cup of coffee in the morning, as opposed to the 2+ I usually
A half hour later, my hands shook as I read the test. I remember looking in the mirror and smiling and thinking, Here we go again. It's funny how I never think twice about the way I move or carry myself, but the second I saw the plus sign on that test it was like I was the bearer of the most fragile thing on the planet, and every step I took was a cautious one. I remember Scott's wide smile when I showed him the test. I remember us asking each other how we felt. I remember wanting to run upstairs, wake Bailey up and tell her she was going to be a big sister. I remember the now-familiar worry of realizing that we were bringing another life into this world, followed by the absolute elation and joy. Over the next few weeks, we told our family and friends, I sat down to write this blog post, and we began talking about what it would be like to have two kids in the house.
On July 26th, we left our beach vacation for a little while to go to our anatomy ultrasound. Before we left, everyone had taken bets on whether this baby would be a boy or a girl and the decision was that the "losing" team owed the winners a pizza. The drive from New Jersey to Pennsylvania for the ultrasound was an exciting one. We'd left Bailey at the beach with our family, and Scott and I spent the hour-and-a-half-long drive discussing what we thought we were having. I knew in my heart that I was having a boy but I spent the drive giving Scott a pep talk and telling him to expect a girl just in case. We would have been absolutely thrilled either way, but I knew that Scott really wanted a son.
It felt like days later when the doctor finally called my name and I climbed up on the table and lifted my shirt. I remember the technician turning her monitor around so Scott and I could see, and there was our baby wiggling around, happy as can be. I breathed a sigh of relief like I always did when I could see everything was fine on ultrasound. The technician chatted with us and asked if we wanted to find out if the baby was a boy or a girl, and we told her about the bet our family had going back at the beach. She asked us what we thought and I told her that I was thinking boy. It took her forever to respond, and then she said, "You're right. Somebody owes you a pizza when you get back!"
We were having a little boy.
I'll always remember the drive back to the beach after that ultrasound. Scott was on cloud 9, just breaking out into a smile every few minutes. I kept testing out the phrase "my son" in my mind. I'm having a son. This is my daughter, and this is my son. Oh, my son is due in December. My son...
Surreal.
The next few months passed slowly while we planned for the baby's arrival. My due date was Christmas day, so I ran around like a crazy person trying to make sure all of our gifts were bought and wrapped with plenty of time to spare. Scott and I spent way too much time debating which outfit to bring our boy home in and what "theme" we wanted to decorate his nursery (for the record, we brought him home in a 3-piece layette with a monkey on it that Scott picked out, and his nursery is a nautical theme). I spent lots of time talking to Bailey about the baby and getting her excited to have a little brother. I indulged in my craving for Twix whenever the opportunity presented itself, and I tried to enjoy my pregnancy and revel in the feeling of those giant ninja kicks that kept me up most nights and let me know my little guy was doing well in there.
Towards the end of this pregnancy I got pretty uncomfortable. Some days were downright painful, and by mid-December I was ready to have this baby. Like last time, my due date came and went. I spent a lot of time with my hand on my belly, talking to the baby and gently coaxing him to come on out. I rested as often as 2-and-a-half-year-old Bailey allowed, and I did A LOT of walking. On December 27th, two days after my due date, I had what was to be my last prenatal appointment. I walked in, hoping and praying that the doctor would announce that I could head on over to the hospital and have this baby today. When he told me that we'd schedule an induction for January 3rd (9 full days after my due date) I cried. He left the room to schedule everything, and Scott held my hand and told me that everything would be fine and that it would be here before we knew it. I spent the next week praying that every little twinge I felt was labor and that the baby would come on his own. Each night I went to sleep and bargained with God or whatever higher power was out there..."Okay, I'm ready. I'll go to sleep and you get some contractions started. Deal?"
 |
| The last picture I took before heading to the hospital |
On the night of January 2nd, I worked my last daycare day before the baby would be here, we sent Bailey to my parents' house for the night, and Scott and I headed to the hospital for our scheduled induction. The plan was to start Cervadil at 8, wait 12 hours, and start Pitocin if needed the next morning. By 8:15pm, I was in a room, gowned up, just hanging out and enjoying my "vacation". The doctor had started the Cervadil and told me to get a good night's sleep because she was expecting that I'd have a long day the next day. I sent Scott home to get a good night's rest in our comfy bed and told him to come back around 7 the next morning and that I would call him before then if I needed anything. Three hours and one sleeping pill later, I was out for the night, fully expecting to sleep all night and wake up to find that I hadn't progressed at all and that I was going to be the first woman alive to carry a baby for 11 months.
I felt the first contraction a little after 1am. And then again about a half hour later. I called Scott and asked him to come back and sit with me. By the time he got there, just after 2am, I was having strong contractions and they were coming every few minutes. I remember the doctor coming into the room and taking out the Cervadil, and commenting that "You're not even going to need the Pitocin. This baby is getting ready." The next time a nurse came in, I asked her if she thought I should get an epidural now or wait because I could the handle the pain fairly well at the moment. I remember having one more big contraction and deciding to get the epidural right then and there.
It seemed like the next hour was just one long, painful contraction. I remember gripping Scott's hand and trying to breathe calmly through each painful second. I remember picturing Bailey's face in my mind to keep myself calm and focus less on how much it hurt. I remember the anesthesiologist coming into the room and setting up his tray, and thinking that he was an absolute angel in disguise. I remember the nurse helping me sit up, bend over, and squeeze a pillow while the anesthesiologist placed the epidural. I remember thinking, It's time...I'm going to meet my son today. I remember Scott reminding me to breathe and to try to stay still while the needle was being placed, and I remember how difficult it was not to move while it felt like my entire body was being squeezed in a vise. I remember not feeling any relief from the pain, and the anesthesiologist's eyes as he kindly explained that sometimes this happens and that, evidently, my epidural had failed. And so had the second one he'd tried to place. And the third. I remember thinking how lovely labor had been with Bailey, and how sad I was that it was happening so fast now, and mourning the fact that I didn't have family and friends in here to celebrate with me while I labored like they had with Bailey and that, even if they were all there, I couldn't have enjoyed it because these contractions hurt so...damn...badly. At that point, with contractions one on top of the other, I looked at Scott and whimpered "I need my mom." The plan all along had been for her to come to the hospital around 7:30 the next morning to be my second support person, just like she had when Bailey was born. Now, though, it was looking like the baby would be here long before then. My last fully coherent thought was that I guess it really doesn't matter how old you are or the fact that you're a mother yourself...when you're in pain and unsure of what to expect every woman needs her mommy.
And then my mom was there and a nurse was checking me and telling me that I was ready to push and to wait a minute for the doctor, and the only thought that kept running through my head was It hurts it hurt it hurts. And then my body took over and I couldn't have stopped it if I tried. I squeezed Scott's hand with all the strength I could muster, and there was my mom telling me to "Push, push, push." I distinctly remember being so incredibly exhausted after a few minutes, and throwing my head back on the pillow and moaning, "Fuck, this hurts. I can't do this." And the doctor and my mom kindly reminded me that, at this point, I really didn't have much of a choice. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that the sooner the baby was born the sooner the pain would stop, so I gathered what strength I could muster, held onto Scott's hand for dear life, and I pushed.
And, just like I had with Bailey, I played the past ten years over and over again in my mind. Every moment that brought us to Bailey's birth. Her first smile. Her first laugh. The first time she got really sick and we spent the night in the emergency room. The first time she called me Mama and meant it. Her first birthday. Her first steps. That second positive pregnancy test. Finding out that this baby was a boy. The nights before falling asleep when Scott would lay his head and a hand on my belly and talk to the baby. The ultrasound pictures hanging on our refrigerator. The feeling of bringing a second child into the world, and all the wonder and amazement that comes along with it. The feel of Scott's hand in mine at that moment, anchoring me to the present and giving me the confidence and the strength to keep on pushing.
And then I heard a little cry, and I let go of Scott's hand and fell back on the pillow, and listened to those tiny little screeches coming from across the room.
Our son.
At 5:13am on January 3, 2013, Gerald Anthony was born, weighing 8lbs 11oz.. He was named after his great-grandfathers, and he was the sweetest thing.
We spent the next two days in the hospital, and I couldn't stop looking at him. All that pain, all the fear, all the "I can't do this", and here he was. Healthy and whole and so, so adorable. Bailey was the flower girl in the wedding of friends of ours the day that we were discharged. In the flurry of rehearsal dinners and wedding schedules, she and Scott were pretty busy those first two days after Gerry was born, so it was just him and me. I snuggled up with him in front of the window in our hospital room, and I talked to him about what a wonderful big sister he had and how much we all loved him and how happy I was that he was finally here.
We brought him home on a freezing cold winter day. I nestled him in the same swing we'd used for Bailey as an infant, and watched him fall asleep. Bailey sat on the floor by his swing, gazing at him every few minutes and often jumping up to kiss his little cheek.
Life can get crazy. It's hard to remember how good it can be when you're chasing after two kids, calming temper tantrums, and washing load after load (after load) of laundry. But in those first few moments after we came home, when it was just Scott and me and the two wonderful little people that we created, I didn't feel crazed or stressed or even tired. I felt happy. Peaceful. Joyful, even. I watched Bailey make silly faces at her baby brother while telling him a story about her toys, and I leaned against Scott on the couch and thought about how lucky we were. How happy I was.
How blessed.
*****************************************
Gerald Anthony
Born on January 3, 2013 at 5:13am.
19 inches. 8lbs. 11oz.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Who loves comments? I do!