EPISODE 29 I AM THE MOM

The week before I was due, I got unearthly terrified. I. Am. Not. Ready.

Everyone would ask me, “How are you feeling? Are you excited?”

I’d respond with an “Oh my god, I can’t wait,” while inside I was trembling with fear.

What if I didn’t bond with her? What if I got postpartum depression? I tend to veer on the side of the depressive as it is.

On a rare day off from the gym Colby and I sat down in his coffee shop and were relaxing as we watched a couple of young girls play on the couches there.

“We’re going to have one of those.”

“I know!” I responded with a hint of anxiety.

Not a moment later, the phone rang.

“Hi, is this Rebecca?”

“It is.”

“Hi, this is Dr. Jones.”

“Hi, Doc, what’s up?”

“We tested your liver enzymes and they’ve become elevated. You have what we call cholestasis. So we’re going to bring you in to induce you.”

I grabbed Colby’s arm as he was mouthing, Who is that? What’s going on? as I clearly had a terrified look on my face.

The doctor continued, “Because if it passes through the placenta it will stop the baby’s heart. Seeing as you’re at thirty-nine weeks, it really is best to just get her out now.”

I quickly responded, “Oh, shit. Okay, we’ll head right there,” before telling Colby, “We have to go have the baby now. They’re going to induce me.”

Panicked, he loudly replied, “No! What?! No! What’s happening?! No!”

“We have to! Actually, Doc, could you just explain this to my husband?” (We weren’t married yet, but “fiancé” is such a fluffy word.)

One minute later, he hung up the phone. “We’re going to have a baby! Ahhhhh.”

I guess I wasn’t the only one who was nervous. Though I was now visibly shaking. The reality that life would never be the same again had come.

We rushed home and got our bags for our stay at the hospital. People had told me to eat as much as I could before getting to the hospital because once I was there I couldn’t eat.

I stood at the kitchen counter shoveling leftover pad Thai into my mouth, my whole body quaking in fear, my appetite nonexistent, forcing the food down regardless, though swallowing felt like throwing up in reverse.

The next time we’d be coming home, we’d have our little girl with us.

I was in labor for twenty-four hours without pain medication and was now puking and spasming uncontrollably from the pain. Though I think the most painful experience of the whole thing was the annoying high-pitched nurse telling me, “Each contraction is bringing you closer to meeting your baby.”

Shut up, bitch! I’m puking over here. What if I don’t like this baby?! It sounds cold and heartless, but I’m 98 percent sure that plenty of women have felt the same way on the brink of giving birth. Going from someone’s child to someone’s parent in one fell swoop.

I had told myself that if I could get through this without an epidural, I would be able to do anything else in life that I wanted. I would have the will and determination and fortitude to achieve anything. For I am the creator of life, the fortress of pain, the willer of wills. Or something like that. Point is, I hadn’t had a challenge in a while and I was getting pretty damn bored chilling at home.

The Pitocin swam through my veins, never letting the agony break for a split second. The sensation was compounded temporarily by the loud crunch of chips and the ratchet smell of salsa as Colby dug into his snack. A serpent’s tongue temporarily popped out of my mouth as I hissed, “Go away.”

“What’s that, honey?” he replied lovingly.

“Go away, please.”

“Huh?” He sounded befuddled.

My head felt too heavy to even look up.

“The chips. Go away. Just go away, please.”

He put the crinkling bag away as he sighed. “I’m so hungry.”

I was passing the threshold. Shit was happening.

You know, movies give a real bad indication of labor. I thought the pushing part was the hard part. But as soon as I had the urge, it felt like a release, like finally my body was working with me and not against me.

Sure, the guttural sounds that came from me were like something you’d hear on Animal Planet. But it wasn’t painful.

After I had been pushing for five minutes the doctor informed me the baby’s heart rate was dropping.

“We have to get this baby out now,” she directed me firmly yet shockingly calmly.

I was done waiting for contractions to push; I bore down and pushed that child out with every fiber of my being.

Only she wasn’t crying.

Why wasn’t she crying?

I had never been more scared in my life. After spending nine months wondering if I would bond with this baby, I was immediately ready to die for her.

The nurse had a cloth over the baby’s mouth as they hit her on the back.

“She can’t breathe!” I yelled at the nurse, moving the cloth away from my baby’s nose and mouth, completely forgetting how umbilical cords work.

Thirty of the longest seconds of my life later, I was calmed as with one final whack to her back, she started the most adorable, most amazing little whimper I had ever heard. My little baby girl was here. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I loved her with every cell in my body.

Nothing would ever be more important to me than her.

We named her Roux. I thought that was such a cool name.

But when she cried, she looked like a little grumpy old lady; she looked more like an Agnes than a Roux. Still, we called her Roux.

I couldn’t believe that this most perfect baby, who, by the way, I had no idea how to look after, was mine to keep.

Two days later, we went home. My perfect little family.