My daughter's birth was quite traumatic. Most births are, it's really no picnic any way you look at it. But at the end, you have this beautiful little baby, and you truly forget about all the pain associated with the event.
My daughter was born on Christmas Eve, by cesarean section. She was perfect, as c-section babies often are, forfeiting the battle of pushing their way out. So, still being in the hospital on Christmas Day, I feasted on green jello for Christmas dinner. I think my now-ex-husband feasted on candy bars from the vending machine. I would have preferred candy bars, but I wasn't allowed to have them. Recovering from surgery and all.
Because it was Christmas, and because I had given birth, my priest and my new daughter's godmother from my church brought me communion. (My daughter got her middle name from her godmother. And, coincidentally, my priest's name is also that of my brother and my father.) We had a great visit, and as they prepared to leave I decided to walk down the hall to the elevator with them. The nurses were all encouraging me to walk my lard-ass as much as possible. I was still hugely bloated from birth, having gained seventy-five pounds. Apparently twenty pounds is considered normal. Unfortunately, when you gain more than that, the weight just doesn't disappear when the baby's born. It becomes one with you. I had fat folds. I had honest-to-god-boobs, 38DD, and that was before my milk came in. I hadn't seen my feet in months. I still couldn't. Truth be told, I still looked pregnant. It took me a full year to lose that damn weight. And then- pregnant again. But that's another story. Anyway, I was attractively attired in one of those gross hospital gowns, and hospital socks. I was still retaining so much water that when I walked, the skin on my ankles slapped against themselves. My thighs, never small, were enormous and rubbed together when I walked. I'm sure my hair was dirty. No make-up. Good times.
I was shuffling along with my friends, pushing my little wheeled rack that had my IV stuff on it, when suddenly, there was a whoosh sound. I felt a sudden warm wetness on the back of my gown. Oh, shit, was I so out of it that I pissed myself? No. It was worse than that. I looked down, and to my horror, realized there was blood everywhere: on my gown, on my legs, on my fat flapping ankles, on my ugly socks, and there was an enormous puddle growing underneath me. I think I had even spattered blood on my poor priest's shoes. I really wanted to die. I thought the ground was supposed to open up and swallow you whole in moments like this. Well, I'm here to tell you, no such luck. My friends were horrified. The embarrassment and horror of the situation just did me in. I started to laugh. I couldn't stop. Because I'm a geek. What else could I do? If I didn't laugh, I'd cry. "Oops," I said. I've always had a gift for understatement. "Are you all right?" my priest asked. "Just mortified," I answered, still laughing. At this point a nurse came bustling over to take me back to my room and change my ugly gown and clean me up, and some poor orderly probably got to clean up my mess. My friends hurriedly got on the elevator and left, no doubt relieved to be out of that situation. Ah, the glory of childbirth.
Talk about a bonding incident. They are still my good friends. I am still a geek. And amazingly, in spite of me, my baby is a beautiful, grown woman and a wonderful human being.
My daughter was born on Christmas Eve, by cesarean section. She was perfect, as c-section babies often are, forfeiting the battle of pushing their way out. So, still being in the hospital on Christmas Day, I feasted on green jello for Christmas dinner. I think my now-ex-husband feasted on candy bars from the vending machine. I would have preferred candy bars, but I wasn't allowed to have them. Recovering from surgery and all.
Because it was Christmas, and because I had given birth, my priest and my new daughter's godmother from my church brought me communion. (My daughter got her middle name from her godmother. And, coincidentally, my priest's name is also that of my brother and my father.) We had a great visit, and as they prepared to leave I decided to walk down the hall to the elevator with them. The nurses were all encouraging me to walk my lard-ass as much as possible. I was still hugely bloated from birth, having gained seventy-five pounds. Apparently twenty pounds is considered normal. Unfortunately, when you gain more than that, the weight just doesn't disappear when the baby's born. It becomes one with you. I had fat folds. I had honest-to-god-boobs, 38DD, and that was before my milk came in. I hadn't seen my feet in months. I still couldn't. Truth be told, I still looked pregnant. It took me a full year to lose that damn weight. And then- pregnant again. But that's another story. Anyway, I was attractively attired in one of those gross hospital gowns, and hospital socks. I was still retaining so much water that when I walked, the skin on my ankles slapped against themselves. My thighs, never small, were enormous and rubbed together when I walked. I'm sure my hair was dirty. No make-up. Good times.
I was shuffling along with my friends, pushing my little wheeled rack that had my IV stuff on it, when suddenly, there was a whoosh sound. I felt a sudden warm wetness on the back of my gown. Oh, shit, was I so out of it that I pissed myself? No. It was worse than that. I looked down, and to my horror, realized there was blood everywhere: on my gown, on my legs, on my fat flapping ankles, on my ugly socks, and there was an enormous puddle growing underneath me. I think I had even spattered blood on my poor priest's shoes. I really wanted to die. I thought the ground was supposed to open up and swallow you whole in moments like this. Well, I'm here to tell you, no such luck. My friends were horrified. The embarrassment and horror of the situation just did me in. I started to laugh. I couldn't stop. Because I'm a geek. What else could I do? If I didn't laugh, I'd cry. "Oops," I said. I've always had a gift for understatement. "Are you all right?" my priest asked. "Just mortified," I answered, still laughing. At this point a nurse came bustling over to take me back to my room and change my ugly gown and clean me up, and some poor orderly probably got to clean up my mess. My friends hurriedly got on the elevator and left, no doubt relieved to be out of that situation. Ah, the glory of childbirth.
Talk about a bonding incident. They are still my good friends. I am still a geek. And amazingly, in spite of me, my baby is a beautiful, grown woman and a wonderful human being.
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