When Marshall was about 18 months old, I started having baby hunger again. Within two cycles, my desire was granted ...
We had moved to a small community and I was getting to know my OB. Home pregnancy tests were not as sensitive as they are today, and I had to wait for two weeks "late" before getting an accurate reading. As I was waiting, I went to get my hair cut, and the hairdresser asked if I was pregnant. I looked at her incredulously because I knew I hadn't said anything about our intentions. I said, "Well, I'm waiting to find out" to which she replied, "Don't bother; you are!" She could tell just by the way the hormones had changed my hair texture already. The doctor sent me to the hospital for a blood test. Positive! How exciting! Here we go again.
We thought we were pretty fresh from the last birth, but decided to take a refresher course on Lamaze. A bit concerned that Mark might weasel out on me again, my friend Sharon went with us to class.
I was mostly staying home with Marshall, although I needed to supplement our meager income and worked on a part time basis right next door to our home. So I kept poring over materials from the last time, and occasionally practiced my breathing and relaxation.
The months went by, rather uneventfully, other than the fact that I was expanding at an extraordinary rate. With Marshall, I had gained 32 pounds (and had started at a young and slender weight). This time I gained 37 pounds, but my ribs were really giving me grief, my sciatica came and went frequently, my skin at my navel felt like it was ripping (stretch marks -- what a lovely color of magenta/silver), and I was getting kicked and pushed in all directions. Also, I learned that with subsequent births, the cartilage in the front of the pelvis is more stretchy and gets very achy. Boy, did it! The doctor checked the heartbeat to make sure there was not more than one jumping bean in there. Given the fact that Marshall had been over 10 pounds, the doctor said that this would probably be a large baby as well. THAT was an understatement!
Old wives' tales abound as to how to tell the gender of the baby (without the benefit of ultrasound). One that I decided to try was the Drano test. I don't recommend it. You are to mix equal parts liquid Drano and urine. Supposedly the hormones react differently based on male/female and the color of the Drano is supposed to change accordingly. May I just say "harumph!" I dutifully mixed as required and -- stand back -- the mixture exploded! Overflowing into the sink (at least I was that prepared). That should have been a warning.
My due date was February 7. It came. It went. Every day past an arbitrary due date seems to drag on because the suspense is killing you. Will it be now? Was that it? On the morning of February 13, I decided to go get my hair done. Everyone was concerned that I may go into labor right then and there. Beautifully coiffed, I headed home to make lunch, play with Marshall, and various and sundry home routines.
My friend was on call for me, and didn't live far away. At about 4:30 p.m. I felt the unmistakable cramping sensations of beginning labor. I thought maybe I'd try to lie down and rest, and called Sharon to make sure she was available. I called Mark, and he came right home. We took Marshall to the neighbors across the street.
The time we left for the hospital is a bit fuzzy to me. I do remember feeling nauseous when Mark and Sharon decided that they needed to eat something and brought their McDonald's food into the labor room. Yuck! Somewhere around 7 p.m. I was dilated enough to go to the delivery room. Both Mark and Sharon followed me across the hall -- this was a short jaunt compared to the previous trip to the delivery room. Again my own doctor was out of town and his associate arrived in time to make the trip from labor into delivery.
Between Sharon and Mark, pictures were taken, breathing went well, and when the doctor had the episiotomy done and said "push" I was glad to accommodate him. But wait -- this kid was getting hung up somewhere between point A and the outside world. They didn't want to use forceps (thank you!) nor did they want to break his shoulders (again, thank you!) but they weren't prepared for how big this kid would be. The delivery room nurse was pushing on my abdomen, I was pushing, the doctor was pulling, and finally -- looking like he'd been through 8 rounds in the boxing ring -- Adam arrived at 7:37! All 12 pounds and 4 ounces of him. And 24 inches long! No wonder my ribs were aching. The ordeal of the pushing and the entire process caused my muscles to quake almost uncontrollably. I later found out that this is normal, especially on subsequent births.
The afterbirth went well. One drawback was that Adam was noticeably jaundiced. This again is not unusual, but his size may have been a contributing factor. He had to stay under the bili lights well after I was released from the hospital. I made the trips back and forth to feed him. Those who came by the nursery would comment -- oh, the poor baby... how long has he been here? At only a few hours old, the doctor quipped that we should give him a bicycle so that he could ride home!
So, there you have it. Another blessing! Next?
