Room: 222. Check in time: 3:33. Birth: 4:44
Eight years ago, right now, I was big, round, uncomfortable and depressed. I thought I would be pregnant forever. Baby Girl was already 4 days late. I had gained 60 + pounds and was not looking forward to gaining even one ounce more. I was ginormous. In an effort to calm and comfort me, my sweet mama drove up to spend the day with me. We combined all the so called tricks to get my body to begin labor: walking, spicy food, foot rubs, walking, pressure points, castor oil, walking. What we were failing to realize was that it would not be my body that was ready, but that of the fetus inside my body. She would not come until it became her own idea and not the idea of the beach ball that sort-of resembled her mother. She had a pretty sweet setup and she was going to hang on until she was forced out; naturally, of course. I suppose some of the aforementioned strategies had worked at least to some degree, but did not do enough to convince me that it was the real dealy-0.
I sent my mama home and went to bed, only to be awakened at 2 am by a force so strong it could only be one of two things: 1) labor or 2) someone zapping my entire midsection with a taser. Repeatedly.
We made the phone calls to our parents, doula and the friends who would be watching Hunter, raced to the hospital, checked in at 3:33 am, and our little princess was born at 4:44 am. Our parents weren't able to hear me scream, "Dammit! Just get her out!", or to witness the death look I sent Michael's way when he remarked that the contraptions they had placed on either side of my bed looked like video game controllers and wouldn't that be cool, Em? Playing video games during labor? Our parents also were not there to witness the worried looks that passed between the birthing staff when they saw the cherubic face of our girlie. She was literally purple and grey. The concerns only lasted seconds, however, because she was screaming and wailing and sucking in huge amounts of oxygen. The only reason her face was so discolored was because of her rush to get the heck out of my body already. And that's so Corrine. Once she makes up her mind, there's no changing it and she will go forward with all her might to accomplish what she has set out to do. Oftentimes, her ideas seem just as spontaneous as her birth seemed to me that day.
Oh my darling Corrine. I am so thankful you are ours. I love your randomness, your girlie girl-ness. I love the way you like to climb trees in your dresses or skirts (with shorts on underneath of course!) I love that you aren't afraid to be you. I love how watchful you are over your little sister. I love how you can wrap your daddy around your pinkie toe anytime you want and I love that you know it, too. (That's the power of daughters. We know how to cast our spells just right.) But above all, I love that you don't have your ears pierced yet. I know. This may seem rather trivial to some, but I am just not ready to share my sparkelies with you. Call me selfish, but I know that once that lady in Claire's pulls the trigger on the nail gun, your eyes will be opened and you will wake up and realize how utterly cool all my stuff is, and that scares the doo-doo out of me. So no matter what, you will not get holes in your ears this year. NO WAY.
I sent my mama home and went to bed, only to be awakened at 2 am by a force so strong it could only be one of two things: 1) labor or 2) someone zapping my entire midsection with a taser. Repeatedly.
We made the phone calls to our parents, doula and the friends who would be watching Hunter, raced to the hospital, checked in at 3:33 am, and our little princess was born at 4:44 am. Our parents weren't able to hear me scream, "Dammit! Just get her out!", or to witness the death look I sent Michael's way when he remarked that the contraptions they had placed on either side of my bed looked like video game controllers and wouldn't that be cool, Em? Playing video games during labor? Our parents also were not there to witness the worried looks that passed between the birthing staff when they saw the cherubic face of our girlie. She was literally purple and grey. The concerns only lasted seconds, however, because she was screaming and wailing and sucking in huge amounts of oxygen. The only reason her face was so discolored was because of her rush to get the heck out of my body already. And that's so Corrine. Once she makes up her mind, there's no changing it and she will go forward with all her might to accomplish what she has set out to do. Oftentimes, her ideas seem just as spontaneous as her birth seemed to me that day.
Oh my darling Corrine. I am so thankful you are ours. I love your randomness, your girlie girl-ness. I love the way you like to climb trees in your dresses or skirts (with shorts on underneath of course!) I love that you aren't afraid to be you. I love how watchful you are over your little sister. I love how you can wrap your daddy around your pinkie toe anytime you want and I love that you know it, too. (That's the power of daughters. We know how to cast our spells just right.) But above all, I love that you don't have your ears pierced yet. I know. This may seem rather trivial to some, but I am just not ready to share my sparkelies with you. Call me selfish, but I know that once that lady in Claire's pulls the trigger on the nail gun, your eyes will be opened and you will wake up and realize how utterly cool all my stuff is, and that scares the doo-doo out of me. So no matter what, you will not get holes in your ears this year. NO WAY.
Comments