Dominatrix Mommy Blogger and Women’s Sexual Wellness Consultant
Happy Birthday Monkey
Five years ago I was 41 weeks pregnant, despite being told by my midwife every visit after 37 that THIS would be the week because I was all effaced and starting to dilate and the baby had long ago dropped into the starting position. He was so low I worried that I would squish his little head every time I sat down.
I was huge, miserable and getting up to pee 47 times a night. Every time I got up, I would hoist my mass out of the pillow fort I needed at that point to sleep, shaking the entire bed and in essence teaching my husband to sleep through anything. Like earthquakes. Or home invasions. Or tiny babies screaming their tiny heads off in the middle of the night.
My mom was my doula which I worried might be awkward but as it turns out, when the baby is crowning, you don't care who is holding that warm wet compress against your flaming lady bits, as long as someone is. She lives an hour away, plus traffic, and had been staying with us since before my due date because, you know, it could happen at any moment don't want to get stuck in traffic or forget to turn her ringer on and miss the call or god forbid have to reboot the phone and not know if the call had been missed.
I was a watched pot. We had all started answering our phones with “she's still pregnant.”
No one was more upset about this then me. I was learning things about my body at this point that I just never really wanted to know. My pelvic girdle had long since sort of separated and no longer felt capable of holding my hips together. Did you know it could do that? And do you remember Puppetry of the Penis? I didn't see my vag often at this point, but would occasionally catch a glimpse in the mirror while getting in or out of the shower, and that is the only way that I can describe what I saw. Shock. Awe. Disbelief.
We had tried everything to induce labor. I ate all the things and drank all the things. I had my membranes stripped. Twice. In front of my mom. The husband and I had sex. Not in front of my mom, but just as awkward considering that my husband had to be sexy with the aforementioned freaky vagina.
My mom was threatening to go home at this point. Five years ago this morning I
woke up gave up trying to sleep and my mom and I went to walk waddle around the mall. It was early and everything was close but I remember thinking “OMG LOOK AT ALL THE FOOD WHY IS THE FOOD COURT CLOSED I THINK I CAN REACH MY ARM IN THERE AND GET THAT SANDWICH WHY IS THIS BABY STILL INSIDE ME OH LOOK DONUTS!”
Afterwards we went home and sat and stared at me for a while and nope.
So we decided to go to an open house an hour away because surely. Drive an hour away from the hospital? I would be that lady on the news who gave birth in the back seat on the side of the road. I was up for that. Anything. Just, let's get this baby out shall we? But no. Nothing.
Finally I gave up, sat down on the coach and ate a wedge of Brie like a candy bar and decided, fuck it. I would just kick back and enjoy my fourth trimester.
I'm not sure if it was the sudden influx of milk fat into my system, or the cavalier attitude I had towards remaining pregnant for three more months, but that seemed to do the trick.
I got up from the couch to head to the bathroom amid heckling of “I thought that cheese was for all of us” and boom.
You know how in the movies the pregnant woman giggles and demurely says from behind her hands “oh my goodness! I think my water just broke!”
Yeah. That was not me. There seemed to be gallons of it. Also? I started laughing manically. I could catch my breath to speak up and announce the breaking of the waters. Seems the stress of being on watch for a month made me lose it.
What ever it may be.
With each cackle, more water would shoot down my legs. My mom and husband stared at me like I was a crazy person then did that three stooges run for towels.
We called the dr and sat to wait for contractions. We waiting about 30 seconds. Then four minutes. Then ten minutes. Then two minutes. Then 12 minutes. They were quickly getting stronger, but not getting regular. We decided to head to the hospital anyway.
My labor was amazingly easy. The three of us txting friends. I got an epidural and took a nap. They ate in front of me and I nearly killed them for a bite of their crappy hospital food. Think pregnant Walking Dead zombie. Hospital staff looked at my chart and saw that it was my forth baby and left us alone. Completely alone. Apparently no where on my chart did it say that the last baby was twenty years ago. Thankfully my mom was a great doula.
My contractions never got regular, foreshadowing the erratic creative child I was about to birth. Eventually my mom snuck out and told the Dr that she thought I was ready to go. My midwife unfortunately had gone. That morning. To Hawaii. So I had random on call Dr.
The Dr came to check me, confirmed my moms suspicions and asked me if I was ready to push. I said no. I did anyway. It only took about two pushes to get his head out. I was surprised it took that many.
“One more push and he'll be out!”
My husband and I had talked about having a child for years and survived the physical and emotional trials of IVF. We had waited so long for this moment. So of course my immediate reaction was “No!! We are so not ready for this!!”
I was right, but his head was already out and there wasn't really any going back, so I went ahead and pushed.
Five years ago my life changed forever when this beautiful creature that my husband and I (and a highly skilled team of experts) created came into the world and changed our lives forever.
My sex life and sleep schedule have never been the same.