I woke up with one thought on my mind; how am I, at 9 months pregnant, gonna last till 2pm not eating anything? Little did I know 2pm was actually several days away.
There wasn’t much surprise or drama to munchkin’s arrival. In fact, my partner complained that he felt like he was robbed of all the excitement he watches on TV. Yeah, I wanna kick him too. Our C-section was scheduled because doctors thought my munchkin would be a 10 pounder and because we thought babe had to go back to his job in the BVI pretty soon. We were scheduled for 2pm. I felt like a celebrity scheduling the arrival of my child. If we really had our choice, we would have gone with February 6, Bob Marley’s birthday, for obvious reasons, and if I had waited it out maybe I would have lasted that long too as my due date was February 2. Anyway, I was under orders to not having anything to eat or drink from the night before. I was happy that the journey was finally coming to an end. Or, beginning…or something.
When we got to the hospital, we had quite the wait. Thankfully the hospital had free WIFI so I took the opportunity to update everyone on our progress and whatnot. You can see just how READY I was…BB in hand 😀
A couple hours later, I finally made it unto a table, and the fear slowly started creeping into me. You see, I don’t think my pain threshold is very high and I am scared of everything. I was scared of the epidural, I was scared of the surgery, heck I was scared of the IV they’d need to put in my hand…That part wasn’t so bad though. 😀 I was in the holding area for quite a while, anxiety building and babe probably wondering what the hell is going on. I wish they would have made him come in there, anxiety can make one go crazy. But I was keeping my cool.So I’m laid up and a doctor came in to do a realistic analysis of how big my baby was and they projected only about 8 something, close to 9 pounds. My doc comes in and asks me if I want to wait it out. I was only 39 weeks preggers, I had experienced no labour pains, barely any contractions, nothing. She had promised to give me the chance to go into labour and push if I so desired. But honestly, lying there on that table with my IV in and oxygen going up my nose, I was so ready. The thought of having to go back home and wait another week to maybe come and do this all over again wasn’t tickling my fancy. Neither was the thought of pushing out a 9 pounder. I. Was. Ready.
Things happened pretty quickly after that. I was wheeled into the operating room and my doc sent for babe. Before he could come in, my anaesthetist, a very giddy happy Russian guy, came in to give me happy juice, or as he called it, “michael jackson juice.” I kept telling him how unfunny that was since Michael died from his juice but whatevs. I kept repeating in my head “dont jump dont jump dont jump” the last thing I wanted to do was jump when he stuck that needle in my back and paralyze my damn self and guess what I did… You damn right I jumped. I don’t remember it being very painful, what I remember was the liquid entering my spinal area and how cold and… uncomfortable it was. That’s what made me jump.
As I lay there on the table and more and more doctors start to swarm around me I realized I couldn’t feel or move my legs and my face was itching me. Anxiety sets in again and I begin to wonder why its taking so long for them to bring babe in. My anaesthetist was the one to ask if I came alone and then my doc remembered and summoned him in. Tears were rolling down the side of my face at this point and he came in and wiped them away.
A question I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know why I was crying, it was just…. a lot. We’d been through a lot and it meant the world to me to have him there by my side to squeeze my hand and scratch my face that was itching from the epidural.
I didn’t feel the incision or anything…my doc told me to brace for lots of pressure as they take the baby out. It sounded and felt as if an airplane was taking off, I swear. It was shaky, rocky and loud. Babe stood up to see the baby over that shield/curtain they put up when doing a c-section, before they took her over to the table. The doctor exclaimed
“what a pretty baby! she’s pretty just like me!”
All the nurses cracked up and Russian dude echoed her sentiments. My doc told me I had fibroids, which explained lots of things to me. She wrapped up and left the other guys to stitch me up, which was the longest part of my surgery, trying to get everything back in there all neat and tidy I guess. I’m figuring they left a sponge or something in there that wasn’t there before cus I STILL look pregnant today, or maybe my fibroids are growing…but I digress…
New daddy went over to the nurses station at this point to look at our little bundle. Soon, a nurse soon came by with my sweet, beautiful baby so I could kiss her before they whisked her off and I was again chanting in my head “remember her face, remember her face” as I didn’t want them to somehow bring me the wrong baby. Silly… because that image is burned deep in my memory along with her scent, I remember how rosy she smelled. I loved her already. I’ve heard the stories of babies being swapped and that wasn’t about to be my baby that caused me so much heartburn and hurling for the past 9 months!
It seemed like forever before I was finally taken from recovery, where I was left until I got back the feeling in my legs, to my room. Once I got in and settled we were reunited with our little bundle and I was in all sorts of awe. She was so perfect! She was a super star right from birth! Seriously, just look at that pic! She was already “smiling,” a comment we still get to this day. She stays with a smile planted on her face, lights up any room. She was so soft and tiny and perfect…awww my munchkin…we were both in awe….and in love…
My munchkin is one year old already…I cant believe it!
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