In Which I Remember Again

At this time two years ago, I'd sent home sweet Miss Amber and my mom, taken an Ambien, and was told to wait til morning to be given pitocin. I decided I had to potty, and called out to the super sweet, so attentive head nurse whose desk was right outside of my room to unhook me. I went, came back to my bed, and asked her to check me, because I still felt like I had to go. She gave me a half smile and mentioned that she had just checked me the hour before, measuring me at a 3. But, she checked anyways, and found me to be at a 10. Within an hour. Explaining my discomfort. I begged for an epidural, my previous experience being sleeping through the labor of Kid from the effects of an epidural and Demerol. The nurse held me as I waited for the drugs. The anesthesiologist had enough time to insert the needle, then he turned away to get the tube, at the same time that the nurse turned away to get gloves. When they turned back, Rex was on the delivery table, screaming for attention.

Mom was allowed in the room minutes later, after being told to stop in the waiting room once she got there after I called her asking her calmly (in my head) to come back. They laid Rex on my tummy, and I stroked her black hair, asked how she tested. My doctor showed minutes after that, joked about me not being able to wait for him, judged us both healthy, and left me to my decisions.

I opted to let them take her til 6am, then bring her to me, and she didn't leave my room after that til I checked out, 20 hours earlier than my insurance wanted. I had nurses in and out, praising me for the way I handled the birth sans drugs, although I felt like I was needy. I had another nurse who helped me get her to feed when she wouldn't, who adjusted her carseat straps before we left.

I remember those hours, where they told me not to sleep with her in the hospital bed, so I stayed awake, stroked her cheeks and her eyebrows, whispered myths and fairytales to her, set her down only long enough to go to the bathroom. I was exhausted, but it was worth it. I had what I'd always said I would - another child. I always believed I'd have a houseful, always *knew* I'd have two. And I was at peace, so much more than I had been in the years preceding. I had my life.

I wouldn't change a thing, except to forgo all the drugs. I would do the painful but quick experience over and over again. It was so worth it.