Numero Uno

Today is the glorious day. The big uno. I never thought it would arrive, but here it is looking me in the face. I recall the excruciating pain of labor exactly a year ago 4:00am in the morning surrounded by my husband, and three sisters exposed and swollen. The swarm of nurses and midwives concealing the heighten dosage of pitocin as I begged for more epidural. The hospital was full of women in labor such as the absence of my doctor. I wanted it out. I wanted to meet this magic soul that stirred in my belly.

I was delirious. The doctor demanded that I take a break from pushing for hours. That’s right hours, I pushed. Almost six to be precise. These mandatory pregnant classes teach you how to relieve the contractions, but they never advise on the proper techniches of breathing and pushing. I was a flunkie. A failure. A total flop. Meanwhile, my husband gently urging me relentlessly like a cheerleader at a football game, “to push like your pooping.” The only thing I wanted to push was his face.

There were spurts where he was absent from my side only to find him peering between my legs, anticipating the little one. A couple hours prior, Chris, my eldest sister, commented on how this was the most calm birth she’s ever experienced. Maybe that was my problem. I was too calm, my room was in a meditative state that I couldn’t seek the urgency. After turning the lights on from dim and heightening the pitocin to increase the contractions I shrieked, “Stop!!!!!!!!” The room of supporters halted, “There’s something in my butt!!!”
The room tittered as Dr. Birmingham softly explained, “That’s the baby just keep pushing it’s almost here.”
“You have been saying that for the last couple hours.” I was losing the little energy I had, “I give up, I give up, just cut me open, I want a cesarean.” I dehydrated so many sopping towels, I couldn’t tolerate Shane blotting my forehead any longer.

I was encompassed by an army of midwives and nurses as they checked my blood pressure and my blood sugar, my newfound claustrophia had reared it’s ugly head. I was going to murder the next person that tended to my needs, “Your blood pressure is really high, are you stressed?” Some jerk of a nurse inquired. Instead of sawing her tongue out, I rubuttled with a harmony of curse words that could have slaughtered a lamb.

“Push, just push really hard, ready, remember inhale and push,” Dr. Birmingham desuaded me from my impulsive madness.
“Where’s my husband?” I quickly turned into a five year old looking for my favorite toy. There he stood at the doctor’s view waiting for our little angel to blow through the gates. He quickly made his way to my side, he knew better. With my husband at my side, hand in hand, I pushed so hard in hopes to propel this little human from me. Suddenly, the room filled with deafening rapture. As everyone hugged and laughed I missed the boat, “What is it?”
“It’s a boy!!!” Jill gleamed, “he’s an old soul.”

I knew it! I knew it! I knew it was a boy from the beginning! I cried as they placed his gentle love on my chest. There he was my little angel swathed in my arms.

Hunter Styles Kitchen
6 lbs 11 ounces
19 inches long

I will skip the entire placenta removal procedure as I would like nothing more than to surgically remove that from my memory. The request to push again after thrusting a thanksgiving turkey from my womb was like asking me to scale the empire state building. A year later, my world has gone topsy turvy. I am a better person. Patient. Happy. Content. Happy first birthday to my sweet Huntz.

This is Shellie fist fighting with “age” to never let this beautiful memory fade back to you Bob at the studio.