The not so spectacular birth by c-section of the most spectacular little boy I've ever encountered.

In retrospect, to all of you, this may seem a tad boring, I didn't have a surprise c-section, I didn't go through hours of labor only to find out I needed to be cut open, I had none of those glorious contractions that make labor stories so interesting, I had a planned c-section. My son was born December 7th, the reason my doctor decided it would be best to plan a c-section, was because on my last ultrasound, that took place 3 weeks prior on November 15th, he was 7 lbs 6 oz, he was a big honkin baby. The most spectacular thing that happened right before we went to the hospital is the hospital calling me up as I was scraping my windshield to head over there 2 hours early as previously requested to tell me that instead of at 10:30, they could get me started as soon as I got there (His time of birth ended up being 9:25 am.)

I got there, all my hospital gear, my fiance, and my sister in tow to be greeted by a very skinny, elderly, surly looking nurse, who had me put on a gown right away, and strapped me to a heart monitor for myself and the baby, it would have been a bit more effective, however, if she had placed his heart monitor somewhere in the general vicinity of where his heart actually was. Instead of having his heartbeat reassure me that he was actually ok, I got to hear his heartbeat on occasion, mostly I just heard the gurgle of my innards because I hadn't eaten or drank anything since the night before on instruction from my doctor. This did not serve as an instrument of reassurance as I'd previously hoped it would have, it more reminded me that I felt like sprinting to the cafeteria to gobble down anything resembling food I could find (well, the best sprint I could anyway, in the state I was in, it probably would have been more accurately described as a brisk waddle.)

Before long, I had half a dozen nurses in my room, some I had no idea of their purpose, looking back, they had the royal blue scrubs characteristic of medical students, which I would have appreciated having some say in having them there, while I'm normally not shy, I really didn't appreciate having a huge audience when the nurse was shoving that huge catheter tube up my hoo-ha (which I thought was one of the most uncomfortable things I'd ever experienced until one of the other nurses put a line in my hand, then wiggled the damn needle around.)

Not half an hour later, I was being walked to the c-section suite, trying not to feel awkward walking with a tube lodged so far up my urethra I could swear it was touching one of my kidneys, for those of you who have never had to experience that, trying not to feel awkward walking with a catheter in is impossible, don't attempt it, you will fail, and fail hard, it's best to come to terms with the fact that it is awkward, otherwise you will take a wrong step and almost end up tripping over your catheter tube. Once they got me in there and I got my epidural, I was told to lay down while my body went through the oddest medley of sensations it has ever gone through, my eyes going in and out of focus as I watched my fiance put on a paper suit in the next room through the glass window. After having my body go through a maelstrom of sensations and states of being (at this point sometimes I felt conscious, sometimes I felt like I was passing out, others I felt like I was floating 6 feet above the narrow metal table they had me on) they hitched arm rests to the table, flopped my arms on there, put the paper sheet in place to block my view (definitely a good thing, from my fiance's description later, I probably WOULD have barfed instead of just feeling incredibly nauseated) and got to work.

The birth itself didn't take long at all, within 5 minutes of them actually getting started cutting me open, my baby boy was out in the world, with a vengeance, from day 1 my little man has had some lungs that would make an opera singer turn green with envy. I'm not saying the 5 minutes leading up to him being out in the world was uneventful by any means, in fact, I got so nauseated that I almost barfed on my fiance, twice, and I believe I kept repeating something along the lines of "I'm gonna barf out my brain and die." A short while later, or it may have been longer, I don't know, at this point, my comprehension of time probably was not the most accurate in the world, I got to give my baby boy, still sort of slimey (at least the lady who was measuring him and clamping his umbilical cord and weighing him wiped off his face for me) a kiss on the forehead, and he was whisked off for further monitoring because I had gestational diabetes. I'd say it took me about another 25-30 minutes for them to get me all closed up and patched up, which was a long enough wait in itself, I wanted to have my baby boy on my lap and just look at him until I passed out from exhaustion, but I was forced to listen to my attending physicians talk about keurig coffee makers. Yes, keurig coffee makers, my doctors wanted to bore me to death before I even had a chance to hold my own son. My fiance was really supportive of me through the whole thing though, when they took Ronan away, they asked him if he wanted to follow him to the nursery or if he wanted to stay with me, he stayed and held my hand until they took me into the recovery/monitoring room and they gave him the boot.

Finally after what seemed like ages in the monitoring room (I took a short nap in there, which probably only served to fudge my perception of time even further than the drugs ever did) I was wheeled to my own room, where I was at least able to see my fiance, who crawled into bed with me on the side that didn't have all the tubes. On a side note, that wonderful guy of mine had one of the hospital insulated mugs full of ice water waiting for me when I got there, he read my mind, which probably wasn't hard, as before we got to the hospital I got to watch on in mental anguish as him and my sister scarfed down their breakfasts and gulped their coffees. Shortly after guzzling most of the giant mug of water, the same surly looking nurse came in to tell me that I was allowed to eat whatever I wanted, and my need for insulin was to be based off of my blood sugar taken after I ate. As horrible as it sounds, I promptly stopped whatever thoughts I was having about my little one and had my fiance hand me a lunch menu, that's right, a friggin lunch menu, this hospital didn't have just a pre-prepared checklist for morning, noon, and night, they had a menu, and they would send whatever your heart desired straight to your room after you ordered it, this was a spectacular thing after my only other experience with hospitals being at ones who were less than happy to cater to your every food craving. Looking back, it was probably a good thing I ate lunch BEFORE I saw my baby, at this point I was so jittery and hungry and anxious, even my cup looked tasty, and in the state I was in, a baby probably would have looked a lot juicier. Lunch time was the first time in months I was allowed to have as many carbs as I wanted in a single meal, this in itself would have made it a glorious, glorious day, with the fact that I finally had my son, I felt like I was not only on top of the world, I was on top of Mars, that's right people, I was in outer space. If I remember right, my first post pregnancy meal consisted of hummus and pita, macaroni and cheese, pork loin with gravy, a slice of lemon cake, and a nice glass of Mr Pibb, that's right, my hospital had Mr Pibb, I thought that was positively amazing. I scarfed down that glorious feast of carbs and awesome like there was no tomorrow.

Not long after I set my fork down after eating the final crumb of lemon cake (all of this was way better than anyone would expect for hospital food, btw, the pita was kind of spongey, but I've never had better hummus outside of this one greek restaurant in my hometown) I FINALLY got to see my son when I wasn't laying incapacitated on a dissection table. At this time, though, my lunch tray was still in place, and I nowhere near had the range of movement necessary to move it, sadly enough, at this point, not only was there my fiance and my sister in the room, there were all manner of new aunts and a new grandmother, none of whom thought that I may just want to hold my son, I ended up being the last person in the hospital who got to hold my son, which is ok, I suppose, they all got their time at the beginning, I hogged that little boy whenever possible. Since that day, I have not been able to get over the fact of how incredibly beautiful he is, most newborns I've seen look kind of like aliens when they first come out into the world, my son was evenly proportioned, round headed and positively perfect, and he keeps getting more perfect every day, he has a cold right now, but in between fussing because he doesn't feel good, and sleeping to get rid of all of the yuckiness, he's still my incredibly charming, smiley, snuggly, giggly, playful little boy, and I will always remember that day and that hospital stay, no matter how uncomfortable or incredibly painful the experiences, as the best time of my life because that's when I became a mommy, and that's when I knew no matter how judgmental people were because I had a baby at 19, no matter what the world threw at our little family, it would be all ok because I knew even though times are going to be tough, and things are going to be hard, he's worth fighting for and protecting, and our family's all that truly matters to me in the world.