Today is Girl Child's sixth birthday. Unfriggenbelievable. It seems like yesterday I was giving birth and subsequently scheduling that tubal ligation. She was born on a Wednesday at 12:55pm. She weighed 7 pounds, 15 ounces and was 20 and one half inches long. Her hair was brown and soppy. Her eyes were newborn blue. The day started with a heart rate monitor strapped to my belly and an IV stuck in an arm vein. Her birth was induced. Her original due date was July 24th, but by July 14th-ish during a routine check up [the kind of check up where the doctor shoves his arm elbow deep into your hoo-haw in what is laughably called: checking your progression] the doctor determined that the cervix was 2-ish centimeters dilated and if we wanted to get this party started [a DJ with his own mix table and kickass tunes optional], the 16th was doable for him. And I was all, snaps for the doctor!
As I labored on July 16th, and enjoyed episodes of I Love Lucy already in progress, the nurse would appear occasionally to verify that I was, in fact, declining the epidural and all its numby goodness. And also to remark, you're at 5 centimeters why are you smiling? To say that the labor and delivery for Girl Child was a piece of cake is an understatement. At least until I reached 7 centimeters. Then the nurse was all, it's too late for the epidural but howz 'bout I hook you up with some Fentanyl in your IV? And I was all: Pusher, pleaze. She was like: it's a short lived drug but it'll take the edge off. And I was all, did I stutter? Hook. Me. Up.
My cervix dilated from 7 to 10 centimeters in a hot second and when it felt like a melon had dropped between my knees, previous experience told me that I could reach down and touch the top of the baby's head if that was something I wanted to do. I sent Mr. Farklepants to fetch the necessary staff. Once everyone was situated in the room and wearing the appropriate gear and I was like, can we do this because I don't think I can hold this back any longer...ten minutes later and sans an episiotomy [for the men who aren't familiar, Google that. It's fun. I may or may not be lying], Girl Child's head emerged. I was told to pant. I obliged. There was some silent commotion going on "down there" and it wasn't until Girl Child was safely delivered and heaving a healthy cry that I was informed that the umbilical cord was twisted around her neck. Which would explain the stream of (blood? fluid?) sticky goo that nailed the nurse square in the chest when the cord was cut and I was all, did I get ya? That's right. Even with a human head hanging out of my vagina I'm making with the funny.
Happy 6th Birthday Girl Child!
*photos by Mr. Farklepants of Girl Child and her very first bike!