Meeting Evelyn

After three days, I've snuck in a brief moment of calm to indulge in a little writing. My daughter's first days of life have been a whirlwind of immense joy, intense pain, learning experiences and more well-wishers than I can count. Still, I've been recounting the labor and delivery process in my head, hoping to put it into words as best as I can.

I spent the majority of the 4th of July working on a painting that I intend to hang in the baby's room. I started having dull contractions in the afternoon, but after months of Braxton-Hicks, I didn't pay much attention. They started becoming regular, however, around 9 p.m., and by midnight, my mom was preparing to take me to the hospital.

No luck. I was sent home around 3:30 with discharge papers telling me to wait it out and a big sleeping pill to get me through the night.

Deep in an Ambien coma, I slept contentedly for three hours before I woke up with one sharp pain and a feeling that I had peed my pants. "Mom! My water broke!"

One car ride and a change of pants later, we were back in the labor and delivery unit. Throughout the morning hours, my loved ones began to flood the waiting area. And then, a hitch in the plans.

I have been allergic to lidocaine since I can remember, but it never occurred to me or anyone else that it would impede the epidural I had been planning on getting for months. Lidocaine is a local anesthetic and one of the main painkillers used in a regular epidural, so that was off-limits to me. Unfortunately, no one told me this until I was knee-deep in active labor, so the hospital staff spent a decent chunk of time attempting to find a solution. I watched helplessly as they speculated and guessed at what might be the best option and cried when they told me that I would have to be intubated and put to sleep in the event of a c-section. After an apology from the OB and some reassurance, I decided that this baby was for sure coming out the old-fashioned route.

Then there was the pitocin. The doctors gave me this particular drug to speed up my labor, intensifying the contractions in the process. Cue the most intense pain I've ever felt in my life. With each contraction, I grabbed someone's hand (usually my dad or Roy) and tried to take ten deep breaths in unison with that person. By the third breath, I was usually screaming or cursing. (Apparently I said some rather nasty things to the anesthetist regarding the ineptitude of his morphine.) After each contraction, someone would shove a few ice chips in my mouth and I would pass out until the next one. Finally, it was time to push.

About half an hour later, Evelyn Claire came into the world. The pain was profound, but not nearly as much as the joy and relief I felt upon seeing her goopy, purple face. She weighed 6 pounds, 2 ounces, and she is perfect from the fuzz on her head to her jelly bean-sized toes.

When I was in the middle of labor, I would have taken a bullet if it meant getting the baby out that much sooner. But now I look back on the whole day with fondness. I never realized how much strength my body is capable of and how much love my heart can hold.

Three days later- I'm sitting on the couch watching Evelyn nap in her swing. Delivering a baby is a lot like graduating high school. Just when you've reached the top of your game, you endure a rite of passage and then suddenly, you're back at the bottom. Every time she squeaks, I crane my neck to make sure she's ok. Her farts have become an angel's chorus to me because I know her little tummy is working. I can't imagine my life any more without this perfect little creature, even if she does keep me up all night.