(2 Karats and a Kid) A promise fulfilled - November 2, 2010

Mommy-ism #3:  


Absolutely nothing happens by chance -- there is a divine hand guiding us along the way.


November 2, 2010.

Since we had to be at the hospital at 6:30 am, Patrick and I woke up that morning around 4:00 am and were packed and ready to go by 5:45 am.  Patrick, the epitome of "calm, cool, and collected," was a nervous wreck which I would NOT have noticed had it not been for the fact that it took him about ten minutes to get out of the parking space in our garage.

As he tried backing his truck out of the space the first time, he ran into a cement column that almost completely took off his driver side mirror.  He adjusted himself and tried again only to run his SUV into the column for a SECOND time.

I realized that my husband was on the brink of a nervous breakdown so I just put my hand on his knee to try to calm his nerves.  In perfect form he said to himself, "Well, I got my woman.  I don't need to impress anyone with my car.  MAN, I wish I could smoke a black and mild right now...."

Once we arrived at the hospital things moved rapidly.  We checked in and an hour later I was in the operating room.   The surgeons walked me through every thing that was happening.  My awesome OB/GYN was there to conduct the c-section.  There was even an elderly black woman there who reminded me of my grandmother who was there to hold my hand until my husband came into the operating room.   After about 30 minutes of the surgeons doing "something" my doctor told me that I would feel the pressure of an elephant on my abdomen -- then after moments of silence, I heard the most magical sound in the world,  Roman yelling to the world, "Hey world...I'm here!"  I was truly in love in the instant that I heard his voice!

He was 10 pounds, 8 ounces and 21 inches of glorious thickness!

It was the most wonderful, beautiful, and calm experience that I could have hoped for.  Yet, it wasn't until days later that I realized how serendipitous the experience actually was or the significance of Roman being born on that date.

Six years prior, on November 2, 2004 my father laid unconscious in the emergency room of a hospital after a traumatic injury to his head.  After several seizures, the doctors were able to momentarily stabilize him and I was able to see him for the first time.  As I stood over his bed with my mother, I felt compelled to pray.  The words of my prayer came from someplace outside of myself but during that time I told my father that I knew that he would live to meet his all of his grandchildren.  As he laid unconscious I told him to hold on to that image and asked him to squeeze my hand if he could hear me and he did.

Through the years, my father suffered numerous setbacks pertaining to his health but I believed the prayer that I spoke that day with such certainty that the promise of him meeting his grandchildren was oftentimes the only thing that I could hold on to when I didn't know if he would be okay.

So after it was all said and done, I realized that all those weeks of worrying were truly for naught.  Not only did Roman come "on-time", but the sequence of events that led to his arrival into the world conspired to make his birthday the PERFECT DAY.

(2 Karats and a Kid) November 1, 2010 (One day prior to Delivery)

Mommy-ism #2:  


Life is a sequence of experiences where we come to realize that living up to a standard of "normal" is not only boring -- but keeps us from enjoying the EXTRAordinary life that God has put right in front of our face.


November 1, 2010.

As I laid down on the examination table, I held my breath while the ultrasound technician took measurements of the baby.  We had come to know each other very well as this was my 3rd ultrasound in the past month and I had come to be known as the "little girl having the 10 pound baby that is two weeks overdue" around the office.

"Well...the baby is measuring at...10 pounds, 9 ounces.  10 pounds, 5 ounces.  10 pounds, 7 ounces," the technician said timidly.

I looked at my mom.  My mom looked at me with a combination of sympathy and amusement.

Up until this point, I had held on to the hope that I would have a "normal" delivery.  I'd be at home on the couch eating cheesecake, frenchfries, and ice tea.  While watching the "Hangover" for the 120th time, I would be in the middle of a hearty laugh when my water would break.  I'd call Patrick who would stop whatever dental procedure he was conducting and would rush home.  After running around the house for 30 minutes trying to make sure that we had everything -- we'd rush off to the hospital where after 24 hours in labor - I give one final push and PRESTO!  -- Baby Roman would finally make his entrance into the world.

However....

After 41 weeks and 5 days of pregnancy; after gaining 45 pounds of extra human, fluid, and fat; after 3 months and sleeping in a loveseat; and after 2 months of mild hemmoroids  -- I finally let go of my expectations of an "ideal" labor and excepted the reality of my situation.

The look of exhaustion on my face must have spoke volumes.  My OB/GYN didn't ask what I wanted to do, she simply said -- "Okay.  I am going to get on the phone to book an OR for tomorrow morning at 8:30.  You and your husband will have to be at Northwestern by 6:30 am.  Don't eat anything after 9:00 pm."

I nodded in agreement and asked my mother to pass me my phone as I texted my husband the following message:

"Hey babe.  Take off tomorrow.  We are going to have the baby tomorrow at 8:30."

The evening that followed was surreal.  After months of anticipation and weeks of uncertainty I knew without a shadow of a doubt that in less than 24 hours I would be a mother.  I wondered momentarily if I was ready.  I wondered if my husband was ready.  I wondered if I'd feel like I missed out on what a "real" labor was supposed to feel like.  I wondered if I would wish that I could stick the baby back "in" once he was here.

My thoughts raced throughout the night pondering exactly what the next day held in store for me and how my life would change.  But no sooner than when I finally drifted off to sleep around midnight was it time for me to wake up to go to the hospital to have the baby.

(2 Karats and a Kid) ...when your due date comes....and goes.

Mommy-ism #1:  


You can't control when a baby will be born anymore than you can control when a baby is conceived.  So relax, chill out, and enjoy some cheesecake and ice tea. 


Ahhhh, let's see...where did we leave off?

On October 21, I wrote my last entry in "The Baby Bump" and I was one day away from my greatly anticipated due date.  Although I was hanging on to the fleeting hope that I'd have my baby the next day, from the skeptical look on my OB/GYN's face when she examined me two days prior, I knew deep down that going into labor was unlikely.


So in a nutshell, I was p*ssed.

When you go through the emotional, physical, mental, and hormonal changes of a 40 week pregnancy you try REALLY hard to stay positive towards the end.

You end all sentences with "God willing."
You start all sentences with "I pray."
You try your darnest not to make fun of anybody (not midgets, not porn stars, not even reality tv personalities) because you don't want any negativity to seep into your unborn baby's body.

So when  my due date had come and gone, and I was officially 40+ weeks pregnant, it seemed like the harder I tried to maintain my "mental feng shui" the more the universe and random mofos tested me.

"Girl, please tell me you are due TODAY!"  chuckled the homeless man standing outside of Calypso Cafe.

You no teeth having mutha-*****, I thought.

Surely God was testing my humanity.

"Ma'am are you SURE you aren't having triplets??"  The teenage cashier would ask me EVERY time she saw me in Treasure Island grocery store (purchasing cheesecake nonetheless).


"No, sweetie.  Just ONE big boy..." I would say as I grit my teeth, smiled and walk away.

It seemed as though the final test of whether I was worthy of being a mother was whether I could make it to labor without cursing somebody out.

Even a well meaning family friend almost got cursed out in a deep, passionate, forehead sweating non-Christian way when she called to "check-in" on me and made mention of:

- how her first child was 4 weeks late, contracted a virus, and almost died,
- how her third child was delivered via c-section and almost died, and how her....

[Well, to be honest that's where I hung up the phone...]

I said a prayer afterwards and  hoped that she would forgive me but I had a feeling that Jesus secretly approved of my actions.  I was coming down to my last nerve and I had to preserve it for somebody who would be in the labor room with me.

Words can not truly express the level of pure defeat that I felt when I went to the doctor a week and a half after my due date and the doctor meekly said, "yep, your cervix is still hard as a rock....no dilation yet."

All I could think was "W.T.F."

How could I make it through 40+ weeks of pregnancy without any major health issues but my body suddenly couldn't put itself into labor??  This was the one thing that my body was made to do but for whatever reason it couldn't quite get it together.

Deep down, I hoped something wasn't wrong with me or more than that, I hoped nothing was wrong with the baby.  But as most women do, I hid my anxiety deep down and put on a brave face for my husband, my parents, our family, and friends because I knew that while I could handle my own anxiety, I couldn't handle the worrying stares that I had began to get when people learned that I hadn't delivered yet.

I had tried almost every natural way to induce labor known to man.  I had walked on the treadmill for 3.5 hours, I ate pineapples everyday, I drank red raspberry tea three times a day, had a pre-natal massage, rolled my feet on golf balls, and did jumping jacks when no one was looking.  I was too big to have sex so I just would close my eyes and would imagine the "good times" when sex wouldn't give me an asthma attack, a leg cramp, or a backache because I was 40 pounds lighter.

On my next doctor's appointment, the reason behind my child's late arrival was revealed.  Roman was measuring at OVER 9 lbs and 8 ounces!!!   I felt so bad because I knew that I had been eating a slice of cheesecake a day for the past 3 weeks to make myself feel better but not to make my baby a contestant for "Fat Camp."

After my next (and final) doctor's appointment I went from anxious to petrified.

Just when I had began to wrap my mind around a football coming out of my va-jay-jay it turned out that I had a Mississippi-sized watermelon up in me.  Every time I thought of the baby being over 9 pounds I'd come close to tears because I so desperately wanted to have a "natural" labor.  [And by natural I mean a highly drugged and "numbed"  vaginal delivery...]

So all I could do was wait.  Wait for a decision to be made to induce.  Wait for a decision to be made to either have a c-section or not.  Wait for the next chapter of my life to begin...