Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Snowstorm Baby

I couldn’t reach my shoes.

That’s when I knew it was time.

I’d bend down to slip off the Birkenstocks and the socks, which luckily still fit me in late November, to cool off my hideously inflated body, and realize the watermelon that protruded at belly level was in the way.


My husband would remove the offending clothing, and we’d sit in our quiet duplex, a giant pregnant silence over our pregnant household, waiting for the doctor to place us in our lane and pop the cap gun that would mean our firstborn would be on his way out.

It wasn’t until the 5th or 6th month that they’d diagnosed me with gestational diabetes. I wondered why I was gaining weight so quickly (yeah, I know what I ate, why I was surprised I have no idea). The doctor asked if I’d done a glucose tolerance test, and I said, yes, in the second or third month, but I never heard the results because their office said no news was good news. She checked my chart. No lab results. Called the lab. Oops. OOPS? They’d lost my results. So I had to have a one-hour test, the sick one where you drink that sugary orange liquid and have blood drawn twice.

The results weren’t good.

I did the three hour glucose test, more orange syrup, 4 blood draws.


Not good.

Gestational diabetes.

In early December, after months of poking my finger 4 times a day to check my glucose levels, after months of constant UTIs, and other problems that left me wondering how women all over the world did this thing constantly, the doctor announced, “We’re going to induce you. We think he’s about 8 ½ pounds, and that’s the limit for a vaginal birth.” No matter that he wasn’t due for a couple weeks. An amnio showed his lungs were ready. And I was certainly ready to see the tops of my feet again.

They admitted us to the hospital on a Tuesday.

They gave me drugs.

I dilated. A little. I sweated. I pushed. I waited.

It was a three-day ordeal.

Thursday morning, we’d all had enough. They broke my water, and upped my drugs, and thank the jeebus for epidurals.

After hours and days of struggling, after contorting my overstuffed balloon body into every position imaginable to squeeze out my babe (try the “frog” position when you’re that big…trust me, you’ll want to punch the nurse too), after hearing the words, “We’re gonna use forceps, and if his head doesn’t budge this time, we’ll do a C-section”, at 9:24 p.m.….

My son was born.

And pink.
And screaming.
With two bruises on his head from the baby salad tongs.
Weighing 9 pounds, 12 ounces.
As the sky sifted snow in great gobs over everything.

He was perfect.

That was 10 years ago today.

These tears? Right here? Tears of pure joy.

Happy Birthday, Boy-Child…I love you. So much.


At 8:50 AM, Blogger jo(e) said...

Nine pounds twelve ounces? Wow. That's a big baby.


At 9:18 AM, Blogger Maggie said...

I love birthday stories! I'm glad he was ok and so were you. What a birthing ordeal. I didn't realize that you had a 10 year old too! My oldest is ten. The twins birthday is on Thursday, perhaps I'll tell all about being forced to lay in bed for four months and having a square belly. Ha.

At 10:14 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Happy Birthday to boy child. Wow that was some ordeal. I am always amazed at this process. Am happy for ya. :)

At 11:03 AM, Blogger Orange said...


At 4:13 PM, Blogger Honeybee said...

Awww, very nice telling! 3 days of labor? You are a saint.

8.5 pounds is the limit? That's funny, my brother was 10 pounds and something ounces. He was also her fourth child though.

At 4:37 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Three days! Yikes! But, when you get to the tears of pure joy, you've almost got me welling with you.

At 9:21 PM, Blogger meno said...

When i read these kind of birth stories, i feel really lucky.

Happy birthday to your son.

At 4:06 AM, Blogger D_Man said...


9 pounds?! That's like 100kg!

At 10:46 AM, Anonymous bugg said...

i had the GD too, both times.

happy birthday to boy child! enjoy your special day with him.

i love watching my kids grow and i hate it too. i jsut wish they could stay my little babies for a little while longer.

At 11:54 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Beautiful. Happy Birthday to Boy. I write a story every year for my guys so that they can read about their yearly accomplishments and daddy's sappy love when they get older, or so I can show to their girlfriends when they get older. That's a wonderful tradition to adopt (hint, hint!).

At 12:01 PM, Blogger Cynical Girl said...

I love how you remember his birth and associate it with the salad tongs.

That's perfect.

At 12:12 PM, Blogger Marcheline said...

Every 10-year old boy looks forward to hearing the gory details of his actual birth... especially if you include medical terms for all the body parts, and tell it in front of his friends. If you have pictures, it's even more joyous.


- M


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