"Are you sure you don't want to reach down there and feel her head?"
"I'm sure."
"Don't you even want to look with the mirror?"
God, am I freak for not wanting to pause during pushing and check out my crotch in the mirror?
When we checked into the hospital, I was already halfway dilated. Since I had reached my pain limit and wanted to run off the pain from each contraction, I gave in and requested an epidural. I wasn't crazy about the idea; I really wanted to be able to say I gave birth naturally but I know my limits and the limit was met. Laboring for 24 hours at home to only be halfway AND it was nighttime (which means I would want to sleep) meant that it was only logical to do something about the pain.
But of course the epidural didn't work. This is my life, afterall. Something weird is bound to happen.
The doctor and nurse did say I was remarkably calm for having someone poke around in my spine. I'm keeping that compliment close because I'm not normally told that I'm calm.
The epi only numbed me enough so I could sleep but I still felt the contractions. My left leg went completely numb like a wet noodle, the right was still very much able to feel sensation. When it came time to push, the little relief I did feel from the epi was gone. Also, I itched like I had spent the night rolling in poison ivy, then poison oak and then went swimming with some jellyfish who stung me all over. A product of the basically useless epidural, the nurses said. Neat.
At 6:30 AM, it was time to push. I had previously told Jerry that I didn't want him to be near the scene of the action because that's gross and he's a bit woozy. I had vain hopes that he wouldn't see "down there" and would then only think of "down there" as a husband does his wife. This was not possible because I grossly underestimated how much space there would be around the delivery bed because even if he wanted to avoid the action, he couldn't have escaped the first row seat.
At 8AM, Cora was head out. At least, that's what they kept telling me.
"Her head is showing! Oh she has hair!"
"She has hair?! Why aren't you pulling her out?!"
I must have missed the part in birthing class where they explained that "head out" means her head is showing. I assumed head out meant her head is ALL the way out so I didn't understand why the rest of her wasn't coming out quickly like they said she would.
The pain was beginning to become so severe that I started to panic. I couldn't do it, I cried.
A midwife I've never met appeared out of nowhere, her face in my face.
"Yes, you can. You are! Just keeping doing it. You're going to feel a 'ring of fire' and I want you to just push through that ring of fire. I know you can do it!"
What the hell?? Did she just allude to Johnny Cash as I'm about to give birth?
Now, what most people don't understand is that "Ring of Fire" doesn't conjure up classic Cash for Jerry, our friends, or me. "Ring of Fire" means drinking pitchers upon pitchers of cheap beer and drunkenly eating fries while Steve Langdon sings his version of Cash's classic; his with the lyrics changed to something about a burning STD.
So, that's what I was singing in my head while my mother and my husband held my legs during each contraction.
Burn, Burn, Burn, that ring of fire...something something something...gonorrhea!
After one particularly intense contraction, the nurse told me again that her head was out even more. Exasperated, I cried, "Get!!! it!!!! OUT!!!"
And for that, I owe Cora her first apology. I'm sorry that I referred to you as an "it." You don't seem to hold it against me.
Finally, at 8:15 AM, Cora was officially born. I don't remember a whole lot about right before that because I basically blacked out from the pain. Survival-mode is probably the best description of the situation. When the doctor lifted Cora up and placed her on my belly, the first thing I said was:
"Oh my god; she's huge!!"
Because she was, for me. I was small the entire pregnancy and my doctor had estimated Cora to be about 7 to 7.5 pounds. Cora actually weighed in at 8 and a half pounds and 21 inches. No wonder she was always kicking the crap out of me; she obviously didn't have any room to move around!
Jerry followed up my exclamation with, "Holllllyyyy shit!" The next time I saw him, he was sitting in a chair, all color gone from his face. He says as soon as he realized Cora was alright and that I was, too; the grossness of everything hit him and he started to pass out.
And with that, everything was perfect. Cora nursed like she was mad at the world for bringing her into the it and her little head went right to a nice round shape right away.
In the nearly seven weeks that she's been here, every day has only reaffirmed for me how absolutely grateful I am to have been given the chance to experience motherhood. Thankfully, Cora makes up for the hellish pregnancy by being a remarkably easy baby. She eats well and she's so mellow I have been able to shower every single day since her birth. She's so much of Jerry; when I look at her I'm not sure what resembles me. Maybe her lips, but that's debatable, too. I hope she keeps his temperament though I hope she has my nose.
But most importantly, she's made an already overstuffed house absolutely whole.
I already knew Jerry was going to be a fantastic and attentive father but I wasn't prepared for when he looked his best friend and said, "If I had known having a baby was going to be this awesome, I would have had one years ago." That's even after he's had poop on him, lost sleep and gotten punched in the eye by a tiny fist. Watching him gingerly navigate changing her into pajamas or read her a story before bed (complete with voices) is a whole new reason to love the man for whom I already have a thousand reasons for loving.
And giving birth to my first born has allowed me to love our first daughter in ways I previously tried but didn't know how. I feel so much more maternal towards Vanessa, because I see her be a sister to Cora and I love her so much more than I was able to before.
The cats are protective of her. I can't keep Mithrandir away from her. The second I sit down to feed her, he's in my lap. Today, I caught him on the monitor sneaking in to her crib to snuggle at her feet.
Unlike the poor "Ring of Fire" metaphor, she's perfection.
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