Not Nice Spice
If there is ever a person who lives life in a way that awakens the soul, it’s my cousin, Elaine. She is a perfect example for moms, showing them that life is not “over” after kids. You don’t have to lose spirit, adventure, charisma or anything you cherish just because you’ve added to your family. In fact, becoming a mother enhances all of this! Every inch of the earth her feet touch and is filled with life. While I am partial to living like a creature of habit, she uses each breath to evolve and explore all of the goodness that is seen and unseen. I’ll never forget one summer visiting my aunt and uncle, and Elaine and her sister, Michelle, had Madonna blasting in her bedroom. We had a little dance party and my little preteen self loved every second of it! Just maybe we’ll have another daughter so Chickadee can dance the day away with a buddy. Is there anything better? Regardless, becoming a mother ignites our souls with life unimaginable. July 2, 1995 When we exchanged our “practice” wedding vows three years before (minus one day), Moose promised not to call from the car to pick up messages on our answering machine if we were 10 minutes or less from home. (I in turn pledged never to sing in public.) He is a man who hates to be out of touch. But I couldn’t reach him this morning and I had no idea where he was. I woke up early that Saturday morning, as my 8 months pregnant body didn’t allow me much sleep these sultry summer days. Around 7, I set to cooking a tabouli salad to bring to our family’s annual 4th of July reunion, held on Long Island every summer for the past 48 years. Moose rolled out of bed, fixed himself a cup of coffee, and went to our den to catch up on the news. I wasn’t feeling that great, a bit crampy, and my midwife had mentioned Braxton-Hicks. Well, it was about time, I had had a textbook pregnancy so far, with no morning sickness or complications. I was retaining a lot of water and I had to wear my sneakers on my commute into the City for work the day before because my feet weren’t fitting into any shoes. After setting my tabouli in the fridge, I went upstairs to get showered and ready for the 90 minute ride to our family party. I was still feeling crampy and a bit nauseated, so I laid down for a few. When I got up a bit later and went to the bathroom, I passed what looked like a giant blood clot into the toilet and freaked out a bit. I called the midwife and explained what happened. She said it might be my mucous plug (ew!) and that I should meet her at the hospital and she would check me out. What?! To the hospital? My due date wasn’t until July 29th and I had planned for a lovely, natural childbirth experience for my firstborn in the birthing center 20 minutes from our home. I went downstairs to get Moose. Only I couldn’t find him. Anywhere. I called his cell phone. Dialed his pager (this was 1995!). Nothing. In the 8.5 years we’d been together I had never ever not been able to reach him. When he finally called me back - about 15 minutes later - I learned that he had heard an ad on the radio for a sale at the Men’s Wearhouse and decided to head over right away to shop for suits. He was having new suit pants tailored while I was ringing him - his pants and contents of his pocket in a fitting room out of earshot. He later told me that he made the 6 mile drive back to our house in about 10 minutes flat. At the hospital, they hooked me up to monitors and did an exam. The midwife confirmed it - I was in labor with contractions coming nearly 5 minutes apart. This seemed ridiculous to me. It was not like in the movies…I wasn’t doubled over in pain or screaming and squeezing Moose’s hand. They said they would hook me up to an IV with fluids, as perhaps I was dehydrated and the fluids would stop the labor. This was not how I had planned things at all. We had rehearsed a natural labor - with no interventions at all, no IVs or drugs. My midwife assured me that they were just pumping water and electrolytes into me and she’d check on me in about 30 minutes. This was at 1:00 in the afternoon. I was able to walk around with my IV pole, and I went to a pay phone to call my mom. She was on her way to Long Island. “Nothing to worry about,” I said. “I’d probably be home later, but wouldn’t make it to the reunion. But there was a chance I was going into labor.” The rest is a blur. Moose deciding that he was hungry and couldn’t wait a minute longer to leave me and go get a hamburger. The annoying cramps turning into holy shit I’m having a baby! The midwife deciding it was time to head into the delivery room while my head spun around like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist. It was the first (and only) time in my life that I felt a total loss of control of everything my body and mind were doing. The midwife telling me to breath, to push, and me not even registering what the hell she was talking about. And then the baby. Born at 5:50 p.m. - less than 5 hours after we had a funny feeling that my labor was starting - and nearly 4 weeks early, but at a healthy 6 lbs. 15 oz. On the delivery table, they asked if I wanted to hold him and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less. I was spent. Something bigger than me, a power greater than any human, had taken possession of my body while this new person was coming to life. I no longer feared death. Eventually, back in my room, I held and nursed my first baby. I had fared pretty well, considering how quickly and unexpectedly he showed up. I had no tears, no need for stitches. Even though we weren’t in the cush birthing center, I hadn’t had any medical interventions (epidural, drugs, forceps, episiotomy). And no hemorrhoids! I was made for this. March 10, 1997 We got to pick Emily’s birthday. My ob-gyn was available to do the C-section on either Monday the 10th or Thursday the 13th. Obviously, we were not going to pick the 13th. And, at 38 weeks pregnant, I was nervous about going into labor early, as I had with Jack. Emily was upside down (that is right side up) and high in my uterus. She was stuck up there and not dropping down. A week before I’d seen a specialist who tried to spin her around via external and internal manipulations. Ouch. But she just stayed put. It was Moose’s fault. Five months before, I’d visited him down in Florida where he was completing a 6-week training in a new software product for work. We planned a weekend at Disney World and Moose wanted to go on Space Mountain. I had pointed out the sign that warned that pregnant women and people with heart conditions should stay off the ride. Moose insisted that, at just past my first trimester, I wasn’t pregnant enough. It was all just a matter of fitting into the seat. But when they sliced me open on Emily’s birthday, they found her all tangled up, with her umbilical cord looped 3 times around her neck. I didn’t say anything to the doctor about Space Mountain. Em was fine, but what they neglected to tell me about the C-section surgery was that it took an instant to open me up and pull the baby out, but 30 minutes to sew me back together, layer by layer. I was fascinated to learn that they plopped my uterus on the outside of my body to stitch it back together. Moose was not interested in watching. C-section recovery was a bit longer, for sure. What I remember after going home from the hospital was weeping when I saw 20 month old Jack. I was sure I had just ruined his life. He’s 23 now and totally fine with having a sister. And Emily had been on every single roller coaster at Six Flags by the age of 13. She can’t get enough of them.
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Kate FrancesWhen you don't know what else to do, then it's time to write. Then write a little while longer for good measure. Archives
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