I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. My ex, whom I will refer to as "B" had mentioned that it had been a while since I...well, you know...and that he thought I could probably be pregnant. I was never very good at remembering things, so to me this made sense that I just lost track of when I got my period. I was one of those people that would drop the laundry off at the dry cleaners and then remember to pick it up two months later. I constantly return movies late and could never bring myself to pay bills on time. It only seemed fitting that I would space out on when the last time I was bitchy and PMS'ee.
the doctor walked into the room and asked me if I had taken a pregnancy test. I had taken three. "oh, so those were all positive too?" She asked me.
They were actually all negative.
And I was on the pill.
But I am sure I forgot to take that too. To me, they were like colorful little reminders of what day of the week it was. On a Tuesday, I would take Wednesday. Sometimes on Monday I would down the whole weekend's worth. I was a pill popping birth control freak and was probably days away from being on an episode of intervention.
"what do you mean positive TOO!! Am I pregnant?" She looked at me with a smirk and laughed "yes, from what I see about 8 weeks."
8 weeks.
I had spaced having my period not ONCE but TWICE!!! And I was going to be responsible for bringing in another person into this world? Would I be like one of those mothers that drives away with her kid still in his car seat on the roof of her car? Would I leave my kid at home in his crib while I absentmindedly went out for coffee?
Wow...I was pregnant. I couldn't believe it.
I went to the store immediately and bought a pacifier and a small gift bag. In one hand I clenched the sonogram photo and in the other my purse, keys, sunglasses and can of coke. Wow...I had a lot of shit. How was I going to carry a baby? Maybe I could be like one of those people that push grocery carts up and down the side of the road filled with cans and wearing a dress made out of trash bags. I put the pacifier in the bag and signed a card that said "this may come in handy." I set the bag on the kitchen table and went to take a nap. Now that I was pregnant, I was prepared to milk this for all it was worth. I probably should lay down, put my feet up, take the next three months off, sign up for baby yoga, buy one of those organic baby carriers that you sling over your shoulder and download baby bach cd's.
The phone rang and it was B. "how did the doctor visit go?" I stopped for a moment and pierced my lips in a smile. "Oh, you were wrong. I am not pregnant. Must be just a stomach thing. She said I am just stressed out and need to get on vitamins." A hand quickly goes to my mouth as I let out a giggle. "See you when you get home, ok babe?"
I believe in that moment that I could hear the disappointment in my ex's voice. He really wanted me to be pregnant.
And I was.
When he got home, he saw the bag on the table. "what's this?" He said with a questioned look. "I bought you something today while I was out. Open it." I wave my hand in a "go ahead" matter and sit and wait. I lower my head and look over the top of my glasses. My face breaks out into a smile and I see his eyes dart at me in surprise. "Your pregnant? But I thought you said it was negative?" "I wanted to tell you in person. Your going to be a father."
We then experienced a magical moment during our marriage. He hugged me and I told him I should probably go lay down.
The first few months of my pregnancy were hell. I am constantly in awe of those girls that say pregnancy was a wonderful time in their life. I spent most of it with my head in the toilet, attached to a bottle of rolaids and saltine crackers. If someone looked at me, I threw up. If someone walked by me, I threw up.
The morning noon and night sickness continued till about month 5, where I was told I would feel glowy and full of energy. The only glow was from the sweat of having to carry this attachment in my uterus. My stomach grew quickly as did my dress size. By month 5, I was in full fledged maternity wear. I waddled...I went to the bathroom all the time. I would only shop at walmart simply because there was a restroom at both ends of the store. I would go to the bathroom, then by the time I made it back to the cart, I had to go again. I considered buying depends or having a catheter installed so that I could just be a constant peeing machine.
My doctor visits were amusing at best. Each time I walked in, my doctor would have me step on the scale. "Is this some way of tormenting me?" I would ask. Looking around my feet at the numbers knowing it was only a matter of time where I would not be able to see them anymore. The doctor would record the weight and tell me to lay on the exam table. "so doc, can we induce this weekend? I am all ready to go." He would continue about his business and say very matter of factly "Sarah, you are only 6 months pregnant, I have told you, you need to wait until you are past your due date." I would sigh and blow the hair away from my eyes. "Why am I so big, doctor? Are you sure there is only one baby in there?" He holds the measuring tape from my pubic bone up to the bottom of my bra. "Sarah, you have to realize...poodles give birth to poodles. German shepherds give birth to german shepherds." Was that supposed to make me feel better? I was concealing something the size of a mini van under my skin and he thinks a joke is going to make me feel better? I would leave the doctor's office exhausted and dreading the next four months.
The only thing great about being pregnant is that you can get people to do all sorts of shit for you. "Can you grab that pencil that just dropped on the floor?" Sometimes a simple grunt and gasp can get anyone to drop what they are doing and come to your aid. While I was pregnant, I worked at a hotel in Austin as a meetings and conventions manager. I would prop one hand on my head and the other sat on the mouse. If I turned my shoulders the right way, I could take little cat naps but appear to be working. I assume I slept through most of my second trimester that way.
The girls that I worked with were great during my pregnancy. They all shared in my every flutter, movement and escape to the bathroom. I think some of them (in order to not make me feel so fat) gained some extra weight. The executive chef of the hotel we worked at would bring me food constantly. Sticky toffee pudding, donuts, pasta, bread, sandwiches, chocolate, ice cream. I considered faking another pregnancy just so I wouldn't have to cook for myself any longer. I sat back with my swollen ankles on a box and let them all shower me with attention.
The day that I went into labor, I woke up early and started to feel a lot of pressure. Braxton hicks contractions, as they are called, is natures way of letting you know exactly how painful this was going to be. It was also a way for her to say "just kidding!!" I would find many ways to curse at mother nature over the next few months. I decided to drive to work, as my hospital was only a few miles from my work. If I was going to be in labor, I would rather do it close to the hospital than all the way down south where I lived. B had a job interview that day that he could not afford to miss. He was also working at his other job. I threw his phone at him, probably cussed him out for making me this way, and got into my car. 40 minutes of foot cramps later I pulled into the parking garage of the hotel. I called my coworkers and said "yeah, I am going to be a few minutes late. I am in labor...and in the parking garage." Seconds later the clicking of heels was overheard as they got the jaws of life to remove me from my mazda. I went to my desk because I felt it necessary to put my out of office message on my phone. Here is what I recorded...
"hi, you have reached the desk of........(deep breath) Sarah McKinney, meetings and con...vent....tions...manager......(deep pulsating breaths) at the Hilton Austin. I will be...OH SHIT!!!" Click.
My coworkers later changed my voice mail for me. Supposedly you are not allowed to swear on those things.
I was then shuttled up the freight elevator to a hotel room where I would spend the next 9 hours in inactive labor. Contractions must be at least 7 minutes apart before you are able to be admitted to the hospital. Mine were anywhere from 2 to 35 minutes apart. An ongoing parade of people came up to the room to wait on me. The girls from the office, God bless 'em, would keep me company while I paced and held one hand to my back. Every once in a while their faces would react in pain to my contractions. One of them would write the time down and I would collapse onto the bed, frustrated that nothing was happening as fast as I wanted it to. Room service flooded the room with chocolate cake and hamburgers. If I would have known that I would not eat again for 35 hours, I would have eaten the silverware. B came and stayed with me while he could, my mother in law was right by my side, and the director of housekeeping brought me a robe and toiletries.
Finally, at 7pm, my contractions had slowed down long enough to make us think that we would need to go home. I went to the bathroom and noticed that I couldn't stop peeing. "I think my water just broke." And like that, the contractions started coming like crazy.
B walked me through the lobby as the front desk clerks and bellman all clapped. I leaned into him and was breathing short little breaths. If one more person got in my way I would not be responsible for what I was going to do to them.
At the hospital, you could have told me that a pink elephant came in and played uno with me while I designed art out of bananas. I would have probably never known. The drugs came quick and just in time. I was able to sleep through most of the night with the exception of the nurses coming in and out of the room. I remember glancing over at B and seeing him curled up on a couch in the room. Look how sweet and comfortable he is over there. I am hooked up to more wires than a car battery and I haven't eaten in about a day. As I glanced around the room for something to throw at him, I opted to push the morphine drip button instead.
I can't remember the labor part of it. I do remember that B was the most amazing husband person to have by my side. I also remember it taking FOREVER for that kid to come out. I expected him to come out with a small couch and a loveseat for how long I pushed. When they placed him on my chest, B rested his head on mine and said "Isn't he beautiful?" They placed my 8 lb 14 oz child on my chest and I looked at him and said "hey there buddy, nice to finally meet you." He turned immediately at the sound of my voice and looked right at me, almost as if to say "oh, there you are."
We stayed at the hospital for 3 days. I won't bore you with all the details of the visit, but I will say that my friends from the Hilton came and visited me on the second day. It was amazing because they brought me a bottle of Jack Daniels. Not flowers, not an outfit for the baby...they brought ME a bottle of Jack. It was awesome. To this day, when people ask me what I craved when I was pregnant, I say with out hesitation, JACK DANIELS.
Those days in the hospital were the scariest days of my life. I was elated not to be pregnant anymore, yet I still weighed in at 200 lbs. Prior to giving birth, my weight was at 245 lbs. I secretly made notes to hunt down and torture those women that left the hospital in their old jeans and craved water their entire pregnancy. My body looked and felt like it had gone through a couple rounds with sugar ray. I couldn't walk, my chest was the size of an airplane hanger, I still looked pregnant!!! I am not sure if I went through the post par-tum depression the way some women do, but I was pretty down. I wasn't able to breast feed right away due to Sam being stuck in the birth canal too long, and he had a bit of shock that he was going through. We had to take a bottle of formula and have a small hose that looked like a straw attached to me. The bottle sat on my left shoulder and the straw/hose came down and taped to the top of my breast so that it could stimulate breast feeding. Since I hadn't breast fed yet, this was done to help supplement Sam until my own body started to produce enough.
In short, it was horrible. I never had that moment of elation when I was feeding him. I remember weeks later sitting on the couch and crying while I was feeding him. B looked at me and said "why don't you just stop if you hate it so much." It was the green light I was looking for. I stopped breast feeding at that moment and never looked back.
Now, don't get me wrong. There WERE good parts about being a new mom. I had never babysat as a kid or had younger siblings, so I had no FRIGGIN idea what I was doing. The day we left the hospital I looked at the nurses when they brought him into my room. I had three baby outfits laid on the bed for his return home. All three of them looked like I had tried to cram a 300 lb man into a shirt made for a Chihuahua. I had, by chance, brought a one piece outfit for a 3-6 month old, and it fit like a charm. Yes, I had a big baby on my hands. He was built like my side of the family, with quad muscles already developed and long gangly arms. I was pushed through the lobby of the hospital with my baby Hercules in my hands, and made my way to the car.
Now, for those of you that have had a child, the car ride home from the hospital is like "driving miss daisy." You are immediately brought back to your days of drivers ed, and ever other car on the road is viewed like a missile, ready for attack. You drive about 3 miles per hour home, and four days later you have made the 20 mile drive to your house.
In the next few days that followed our homecoming, I was a mess. My mom came and stayed with me when B had to go back to work. I had no idea what to do with this kid...it just would look at me like I was supposed to entertain it. All he did was sleep, and all I did was make sure he was still breathing. In his first few days of life, he developed an eye infection and jaundice. I waited for child protective services to knock on my door and collect him. What the hell was I doing? I had no idea what to do with this small version of me and my ex. And I had to do this for the rest of his life? Surely someone would come and rescue me? Surely this was the part where the nanny in the mini cooper pulls up to my house and says in a british accent "now sweet-ey, I am go-ing to sh-ow you how to be a proper par-ent"
Nobody showed up.
I would sit and stare at the clock until B would come home from work. He would walk in the door and I would set the baby in his lap while he complained about how tired he was. Did he just say he was tired? I still looked pregnant, hadn't slept in four days, was hooked up to a milking machine every ten minutes and my breasts were the size of Memphis. Wishing I could still have access to the morphine drip from the hospital, I put my tree stump sized legs on the couch and fell asleep. "What's for dinner?" He asked. I then developed the first sign of being a mom, the "don't make come over there and beat the crap out of you" look. It would be a look I would perfect in years to come.
As the years went by, and this kid was obviously not moving out anytime soon, I found that I actually was a pretty good mom. The kid was still vertical, the third eye on his head never developed like I was sure it would, and he smiled a lot. He started to grow right before my eyes, and I quickly realized that I was meant to be a mom. I never knew what I took pictures of before I had a kid, but I definitely was great at being a mom.
When I first became single, there was a whole new realm of fear that mirrored what I felt in the hospital that day I was being sent home. I had no idea how I could do this on my own? I mean, I did have shared custody with his dad, but when Sam was with ME, he was with ME. I would have no "honey can you watch him while I run to the store?" There were many nights I would have to say no to social events and going to dinner with friends because my son was with me. I would soon learn to separate my life between mommy-hood and single-hood. It became easy to plan what I would do for socializing depending on if I had the wee one with me or not that night.
It was tough, but I did it. And I am still doing it. Not a day goes by that I don't dream of having someone here to help me entertain him. Someone that could watch him while I go out and run to the gas station at 10 at night. Someone to help me put all of his toys together on Christmas day, or to help him learn how to throw rocks at the bullies.
Someone, up there, decided that I would be a good mom. Someone actually sat and said "watch this, wanna see Sarah freak out? Let's give her a kid." I continue to move forward in my experience of being a mom. I continue to learn new things everyday and succeed and fail as I go along. Being a mom is a scary, scary roller coaster of a ride, but I would never want it any other way.
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