Twenty-one years ago, on March 14, 1995, I don't think I'd heard of Pi Day. I had other things on my mind. I had been expecting a delivery on March 4 (which happens to be Grammar Day), but it was late, and I was becoming impatient...and uncomfortable.
I hadn't slept well the night before. I convinced myself they were simply more Braxton Hicks contractions. (Yes, it was that type of delivery that I was expecting.) Perhaps we didn't have cable TV, because the only thing I remember finding to watch was a Susan Powter infomercial. I muddled through the rest of the night so I could go to work on Tuesday. Had to clean up my desk and tie up any loose ends to prepare for maternity leave. Wednesday would be a day to just relax and complete any "nesting" at home before having labor induced on Thursday. Wasn't particularly looking forward to that, but it was time. I went about my business, finishing up what I could, still denying the signs of labor. I'm not sure why I wasn't ready to admit it since in my heart, I knew that it was starting.
After a full day, I headed home around 5:30. Supper was almost ready, so I just sat down for a minute to relax. What? What's that sensation? Oh, that's what it's like when your water breaks. Not nearly as dramatic as it is on television. Changed into dry, comfy clothes and called the doctor. It wasn't what I expected, but they told me that labor could still continue for days after that. Gee, that wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. But the contractions were close enough that we were instructed to go to the hospital.
Of course I had a bag packed, so there was no crazy rush gathering things around the house. A mere five-minute drive later, we were there, checking in, changing into a gown, and getting comfortable (as much as one can get comfortable in that condition). As "luck" would have it (*sarcasm*), my OB/GYN was not available. And of the three remaining doctors in the practice, which we'd met during earlier appointments, it was my least favorite on call that evening. Not much I could do about that anyway, and in hindsight, it didn't really matter to me in the big picture.
I declined the epidural, vowing to "be strong." I also declined the offer of a mirror so I could see the process. No, thank you. I pretty much know what's going on down there. Perhaps my body reacted to not being crazy about the doctor, because it seemed like whenever he came into the room to check on things, the contractions stopped. As long as he was there to make the official "catch," that was really all I needed him for. By time I thought that perhaps some pain medication wouldn't be such a bad idea, I was told it was too late. Oh, well. Let's do this, then!
And then, before we even had a chance to play any of our packed soothing music or break into our supply of snacks, HE made an appearance. After less than four hours of actual effort, at 9:57, we were parents of a beautiful son. And yes, he was worth the 10 days of waiting past the estimated due date.
Every day is worth celebrating. But some days are especially memorable. For me, 3.14 will always be more valuable than any mathematical formula, and not just because we enjoy pie AND cake.
I remember those moments of realization that, "Hey, I'm a MOM!" My "baby" is now 21, and I am as thrilled to be his mother today as I was when I first held him.
I hadn't slept well the night before. I convinced myself they were simply more Braxton Hicks contractions. (Yes, it was that type of delivery that I was expecting.) Perhaps we didn't have cable TV, because the only thing I remember finding to watch was a Susan Powter infomercial. I muddled through the rest of the night so I could go to work on Tuesday. Had to clean up my desk and tie up any loose ends to prepare for maternity leave. Wednesday would be a day to just relax and complete any "nesting" at home before having labor induced on Thursday. Wasn't particularly looking forward to that, but it was time. I went about my business, finishing up what I could, still denying the signs of labor. I'm not sure why I wasn't ready to admit it since in my heart, I knew that it was starting.
After a full day, I headed home around 5:30. Supper was almost ready, so I just sat down for a minute to relax. What? What's that sensation? Oh, that's what it's like when your water breaks. Not nearly as dramatic as it is on television. Changed into dry, comfy clothes and called the doctor. It wasn't what I expected, but they told me that labor could still continue for days after that. Gee, that wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. But the contractions were close enough that we were instructed to go to the hospital.
Of course I had a bag packed, so there was no crazy rush gathering things around the house. A mere five-minute drive later, we were there, checking in, changing into a gown, and getting comfortable (as much as one can get comfortable in that condition). As "luck" would have it (*sarcasm*), my OB/GYN was not available. And of the three remaining doctors in the practice, which we'd met during earlier appointments, it was my least favorite on call that evening. Not much I could do about that anyway, and in hindsight, it didn't really matter to me in the big picture.
I declined the epidural, vowing to "be strong." I also declined the offer of a mirror so I could see the process. No, thank you. I pretty much know what's going on down there. Perhaps my body reacted to not being crazy about the doctor, because it seemed like whenever he came into the room to check on things, the contractions stopped. As long as he was there to make the official "catch," that was really all I needed him for. By time I thought that perhaps some pain medication wouldn't be such a bad idea, I was told it was too late. Oh, well. Let's do this, then!
And then, before we even had a chance to play any of our packed soothing music or break into our supply of snacks, HE made an appearance. After less than four hours of actual effort, at 9:57, we were parents of a beautiful son. And yes, he was worth the 10 days of waiting past the estimated due date.
Every day is worth celebrating. But some days are especially memorable. For me, 3.14 will always be more valuable than any mathematical formula, and not just because we enjoy pie AND cake.
I remember those moments of realization that, "Hey, I'm a MOM!" My "baby" is now 21, and I am as thrilled to be his mother today as I was when I first held him.
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