 |
Meet the newest addition
photo by tlpoague |
I will begin with an apology for those that were looking forward to reading this weeks blogs and being let down. Life here has been a bit on the crazy side.
Most of this week has been spent with my very pregnant daughter...taking her to the doctor's appointments, shopping for baby, babysitting, and such. By Thursday, my daughter was in the miserable stage of her pregnancy. She had been having false alarms, slightly dilated, and feeling as if she were the size of a beached whale. She was beginning to appear desperate. Ready to have this child no matter what it took.
I was feeling the pressure of not being able to focus on my writing. I felt I was just getting into the grove. Building a writing platform. Finding topics to write about that wouldn't put someone to sleep. Feeling the flow from brain...to fingers...to the screen. So, hovering in my own fantasy world, I casually mentioned that if she was that desperate to have this child go about it the old school way...good ol' caster oil. Just a splash would go a long way. I didn't expect her to take it literal. (I would not, I repeat not, do this at home.)
Before I knew it, she was on the computer looking up the side effects and results of experiences from other women. Then I was driving her to the store for the tiny bottle that packed a wallop. She swallowed a teaspoon full with a glass of milk and waited...and waited...and waited.
Nothing.
No pain.
No side effect.
Nothing.
Four hours passed before she decided to up the dose. Two teaspoons with a milk chaser. (Just a note: castor oil curdles the milk a bit I am told.)
Time slowly passed again. Still no results. By seven in the evening, she states “What the heck!” and swallows two tablespoons of oil with the milk chaser. I raise my eyebrow and pondered to myself...what am I in for?
Time ticked by. Nothing. She felt the same as she did when she awoke...frustrated. I gave her a ride home and told her to call if anything happened. I figured it would kick in by ten if there was going to be any action this night.
See...the thing with castor oil is that it only works if the woman drinking it is ready to be induced. Otherwise the unfortunate soul spends many an hour re-leaving herself of a very messy build-up. (I will leave the rest of that to the imagination.)
I decided that it was best to play it safe than sorry and went to bed as soon as I returned home. I had a feeling that this could be a long night.
It took awhile for Mr. P to unwind and come to bed that night. I awoke as he crawled in beside me. He gave me a peck on the cheek, telling me he loved me, just as the phone began to ring. It was our daughter...breathless.
“Mom,” she gasped, “I think this stuff is working.”
Something tingled in the back of my mind telling me this was more urgent then she let on.
“I'm on the way.” I told her.
Hanging up the phone, I asked Mr. P. if he was going to go with us. He decided he would pass for now because last time she had been in labor for eleven hours. He figured he could catch a quick nap then drive down. (It was a 40 minute drive to the hospital.) I kissed him again and told him I would call him later.
It was a little after two in the morning by the time I had arrived at her house. I knocked on the door. No one answered after a minute. I knocked again and was getting a bit concerned because it was taking so long. Finally the boyfriend cracked open the door. He looked like he had been giving blood at the blood bank, and they forgot to stop. It was obvious that the situation hadn't registered yet because he was still wandering around like molasses in the snow. Mommy mode kicked in and I took charge.
“Okay, here is what we need...” I began to tell the boyfriend.
My daughter came around the corner, hugging a towel around her bulge, and grasping the wall like a lifeline.
She took one look at me and said, “I hate you. I hate castor oil.”
I couldn't help it. I started laughing. It wasn't like I had twisted her arm to take it.
“So...,” I started to say.
She held up her finger as if to say, “one minute”, while a contraction rippled threw her body.
“I think this stuff is working.” She said once she caught her breath, “I have been pooping like a goose.”
“How long have you been in the shower?” I asked.
“I think thirty minutes. It was long enough to run out the hot water.” She replied as another contraction hit.
Okay, I thought to myself, this cuts our time a bit. I hope I have enough time to make it.
This spurned me into faster action. I started barking orders like they were my military boys. Within minutes...and a few more trips into the bathroom for safe measure...we were on our way.
There were two towns between us and the hospital. I had prayed that we would make it there without being pulled over, have any accidents, or mechanical issues on the way. I tried to watch my speed and for any critters that wanted to commit suicide. Meanwhile, I had the boyfriend timing the contractions from the back seat as reality was starting to set in for him. Little J, the grand baby, snoozed away like nothing was wrong. My daughter, Pokey, was trying really hard not to deliver early...whether it was the baby or the liquid stuff. There was only a brief moment there where I had to pull over because she thought she needed to use the bathroom.
“False alarm!” she called as she buckled herself back in. Off we raced again to the hospital. She counted down the miles with each contraction. I tried my best to humor her with some dry jokes.
Nurses were waiting for us as we pulled into the parking lot. The boyfriend went to retrieve a wheelchair while I extracted Little J. from his car seat. I grabbed what baby paraphernalia I could carry, while the boyfriend wheeled Pokey into the delivery room.
Still in my military mode, I told the nurse Pokey was having contractions two minutes apart and one minute long. The nurse nodded her head like it was no big deal, jotting a note on her hand.
Pokey quickly changed into a gown. I changed Little J.'s diaper, while the boyfriend ran out to grab the pack-n-play crib. Inside, I felt like throwing my arms up in the air like the cowboys in a rodeo, cheering, “We made it!”
Instead, I corralled Little J. in his crib, as soon as it was up, and started playing coach to Pokey.
“Breath deep breaths.” I would say as I rubbed her arm.
“Where's the epidural?” She would respond.
“It's coming honey, but I doubt Jr. here is going to wait for it.”
The doctor stepped into the room. It didn't take long to see the reaction on his face and know that this baby was coming sooner than even he anticipated.
The nurse calmly said, as she was inserting the IV into a vein, “I have call for your epidural. They are coming as quick as they can.”
I started laughing again. The boyfriend held Pokey's hand for support, while his other one had a death grip on the cupboard handle. He had a green glow about him, followed by a slight sway.
With another chuckle, I asked him, “Do you pass out at the sight of blood?”
The boyfriend shook his head stating a reply that sounded like, “I don't know. I'm trying not to look.” He faced the wall he had glued himself too.
This caused the doctor to pause, adding his two cents, “I don't think I can catch you too. Why don't you pull up that chair next to you.”
Through the chaos around me, I noticed that Little J. hadn't let out a squawk. I glanced around the doctor to see how the babe was doing. He was standing in his crib, bottle in his mouth, watching the commotion going on, intently studying what everyone was doing. This surprised me. I figured that with this much noise and his mom hollering at the top of her lungs, the baby would be joining in. Not him. He was too impressed with all the gadgets the nurses had hovering a few feet away from him.
The doctor's voice drew me back to Pokey. Jr. had decided it was time to enter the world. As his tiny feet cleared the run way, I hollered, “it's a girl!”
The boyfriend nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned to look. Pokey rolled her eyes. The doctor gave me a concerned look that said...I think she lost her mind. I started laughing again.
“Just kidding!” I told Pokey as I gave her a kiss.
I was so proud of my little girl bringing this little bundle of joy into the world.
The nurse leaned over to Pokey and gave her a pat on the arm.
“Well, honey,” she quietly said, “I just wanted to let you know that your epidural is here.”
This sent me into another fit of laughing.
Once the smoked cleared, we celebrated the birth of a 7 pound, 3 ounce little boy.
Pokey was one happy Momma. I was on the phone telling Mr. P how proud he would be of his little girl. I couldn't wait to pass along the good news.
I love being a grandma!
 |
Photo by tlpoague
Big brother with his little brother. |
