Welcome Carter

August 23, 2008:

“I absolutely CANNOT have this baby until the upstairs hallway floors are sanded and refinished!”

At 9 months pregnant that was honestly my biggest concern.  My upstairs hallway floors.  I was nesting…and badly.  But to his credit, my husband, instead of telling me to shove it like I probably deserved, got out his sander and started the project.

I cheated.  This is me pregnant with Grant.  I don't have any pictures of me pregnant with Carter. 
Oh wait...here's one...

This is what I looked like...hence the no pictures.

I was supposed to be on bed rest due to high blood pressure but I took that as more of a suggestion than an order.  Maybe if I had listened…

It was a hot and humid Saturday morning in August.  I was getting ready for a routine non-stress test and Mike was, um, sanding the floors.  I almost went to the doctors by myself.  It was just a quick little test where they would tell me I was ok for another week.  I wasn’t actually due till September 10^th.  And everyone knows that first time moms usually go late…usually…

At the last minute Mike decided to come to the hospital with me.  We had the test and were sent for an ultra sound as well.  I’ll never forget the moment when the technician said: “Um…the baby’s not moving.”

I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?  The baby’s not moving?  Wanna throw out a follow up sentence about how that’s normal and everything’s fine before I rip your face off? 

Luckily (for her) she eventually got the baby to move…a little.  And told us I just had low fluid so movement was getting difficult.  Perfectly normal.  He was just a little ‘over done’.

Basically, like everything else I’ve ever tried to cook, I burnt him.

“But the package said 25 minutes!”
“Well apparently it only needed 20.  You have to keep an eye on it.”

Dammit.  Oh well, I’ll just start to drink more water, actually do my bed rest and we’ll be fine.  Except that’s not what happened. 

When we got back to labor and delivery the nurse who had done my non-stress test looked at me and said “You’re having a baby today.” 

Just like that.  All casual. 

You’re having a baby today.  Like she was telling me “You’re having a ham sandwich today”.  Yes, I know that YOU do this ten times a day but I don’t.  It’s a bigger deal to me so please act like it.  A million thoughts were running through my head but my biggest concern was obviously…

MY UPSTAIRS HALLWAY FLOORS ARE ONLY HALF SANDED!

My next thought was at least more rational.  I realized that my doctor was on vacation.  It hadn’t been a concern of mine because, as I stated earlier, I wasn’t due for almost three more weeks.  I thought I had time.  Apparently not. 

When the doctor on call walked in the first thing I noticed was his height.  He was like seven feet tall.  The second, and more important, thing that I noticed was the size of his hands.  I wanted to ask him if he wouldn’t mind taking off his catcher’s mitt before doing my internal exam.  Holy. Shit. Those are some big hands ya got there, doc.  Remind me again where you’ll be sticking those?

He introduced himself and said he was going to examine me.  So he put on a rubber glove and his hand BUSTED THROUGH IT!  Not kidding.  He broke the glove.  Then he laughed.

Oh.  Is that funny?  Is it?  Well my vagina doesn’t find that funny.  At all.

After being violated by my new doctor I was hooked up to Pitocin.  I sent my husband home to get clothes, gather supplies…attempt to finish the floor.  The doctor said it could go quickly so Mike could only leave for like an hour.  I stayed with my friend and played Scategories.  Clearly I wasn’t very concerned about what was about to happen to my body.  Or the fact that human being would soon be emerging from it.  Every hour or so a nurse would come in and ask me if I was feeling any contractions yet.  I wasn’t.  So they’d turn up the machine.

This went on for two days.  Mike could have finished the damn floor.  Stupid Dr. Huge Hands. 

August 24, 2008

After all that drama I ended up with a C-section anyway.  I never contracted.  And good ‘ole Doc Giant Paws told me that I was only ever a fingertip dilated.  (Now, is that a fingertip on your hand?  ‘Cause that could equal 10 centimeters on a normal sized hand.)  After he had those things up there I’m honestly surprised that the baby wasn’t able to just walk out. 

So Carter’s delivery wasn’t what I had planned.  It wasn’t even close to what I thought it would be like to deliver my first born.  But now I get to have planned C-sections.  Here’s how Grant’s delivery went:

“Wanna have a baby today?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Ok….here he is.”

I love my babies even though they make my life a living hell on a regular basis.  But the real moral of the story is that three and a half years after becoming a mother…my upstairs hallway floor is still only half sanded.