A Little Girl

I opened my eyes this morning to the sounds of a grunting newborn in the pack 'n play beside our bed, rousing to eat. I lay on my back and pointed my toes, flexed my calf muscles and drew my belly button toward my spine, feeling in every inch of my body the glory of not having an 8 lb infant curled in my uterus, crowding my ribcage and swelling my extremities. Julian's leg rested on my arm, the padded foot of his fleece onesie brushing my chin. He had come into our room earlier around 5 am when the baby cried to eat and curled resignedly against Sam, sharing his pillow, as if to say 'I know, the baby's hungry. I'm here now; you can feed her and proceed.'

 

I thought purposeful thoughts, attempting to gather the will to rise and feed our newborn. I need to stop buying dark chocolate because I cannot consume it responsibly with the leonine hunger pangs of nursing. Put the laundry in the dryer. We really must decide how to spell our daughter's name.

 

Our daughter. Analee Elizabeth. Or Annalee Elizabeth...it's a matter of international debate now that Sam's English relatives have joined the conversation (we asked their opinion since the name needs to work on both sides of the ocean).

 

I would say she made her way into the world with the same fervor as her brother except for that she was, well...more fervent, I suppose. My labor with Julian lasted about an hour and a half once I arrived at the hospital with 5 minute interval contractions and 2 cm of dilation. An(n)alee's lasted about an hour. I woke up from a nap around 4pm, recognized the contractions I was having as true labor, and we checked into the hospital at about 5:45 pm. She was born at 6:50. 

 

I understand that normal triage procedure is to monitor the laboring mother for an hour to see if she really is in labor, and the triage nurse was determined to complete this procedure despite my attestation that my last labor was so quick.

 

'How far dilated were you at your last doctor's appointment?' She asked as she checked me.

 

'3 cm.'

 

'Hm, you're at a tight 3 cm if you ask me. Wait here for an hour and we'll see.'

 

I recognized this nurse. 'Were you here in 2011?' I asked her.

 

She replied in the affirmative, and I knew it was she who almost sent me home while I labored with Julian, minutes away from delivery. 'I remember you,' is all I said.

 

She left the room with me having SEVERE contractions every couple minutes, bouncing on the exercise ball. Sam massaged my neck and stayed calm. Because God is merciful, another nurse came in about 20 minutes later and checked my progress.

 

'Honey, you're at 6 cm. Let's get you upstairs.'

 

Then I started to hear the murmur among the nurses: 'She's the one who gave birth in in hour and a half last time. She's going natural. Has the doctor been called yet? Is he on his way? Let's get her upstairs.'

 

(Yes, I was going natural, but only because I could tell it was going too quick to have an epidural. I would've loved me some drugs ohmylordyesplease.)

 

Grateful to God for admission, I made the familiar walk to the elevator and to the labor and delivery room in those oh-so-modest hospital gowns that open at the back. I paused in the elevator and hallway to claw the wall and moan deep moans, pitying the innocent visitors who had the bad luck to ride the elevator with us.

 

Once in the hospital room, it was Sam, me and one nurse, and she was still calling to see if the doctor was on his way. I got off the exercise ball so she could check my progress.

 

7 cm.

 

I felt the urge to push.

 

NO YOU DON'T, the nurse commanded. Blow out of your mouth, she said, You cannot push before reaching 10 cm.

 

During the next contraction, my water broke over the exercise ball, and I leapt onto the bed because my body was going to push that baby out no matter what anyone said. I tried resisting the urge but it was complete and in control. I was devastated, thinking I was pushing too early. Still no doctor. Another nurse came in.

 

'I NEED YOU TO LISTEN TO ME,' She said. 'I NEED YOU TO FOCUS ON MY VOICE AND DO WHAT I TELL YOU.'

 

I will, lady, I thought. Stop telling me to pay attention and tell me what to do! I still didn't know if I should be pushing.

 

And like that, with several successive pushes, baby was out. Stamped clear as a bell in my mind is watching the nurse take the baby to the table under the lamp (they hadn't had time to get in the weighing machine yet). Sam went over and touched her hand; she grasped his finger and he commented on her grip. There is no feeling like that feeling - the pain is over, and you can see a little person. That a person that complete, with lips and nostrils and fingernails, was moments ago inside your body feels like sorcery.

 

 

 

There was no doctor present at time of delivery. The nurses recruited the Emergency Room OB who sidled in just as An(n)alee was coming out, and the OB on call arrived minutes later in time to chat about the speed of the birth but not practice any medicine, ha.

 

At 8 lbs 8 oz, An(n)alee outweighed Julian who was a mere 6 lbs 13 oz, and she has been strong from the start, lifting her head from side to side while on her tummy and pushing up on her forearms. She's a joy during the daytime, opening her eyes wide when she hears Sam's or Julian's voice, snuggling against me after nursing and commenting with chirps and coos when I wash her with a warm rag. She's something else altogether at night, gone from a contented child to a restless, wailing fusspot - but I suppose that is the way with newborns.

 

Julian seems enormous to me now. I realize how he must be capable of much more than I've been asking of him because I continue to think of him as a baby in certain ways. He helps hand me An(n)alee's diaper when I change her and brushes her hair after a bath and tries to shove the paci in her face when she cries. He's acting out more with Sam and me, temper rising to red-faced wailing when he doesn't get his way and dragging his feet when asked to do something. Sam is bearing the brunt of this as he has taken over much of Julian's care. These behaviors in Julian that weeks ago would've caused a fire of frustration in me now inspire compassion; he's only a little boy trying to sort out a big change in his life. I think he's doing great.