The Birth of my Son

It was a whirlwind. As one of my co-workers e-mailed, “Melissa, we already knew you were quick and efficient. You didn’t have to prove it.”

Friday (the 3^rd) was officially my last day at work, except for some consulting things I’ll do, and I was thinking all weekend I just wanted this baby to come. What in the world was I going to do with all my free time? Sit around and mope because I no longer had a job? Just about. Not the way anyone should spend their time.

On Sunday morning, I did wake up to a few contractions. Nothing serious, but enough to get my hopes up, encourage me to do about 15 minutes of cardio pilates in hopes of bringing them back on, and questioning whether I should go to church or not just in case. By then, though, they had disappeared and the day marched on with only a contraction at random times, not enough to bring a baby but certainly enough to make one tired, sore and fidgety.

It was around eleven when the contractions returned. Again, nothing serious. Just enough to ask a half-asleep Ed if he had his phone on him at work. “Yes,” he yawned, “but do you have the store number?” I replied I did. He went to sleep and I told myself to rest because I had a feeling I would need the sleep. By 1:30, I had moved to the couch so not to awaken Ed every ten minutes as I rode out the painful constrictions in my body. An hour later, I was starting to get a bit worried. They weren’t coming often enough to warrant a call to the doctor and yet I was getting the chills after every single one. Why? And I couldn’t stop thinking that Emry had come so quickly once the contractions had become regular… Fifteen minutes later, they were regular enough I woke Ed, told him to get ready and I was calling the doctor. Denise (a friend from church) arrived to watch Emry and off we went.

The hospital is a straight 10-minute shot from our house. By the time we got there, my contractions were a regular 2 or 3 minutes apart. I had one in the waiting area as Ed signed the papers, putting the time of our arrival at 3:27. The nurse came down to get me and told me to breathe evenly – I was hyperventilating a bit. We went straight up to the delivery room where I was walked into the bathroom and told to undress – a task that had never been harder. When I managed to get to the bed and sit down, I thought the pain wasn’t going to get any worse and decided an epidural would be nice, even though I had hoped to get on without it. A nurse came to ask Ed to go down and park the car. Meanwhile, the nurses managed to get me on the bed and that’s when I knew this baby was coming. All I wanted to do was push, but I was told not to. I had no IV, no doctor and now no husband. And a nurse asking rhetorical questions: “If you want an epidural, you’ll have to wait a half hour. But the doctor can break your water and this baby will come.” Really? Some questions do not need to be multiple choice. “Break the water.”

I still had to wait, though, for Ed was parking the car. The moment he stepped back into the room, the doctor sat down on his stool, my water broke, I pushed and there was my son. It was 3:55 – 28 minutes after we arrived at the hospital.

Ethan arrived hale and hearty, an ounce smaller than his sister but an inch and half longer. He, too, has a head full of dark hair, dark eyes that will probably be blue and looks like he ought to be Emry’s twin. He took to eating right away, seems as easy-going and content as Emry was as a baby and is a blessing to have. Indeed. We are truly blessed.