Because the laptop has decided to momentarily bite the dust (Sean seems to think he can make the screen of death go away), I’m writing this next blog post from my iPad. Therefore, you must forgive me in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors. Without red and blue squiggly lines to tell me “hey lady, you’re doing it wrong” I’m screwed. I’ve never claimed to be good with all that proper English stuff, I just write because I enjoy it, and others seem to enjoy my writing (or they are just telling me so to build my self confidence…which is perfectly acceptable in my book (or blog if we’re being politically correct)).
Today marks the eighth month that Liam and Abram made their dramatic entrance into the world. It’s probably not as dramatic as I remember but when you’re in labor, pretty much everything is some level of dramatic. That morning, with a fever, I was texting my sister back after her typical greeting of “babies yet?”, letting her know I was having contractions that were about three minutes apart. She pretty much told me to get to the hospital with a few other enlightened choice words, to which I ignored. I’d rather hide in a sock drawer, where it was dark and comfy, away from the cruel world telling me I was about to get my lady bits ripped to pieces. You’re sitting there giving me the “totally didn’t want to read that” stank face, and I’m giving it right back because now you’re thinking about my lady bits…sicko.
Anyway, Sean was at the college working on his largest project of his final year in the Masters program when he had finally dragged himself back to my parents house where we’d been staying since it was closer to the hospital. The man had gone without sleep for days and looked pretty much like a bum who’d scored some sweet clothes from one of those clothes recycling bins. He’d gone to bed in a coma-esque state so when I told him I had a fever, was having contractions, and oh yeah…the doctor called and said that they can see me in 45 minutes to schedule the induction finally (I had called three days earlier but for one reason or another couldn’t be seen), he pretty much grumbled and rolled back over. Cue mom to the rescue! With one call to her she was on her way home from work and drove me to my doctor appointment. It was on the drive there that she told me that she thinks she should’ve just called into work that day…and she was so right.
Doctor Big Hands told me I was already in active labor, that there was no need for an induction. Which I should’ve been happy for because that’s what I wanted all along but the “holy crap, this is really happening” thoughts took over and I cried like a eight-year-old who’d run head first into the back of a parked camper (true story…). All along the boys had been head down so there was no question that I would attempt a “natural” birth (I’ve never understood why one isn’t considered natural, it’s not like I’m giving birth to a doll), however, after a last minute ultrasound Abram decided it was fun to go all lopsided across Liam but was still partially head down, and now I had a choice to make, immediate c-section or attempt a “natural” birth. Sitting next to my mom in her sweet little convertible, I called my self induced coma husband, and continued to cry.
After being admitted and felt up by pretty much every nurse on the labor and delivery floor (I could’ve started the boys’ college fund if I would’ve charged a door fee), Sean finally appeared wide awake. I guess the “hey, I’m in labor and going to the hospital”, call is like drinking five Redbulls. He did his husband duties well, feeding me ice chips (which I was allowed only because I begged Dr. Big Hands), and whispering words of encouragement in my ear, but after several hours of pushing with no progress and the babies’ heart rates dropping, and my fever now at 103, we decided together that a c-section was best.
With a quick wave goodbye to Michelle and Calvin, who had been with me in the labor room, I was whisked off to a very cold, stale, quiet, surgery room. The anesthesiologist worked quickly to get me as numb as possible (if I wasn’t married and in active labor, I would’ve kissed that man), but it was the oddest sensation because although they put up that blue curtain, I could see everything that was happening to me I the giant light above the doctors but couldn’t necessarily feel it (minus the occasional pressure). After what seemed like an eternity, Sean and my mom showed up in their sexy scrubs. Yes, I think my bum looking husband was pretty hot in his scrubs. Too bad he didn’t get to keep them… Shortly after they arrived so did the massive crew of nurses and doctors dedicated to each boy. What was once a quiet surgery room was now a bee hive, with me as the queen bee.
Shortly after one in the morning Liam was born first, without crying (which I didn’t know because Abram was pulled out so quickly after that I assumed his crying was still Liam, but later learned that Liam had his cord wrapped around his neck), and a minute later Abram was born. It would’ve probably been sooner had Dr. Big Hands not stopped to tell me that I was “all baby” and had this (imagine him holding his index finger and thumb apart) much fat in me. All I could think was “thank you doctor for the boost of confidence but I think you’re forgetting that I have another baby in there and would be much obliged if you retrieved it…”. I was so delirious from the immediate empty sensation, that I failed to notice the slimy babies wrapped like little papooses, right next to my head until both Sean and a nurse told me to look to my right. Mom of the year award for me! Oops…
Both babies were immediately taken to the NICU with Sean and my mom following behind. Once again I was left in the cold surgery room except this time it wasn’t as quiet. Actually my doctor and his partner were rather chatty. I learned that his partner was in a book club and was reading novels that sounded like major snoozers, while my doctor was more on my level, discussing his favorite episodes of “Storage Wars”. I would’ve joined the conversation but I was still behind a blue curtain and they probably would’ve found it odd to be talking to a curtain, not to mention I was afraid if I made any sudden movements (forgetting I was so numb that I couldn’t move even if I wanted to) he’d miss and staple me in my liver. So I quietly listened, agreeing with him in my head, that the crazy old guy had some pretty sweet cars.
Once I was stapled back together, my doctor yelled “It’s alive!”, (not really but that would’ve been pretty darn funny) I was wheeled to the NICU where I got to brush little Liam’s toes with my fingers, and hold Abram thanks to the nurse who carefully wrapped him up so I couldn’t pull out any of what seemed to be a million cords attached to my baby. After a couple days in the NICU the boys’ fevers (thanks to me they were born with my 103 fever), breathing, and eating were stable enough that they were able to join Sean and I in my recovery room. We hit a few road bumps with Liam once he was in our room, but we were all able to go home together, one happy, sleep deprived, little family.
Now at the ripe age of eight months, Little Liam is no longer little, and has passed Abram up in weight and height. Just this past week he has gone from sitting on his own, to crawling, and pulling himself up to a standing position. His favorite thing right now besides screaming “dada” all day long, is climbing all over his brother. I think that’s his way at getting back at Abram for eight months of being pushed into a tiny ball just below my ribs on the left (I looked so ridiculously lopsided). Abram on the other hand is perfectly fine with scooting, and he is pretty good at the ol’ scoot. Even Borat (remember…the guy who cleans our hotel room?) was impressed when Abram scooted after him when he left with the vacuum that had peaked Abram’s interest. He’s also on a “dada” kick but also makes a pretty good impression of a Wookiee, oh, and he’s learning to clap…if only he could get that one hand to stop grabbing the other he’d be all over this clapping stuff.