From a Journal Entry to a Prologue

Prologue:
In Which I Wrap Up the “Pregnant Thing”

"What the hell do you mean you weren't a preemie?"

I held the phone away from my ear as I responded. "Mom said Dad exaggerated. I was like 2 weeks early, but not technically a preemie."

There was a long pause as I waited for my brother to respond. Finally, a sigh. "So all those arguments I won when I told you you were just a stupid preemie with low brain function...?"

"Yeah. I think I retroactively win those."

"....I am going to kill Dad."

I could tell he was getting ready to get off the phone. "Oh! Matt, one more thing."

"What?"

"I'm 9 months pregnant and I can still touch my toes."

He hung up.





I shoved my phone back into the pack pocket of my elasto-jeans. My belly had expanded to the point that even my stretch-waist pants looked like they were about to give. The only thing I could kick anyone’s ass at right now was arguments. Somehow pregnancy hormones turned me into a zing-ing machine. For example, my strong, athletic, cross country running brother couldn’t reach his toes. Not even in Elementary after he’d passed all the other P.E. tests could he manage that little stretch. I however, waddling mini-whale as I was, could still reach my toes like a yogi. It was nice to have a 1-up on someone.

A sudden ripple of movement shoved its way around my body, budging my shirt out as Evelyn’s elbow attacked her encasing.

“Shit, Evelyn. Really? Just come out if you’re going to beat me up. Neither one of us is comfortable.” She rolled over and shoved a foot up into my rib cage. “Great.” My due date was another 4 days away. I had just finished finals so I was no longer freaking out about her getting here early. I was convincing her to get out. Out. Out. Out.

Hindsight, kinda hypocritical of me. Moms would post in the blog-o-sphere about trying to induce early and how uncomfortable they were and all I did was turn my nose up at them. Didn’t they want what was best for their babies? Didn’t they think their babies knew when it was time to come out? Well, 4 days from December 17th and all I could think was my baby must be an idiot.

The last 9 months I’d transformed back to the hippie of my high school days. I’d embarked on an Earth Friendly Revolution! We’d started recycling, hanging our clothes on a line, shopping at local markets, eating organic food, taking natural childbirth classes. My husband and I were set on a happy, healthy, earth friendly lifestyle. I believed my body was empowered and I as a woman and barer of life, was the personification of fertility. Or at least I did when I wasn’t crying about the jagged pink lines had suddenly turned my beautiful fertile belly into stretched-out wasteland resembling a flesh colored watermelon.

I threw my coat on, buttoned the only button that I could still get closed, wrapped a scarf around my head, and leashed our yippy dog. “I’m going for a walk.” I called as I ran out the front door. Walk a mile. Have sex with husband. Try to sleep despite the fact that you have a 30 lb. sandbag attached to you. Send positive “be born” energy to my uterus. This baby needs to get out or I’m going to lose my damn mind.



December 15th, Maggie Calls Carly



“Michelle is in labor.”

“Oh my God! Are you at the hospital?”

“Carly!” in an exasperated tone. “Nobody is at the hospital! She’s having Evelyn at home.”

“Of course she is.”



Yep. I decided to have my baby at home. Call it brave. Call it stupid. I just didn’t want 15 mechanical strangers sharing this important moment in my life with my husband, daughter, and I. I also didn’t want some asshole in scrubs taking my daughter away from me right after she was born. I’d waited 9 months to meet Evelyn. I was getting my moment.

Despite all the pissy comments and rude shit I had said about being pregnant the last few weeks, there is something incredible about the moment you know you are in labor. I woke up at 2:04 A.M. on December 15th to minor contractions. I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t panic. I smiled. We had made it. Evelyn and I had made this journey together and she was ready to finally come out and see the world. The first hour or so of labor I lay in my husband’s arms in bed. Doc and I joked and laughed and kissed each other enjoying every moment of anticipation.

After a while I was too anxious to stay lying down. We’d planned on making a cake together in early labor so we’d have something to do. We wanted to make Evelyn’s very first birthday cake together. Mom always made us Funfetti cakes. You know, the ones with the sprinkles in the batter so the cake looks tie-dyed. We mixed the batter and got it into the pan before contractions got too intense for me to give a damn about the cake. I guess at some point Doc pulled it out because the house never burnt down.

By that time, the real work started. The further into labor you are, the less modest you become. I’m not modest to begin with. I spent the majority of labor naked because clothing was too damn uncomfortable. I paced the hallways, rocking my hips and trying to take deep breaths through contractions.

Meanwhile Doc had lost his mind. While I paced and waddled and attempted to find a peaceful, zen, happy place, I heard dishes clanging, the Swiffer mop, the vacuum and busy footsteps. It was as if all of the nesting impulses I had during the entire course of my pregnancy struck Doc in an instant. He cleaned like a maid on crack. Every time a contraction would start he’d run to my side and rub my back or squeeze my hips and rock with me until I made it through. Then he’d run back to his broom and compulsively clean again. Where the hell was that motivation before? Hell, where is it now? Maybe I should fake it sometime and see if that can get him to hang up his wet towel in the morning.

Anyway…

We shipped our dog off to a friend’s house. My midwife showed up. We reluctantly let our families know that I was in labor. After 6 hours of doing okay, labor stopped being fun. Thankfully, I don’t remember a whole lot. Bless you forgetful hormones! I remember bits of conversations:



“Keep pushing sweetie, she is almost here!”

“Ruth.” Ruth was my midwife. “Ruth I think you are a dirty liar you said that two hours ago and SHE IS NOT HERE!”



Or



When my husband offered a friendly “Honey, I think if you…” and was cut off by my “SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!”



And there are certain memories that stick out too. Like when my midwife shouted because mice invaded my house. I guess with our dog gone they decided to ambush our little shack of a rent house and scurry about all over the place. I love nature. It’s beautiful as long as it stays outside. I was too distracted by my pelvis pushing apart to really be too upset about it at the time. It was almost cute. Like how all the mice are Cinderella’s friends. We would later find mouse tracks, tiny pieces of shit, and nibble marks on Evelyn’s birthday cake. FML. I also think at some point, my midwife had Arby’s.

I do know that I pushed for two and half hours. Screw those movies where the doctor goes “Okay, push!” and three pushes later you hear crying and everyone gets to see the baby. Evelyn ended up being 9 freaking pounds. It took forever to get her to move down. She kept kicking the hell out of me while I tried to push and distracting me. But there was no way in hell I was giving up. My mom didn’t think I could do this and I was not going to prove her right. I was an AMAZON! I was a GODDESS! I was…so….tired. Michael Phelps might have 8 gold medals, but I’m pretty sure I could have kicked his ass in birthing endurance.

And then there was that moment. That moment where you feel like everything in the world has stopped. I felt Evelyn slide out of my body and felt the heat of her tiny frame as she was placed on my abdomen. Her deep pools of eyes locked onto mine and all I could think was “I know you.”

I knew her. There she was. She was covered in white gooey shit and her head looked like it had been stretched with a vice. But I knew those eyes. I knew that face. I knew her flailing arm movements and had felt her head turning around curiously. She looked just like me. It was like looking into a mirror. A creepy ass mirror where you see yourself as a baby, but it was incredible.

For the first half hour of her life, I held her. I said happy, probably stupid sappy shit to her. I’m pretty sure one of the first things I said was “Happy Birthday.” I probably cried too. I don’t really remember anything other than feeling complete relief and contentment.

Doc held Evelyn and took her around to tour her room and the rest of our house while the midwife checked up on me.

“Evelyn, this is your room! Your mommy worked so hard on it!”

Ruth smiled. “He loves her already.”

“Yeah. I don’t think either one of us thought we’d actually get to meet her. We lost our first child to a miscarriage about a year ago. It devastated both of us, but he took it really hard.”

I watched Doc rock her as he moved across her room pointing out different things on the wall and explaining them to our sleeping daughter. I loved him. We had made it past losing a child. We could conquer anything. Ruth finished up and Doc brought Evelyn back to my arms.

“Okay,” Ruth said. “I’m off! See you in two days!” And she was out the door. We were alone.

Fuck.