Happy Birthday, Anya!
My baby girl turns 2 tomorrow. Because I'm a lazy mom I don't have a party planned or a cake baked or the presents wrapped. (The party can wait until we're in Kentucky for Christmas, the cake might wait until the weekend and as for the presents...I'll wrap them tomorrow afternoon IF SHE NAPS).
I've been thinking a lot about when Anya was born, so I'll share some of that here. I remember December 13 two years ago. My due date was over two weeks away and I was already starting to lose my mind. I had finished my dissertation, defended it, revised it, and that Thursday, December 13, my committee finally finally signed my paperwork to turn into the graduate office so I could become Dr. Susan for good and forever. I woke up having sporadic contractions, though, and wasn't sure I was physically able to go anywhere, so I called my advisor and called the graduate office to reschedule my final appointment with the dean for the next day because I assumed that this was the same false labor I'd experienced the week before and that I would be all fine and dandy for turning in my stuff and signing this and that a mere 24 hours later. And if not, I fully intended to send Stuart in by proxy because December 14 was the deadline for graduating that semester and by God I wanted the deal sealed and done with.
Uh, not so much. The contractions went on and off all day, my doula came over in the afternoon, and by 6:00 that evening, it was clear that this was The Real Thing and that we were going to the hospital to Have The Baby. First we ordered Thai food, though, because we were all hungry and I knew I was in for a few days of hospital food. I remember eating spicy pad thai in between contractions and thinking to myself "I hope I don't regret eating this." (I didn't regret it at all.)
When Daniel was born, I was in labor for 30 hours and ended up getting a shot of narcotics, then later an epidural with lots of pitocin and who knows what else. When Anya was born, I didn't have so much as an aspirin, not a drop of painkiller. Frankly, I preferred the latter, but it's not something I care to do again. Natural birth is physical pain beyond what you think you can bear, but you do because you have to. Imagine taking the biggest crap of the century while simultaneously being split in half while a bunch of people stand around watching your privates and you might have an inkling as to what it's like. I remember screaming. I remember that the hormones made my muscles cramp and shake and it took 5 people to hold me down. I remember the enormous, consuming sense of relief when it was finally over, and that Stuart was so shell-shocked (bless his heart) that he forgot to tell me whether we had a boy or a girl and the doctor was waiting for him to tell me and I had to say "Well? What do we have here?"
I also remember that she was the most beautiful little girl I'd ever seen. She still is. (Sorry. It's her birthday and I'm her mama, so I'm allowed to say it this once.)
In all the excitement, of course, my paperwork didn't get turned in until after the New Year, so I didn't officially graduate until May. She was worth it.
I've been thinking a lot about when Anya was born, so I'll share some of that here. I remember December 13 two years ago. My due date was over two weeks away and I was already starting to lose my mind. I had finished my dissertation, defended it, revised it, and that Thursday, December 13, my committee finally finally signed my paperwork to turn into the graduate office so I could become Dr. Susan for good and forever. I woke up having sporadic contractions, though, and wasn't sure I was physically able to go anywhere, so I called my advisor and called the graduate office to reschedule my final appointment with the dean for the next day because I assumed that this was the same false labor I'd experienced the week before and that I would be all fine and dandy for turning in my stuff and signing this and that a mere 24 hours later. And if not, I fully intended to send Stuart in by proxy because December 14 was the deadline for graduating that semester and by God I wanted the deal sealed and done with.
Uh, not so much. The contractions went on and off all day, my doula came over in the afternoon, and by 6:00 that evening, it was clear that this was The Real Thing and that we were going to the hospital to Have The Baby. First we ordered Thai food, though, because we were all hungry and I knew I was in for a few days of hospital food. I remember eating spicy pad thai in between contractions and thinking to myself "I hope I don't regret eating this." (I didn't regret it at all.)
When Daniel was born, I was in labor for 30 hours and ended up getting a shot of narcotics, then later an epidural with lots of pitocin and who knows what else. When Anya was born, I didn't have so much as an aspirin, not a drop of painkiller. Frankly, I preferred the latter, but it's not something I care to do again. Natural birth is physical pain beyond what you think you can bear, but you do because you have to. Imagine taking the biggest crap of the century while simultaneously being split in half while a bunch of people stand around watching your privates and you might have an inkling as to what it's like. I remember screaming. I remember that the hormones made my muscles cramp and shake and it took 5 people to hold me down. I remember the enormous, consuming sense of relief when it was finally over, and that Stuart was so shell-shocked (bless his heart) that he forgot to tell me whether we had a boy or a girl and the doctor was waiting for him to tell me and I had to say "Well? What do we have here?"
I also remember that she was the most beautiful little girl I'd ever seen. She still is. (Sorry. It's her birthday and I'm her mama, so I'm allowed to say it this once.)
In all the excitement, of course, my paperwork didn't get turned in until after the New Year, so I didn't officially graduate until May. She was worth it.
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