And there was the Mini

                                     

January 2002.  I would be 32 years old that year.  It was 4 months after the 9/11 attacks.  I was unsure about everything except one thing.  It was time for me to have a baby.  I didn’t want to be the old droopy ass Momma at my kid’s graduation.  You know - the one with the cane and hearing aids.  If I was gonna’ do this whole baby thing it had to be quick, fast, and in a hurry.  Got me?

On March 3rd, 2002 after visiting the Doc for a bladder infection, the Doc called and said I was preggers.  They did a test while I was there because I had told them I stopped my birth control and apparently, a bladder infection is one of many pre pregnancy indications.  Who knew? Anyway, hot damn…I was with child. WTF does with child actually mean?  Technically, the child was with me. I'm right, right? Whatever, I was gonna’ be somebody’s Mom.  Wahoo!

I did all the things that newly pregnant Moms do.  Got the books, found a doctor, and decided what I was and what I wasn’t going to do.  You know - that stuff.  It was a bit overwhelming for an OCD overachiever such as me.   I was 3 months pregnant and painting the kitchen.  What?  The baby couldn’t be seeing all kindsa ugly kitchen paint.  I read ALL THE BOOKS, got ALL THE THINGS, got the nursery painted & ready, and took a quick 14 day trip to Europe at 7 months.  Again, what?  I know you’re crinkling up your noses.  Normally I wouldn’t have chosen to galavant all over the world during my pregnancy, however, the trip was offered (thank you DRUNKEN QUEEN) and I knew once I had a BABY, I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while so…I went.  So there.   

I had no idea how many visits to the Doctor having a baby entailed.  It was a lot.  I went.  I had chosen not to know the sex of the baby.  Stop shaking your head at the screen.  I love surprises and it’s very rare that I get surprised so I created my own.  Also, we (the ex & I) just didn’t want to know.  I passed on all those extra tests for Down Syndrome & the like as well.  I just didn’t feel it necessary to know all that stuff.  I figured I’d deal with it as it came.  You know…let go, let God.  Whatever kinda baby I got?  I was gonna’ love and be happy with, regardless.  

My lil bundle of joy was due November 1st.  On Wednesday November 13th, I was admitted to the hospital to prepare to be induced (make the baby come out) the next morning.  That.  Didn’t.  Happen.  The following (brief) description of the horror of baby-having should not be read by expectant Mothers or people who possess a penis on their person. Or, maybe it should.  It’s the truth. 

I got some good sleepy drugs and fell out around 10pm.  Around 1am I began to feel pains similar to having an animal claw it's way out of my belly, using their teeth & nails.  Nurses came, Doctor came, stuff started to happen.  The dumbass kid was flipped on its belly but that shouldn’t be a problem, they said. Anesthesiologist comes to give me my drugs.  Yay.  Or not.  Now, I’m all about taking the drugs if you need them but heed my warning, this was by far the most uncomfortable thing I have ever experienced and I got to do it twice.  Yep, twice.  Listen up.  First Epidural?  Didn’t work.  I felt everything.  It was awesome.   Yes, that was sarcasm.  Anyhow, we (I) gave it a go.  I pushed and did all that stuff.  This kid wasn’t coming out. Also, I was screaming.  Out loud.  Apparently the thingamajig they had jammed up my snatch to hold me open, slipped.  Yes, slipped and landed on a nerve.  My nerve.   I assure you, this hurt.  Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.  The pain on the nerve and a baby trying to shoot out my vag was more than I could take.   The screaming was necessary.   Anesthesiologist back in, administers 2nd Epidural (eww).  Now the precious kid who is on its belly ain’t coming out. There was more pushing, forceps, all the tools & toys aaaaaand… nothing.  Guess who had an emergency C-section?  Only after calling the anesthesiologist a liar and all kinds of other bad names that I had to hear about later, from my Doctor.  Oooops. 

I wake up in the recovery room several hours later.  Keep in mind, I don’t know what kind of baby I’ve just had cut out of me and I was kinda itching to find out.  I remember seeing the nurse and the first words out of my mouth were “What is it”?  She knew exactly what I meant and told me I had a baby girl.  All I can remember is the extreme feeling of relief.  Yay, it doesn’t have a penis!  Sorry, I'm from an all girl family, I guess subconsciously I wanted a girl???

I wasn’t allowed to get up and/or move but they wheeled me into the baby room and wheeled her up next to me and I saw MY BABY GIRL.  My first thought?  She’s pretty.  Sorry, most babies are ugly as hell.  I called everybody to tell them my baby wasn’t ugly.   Her head was round, she had lots of hair, no ugly bumps on her face and she was cute as could be.  Phew.  It could have been the morphine they had me on but whatever.   

It wasn’t until several hours later that I actually got to hold her and it was like total magic.  That whole baby-mama bonding thing was real.  She was bawling her damn head off when they brought her to me and as soon they held her up and she saw me, all was good.  I'm sure I probably smelled like food or something, however, our eyes met and SHABLAM!  It was love at first sight. 

The kid has been trying to crawl back in the womb ever since.  - PPB