birth story

Lena is going to be seven. SEVEN. SEVEN. I cannot say it louder than that or in more awe that my daughter has been on this earth for seven years, and that I am still incredibly insecure as a parent despite being one for SEVEN YEARS.

It occurred to me that I have never really shared the story of Lena’s birth. Or if I have I have forgotten and just want to relive it now, if you would indulge me.

Lena came two weeks early. I had signed up late for this birthing class at carrboro yoga company, because me, and being without a partner, my mom went to all the classes with me. They were ridiculous and I only remember them being as such. There was so much emphasis on communication and weird relationship stuff and sure we were all going to push babies out in the next month or so, but I had absolutely nothing in common with a 30-something married woman that does things like sign up for birthing classes at the carrboro yoga company. I mean in that venn diagram those circles are barely touching. The week that Lena was born, the class was going to be about massages, and we were told to bring in our favorite essential oil. I am 99% convinced that the anxiety leading up to this class is what prompted me to go into labor. For once my mind and body were totally in sync, in the sense that no. fucking. way. were we going to go to that class.

My stomach started feeling weird on the evening of January 17th. My mom and I had singaporean take out. The thing that’s funny is that the doctors say that labor feels like really bad menstrual cramps, but of course by virtue of being pregnant you haven’t felt menstrual cramps in ~9 months, you have no idea what that feels like. I got my mom to take a picture of me, and then I went home to my apartment.

I'm not even going to edit this picture. It just sums up so perfectly the non-glamorous pregnancy. I see all these pictures of people that do the cute and artful side-shots documenting the "journey", but this was just me. Also my mom has never been able to take a good picture to save her life.

Back to my apartment in carrboro, and I'm watching Gilmore Girls on DVD and making lunch plans for the next week with a friend, and these sharp pains are continuing. I finally call my parents at like midnight or so, saying that these pains aren't stopping and what should we do. 

YOU GUYS, WHAT FOLLOWS IS SO RIDICULOUS:

My parents say, "Oh, you can't do anything now, because it is night time, so just come over, try to sleep, and we'll go to the hospital in the morning."

Why did I believe them? People do in fact go into labor in the middle of the night. My parents just didn't want to go into the hospital. So I went to my parent's house. As I was leaving my apartment Julian, my roommate was like, "Is everything ok?" and I was like, "YEP." (Ok so maybe that runs in the family.)  

So I'm at my parents', LABORING. Until they get up, make coffee, eat breakfast, and finally at 8 my mom is like, "I guess the doctor's office is open now, so we can call them."

We go to my doctor's office, they see me immediately because I am very clearly IN LABOR, and this very nice nurse practitioner is all, "let's see how much you're dilated," looks, and after like two seconds is like, "oh you're totally ready to go, you should go to the hospital."

Now it's 8:30, ish, January 18th, 2008, and we are under strict instructions to go to the hospital. It's just me and my dad, because my mom has a meeting that morning. And my dad is like, "Paying for hospital parking sucks--let's park in our parking lot (because they work at the university)." So I'm like, whatever, these searing pains are apparently contractions, and they are coming every 10-15 minutes or so. So we drive to my parent's parking lot, which is in the back of the hospital. 

I don't know if any of you have ever traversed a hospital, but I have never found one to be intuitively laid out, and easy to get through. This comic scene ensues: 

*Me, hunched over at the bottom of some stairs, having a contraction. My dad 10 or so feet ahead.*

dad: Come on rachael, what are you doing?

me: I. AM. IN. PAIN. 

repeat basically until we get into the hospital itself. 

then, 

dad: do you know where to go?

me: DO? I? KNOW? WHERE? TO? GO???

dad: ok. 

at some point, I recognize where we are, and start powerwalking like I've never powerwalked before (or since) and now my dad is about 15 feet behind me.

dad: Do you know where you are going?

me: WOULD? I? BE? WALKING? THIS? WAY? IF? I? DIDN'T?????

you guys childbirth is a really magical experience. 

So we finally get there, and the magic of the UNC system is that my doctor had already sent over all there stuff from when we were there this morning so I immediately had a room, and they knew I was coming. I think the birthing class that I took had instructed us to have a "birth plan" and mine consisted of, "the baby should ideally come out in some way." The contractions "weren't that bad" but now I'm wondering if I have a really off tolerance for pain. I'm getting kind of bored writing this part now so blahblahblah, at some point I ask for an epidural and they're like, "it's too late, hon" and then I start pushing and a baby comes out. 

The delivery nurses are the unsung heroes of the world, because the most amazing woman stood right next to me and took control, and told me to relax between contractions, and told me to push when I needed to push, and I don't remember anything about her other than I would not have been able to do what I did if she wasn't there, and she was worth way more than those stupid birthing classes, and I don't even remember her name. 

I remember the doctor that delivered Lena, because he had a weird name and also in the most wonderful swoop of irony had been the one to prescribe me birth control pills back in high school, and I made a joke about his weird name and also decided to tell him that. He was weirded out by me, but now I see him all the time because he's a runner so he's at all the races around town.  

The other things that I want to remember, are the people that came to visit me. 

the crew! LOOK HOW YOUNG YOU GUYS ALL LOOK. 

And then, a baby. Oh oh oh, a baby. 

She kind of looks the same, doesn't she?

SEVEN YEARS. 

I can say without a doubt, that I would not be where I am today without this person. Bolded, italicized and caps locked. Without a doubt. 

Here's to you, smalls, again and again and again and again and forever. To you. 

What I'd run to

Last week was Lena’s 6 birthday, and so I tried to write something for her because I love her and all that, but really it’s time for some introspection on my life.

I’m in lab late tonight. I have a twelve hour experiment going, and no matter what way you slice it, one of those time points is going to suck. If this experiment works and wins me the nobel prize, I will totally dedicate it to my parents, because we spent the night at their house so I could leave early, and they picked her up from school today, and will put her to bed, so I can stay late.

Between time points, as I’m doing my work I realized how relaxed I am. Every day I get to lab and I am on efficiency mode. I have to get done by five to go pick up L. Whatever I do during the day, it has to be done before five. I’d like to think this means I’m more efficient, but whatever, it really just means that I plan experiments that I can get done between 8 in the morning and 5 in the evening. Doing work now, after 7, knowing my kid is being taken care of. Work is so leisurely. Is this what it’s like to not have kids? WHY DOES ANYONE WITHOUT KIDS HAVE ANY REASON TO BE STRESSED OUT? This is the least stressful feeling I have ever had. I could kiss this feeling. I am so. damn. relaxed. And I’m just working. I’m working, and then I’m playing (this) and then I’m working. This is fun. I could do this all night.

I've written a lot on here and other places about running away. It’s just this knee jerk reaction that I get every time I get on the interstate. That I could just keep going and never come back. I could leave it all behind. I never do, and I never will, but the feeling just doesn't ever go away. It’s the sense of promise that I like maybe. The sense that I can still do anything, no matter what the consequences are. I just like that power. Or just...thinking that I have that power.

The thing that I don’t think about, if I could run away, abandon everything, is where would I run to? And I think I found my answer. I would run here. I like this quiet. That I could have nights and days stretch lazily before me. That I could do an experiment however damn I wanted to do it. I could repeat something in the afternoon, I wouldn't have to wait until the next day because of the dreaded 5 o’clock. I would run here. To lab. To people I respect. To questions that I want to answer. To things that I just like doing.

And look at that. If I were to run away, to drop everything and leave, I would run to something that I get to do every day. Every damn day, I get to do what I love to be doing. If that doesn't make me the luckiest girl in the world, then I don’t know what does.

Oh yes, I know what does. That after this I get to run home to this.

Yep. Lucky.

Dispatches from living with a 5yo

L's party was an enormous success, and hopefully my face will now stop breaking out over the stress and anxiety accumulated over planning a five year old's birthday party. Seriously, after making cupcakes with five preschoolers and two toddlers, grad school interviews should be a cinch. Although I am exhausted. And cupcakes have lost all positive associations for me. I'm kidding. Sort of.

L cannot pose for a picture without giving the most ridiculous smile in the world. 

Exhibit A:

But her real one is a gem.

Exhibit B:

Also, if anyone has anything to say about the christmas wrapping paper or the fact that I did not take the ice cream cake out of the box before lighting the candles and presenting it to Lena...I don't want to hear it. 

P.S. I don't know how to go about sharing this with people, because whenever I go to say it out loud I think one doth protest too much for whatever reason, but I've just been getting these waves of contentedness throughout the days, and I can't help but thinking, I don't think I've ever been happier in my whole entire life. So I'm sharing it here, Dear Blog, with you, Dear Readers.

I also...should mention...this probably not as an aside, but instead take up a whole billboard in order to advertise this to the world. (Is it too late to buy a superbowl ad?) I would not be here, and could not do any of this without the amazing help and support of my parents. I mean, they're outside playing with L right now as I recover from introvert-hosting-a-party-anxiety-disorder (srsly, is this in the DSM-V because then maybe I could get a medical marijuana license for it in some states), and without them...I have no idea where I would be. Well, I do. Probably still doing dishes from the party. Or folding laundry. Thanks Nana and Pops. You deserve so much more thanks than I could ever hope to give. Oh but wait, I gave you a grandchild. HA! Debt repaid.