Recounting Pimento's Arrival

It was a surprise.

From the very beginning, we weren't sure what to expect.  We learned of her burgeoning presence just one day after landing in Wisconsin for Daddy's new job.  We had just purged our stash of baby stuff before the move, were living out of suitcases in a hotel, and had only begun to amass housing options.  

In those first weeks, the morning (yeah, right) sickness kept me bedridden on more days than I care to recall.  Nothing smelled right, everything gave me a headache, my mouth tasted like spare change, and I had no appetite for anything except saltines and ginger ale.  Once I got over the worst of it, I was constantly tired.  The heartburn was endless.  And then there was the fluttering.  It started around my second trimester, and from that point on, falling asleep at night was a struggle.  Flutter, flutter, little bird...

This was not how I remembered pregnancy.  

Granted, my last pregnancy was spent mainly on my feet, waiting tables at a TGI Friday's for tips that never seemed worth it.  I was in better shape, counted my calories, and walked three dogs twice a day.  I was also able to nap when I felt like it, without feeling like a neglectful mother.  

While I'm on the topic of napping, one could argue that my visceral need for sleep may have been the cause for Pimento's early arrival.  Let's all go back to that day after Halloween, November 1st, 2010...

I was completely wiped out from an evening of costumed hiking and begging for candy, enhanced by a lovely evening of visiting with my Uncle Al (The Kiddies' Pal), topped off by Peach's Monday morning gymnastics class.  Around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I couldn't take any more.  With Peach having given up on afternoon naps unless properly coddled, I plied her with a snuggle and the verboten Mommy Milk, and we napped peacefully together.  Shortly after we awoke, my dear husband arrived home early, anticipating his 20-hour workday of covering the elections the next morning.  

It was a lovely autumn day, so I offered to take our two dogs for their afternoon walk.  Halfway through, we met a large lab-mix and his girl, playing in the leaf piles across the street.  Our little hairless mutt, Loki, must have looked suspicious because in a matter of seconds, the large dog had streaked across and was on him, and our Jack Russell (Lloyd, the "big brother") was a blur of defensive strikes on behalf of his best bud.  The neighbor girl ran after her dog, called him off, and took him home.  She was freaked, I was freaked, and my dogs were in shock, one of them bleeding from his bite-wounds.  I hurried them home, washed the bites, and Daddy rushed Loki to the nearest vet for assessment.  He was fine, we were told, the wounds were superficial and he had a nice protective layer of blubber in lieu of fur.  The girl's father paid for the vet bill, and I was able to settle my nerves.

By the time all the hubbub had subsided, it was nearly dinnertime.  I don't recall exactly when I noticed my stomach hardening, but once I noticed, I kept an eye on the clock.  This didn't feel like labor.  It couldn't possibly be labor.  I called the midwife, and she gave me two options: wait it out or come get checked out.  With Daddy's long day of election coverage looming, I figured it was better to get a professional "all clear" than have him worrying about me while at work.  I packed a bag for myself, told him to stay home with Peach, and drove myself to the hospital, thinking I would be home in an hour or so after they confirmed my suspicions of "false labor" or whatever this was.  

Around 8:30 pm, the midwife told me I was 5cm dilated, but some women had been known to stay at that point for up to a week, so it wasn't a conclusive indicator.  I should stay and walk around, and they would check my progress in an hour... At which point, I was 6cm dilated.  

"You're having a baby," the midwife said.  

No way.  She was two weeks early.  Incredulous, I insisted it didn't feel like labor.  I had no pain at all!

Regardless, all signs pointed to L&D,

I called home, and Daddy got Peach ready to go.  They moved me to a birthing suite with hardwood floors and soft lighting.  By the time my little family arrived with their bags, it was nearly 10:30.  

I had been walking the wings, waiting for my so-called labor to feel like the punch-in-the-gut I was expecting. After all, when Peach was born, I was awakened by the cramping contractions of impending motherhood.

We settled in, and I tuned into some Bossa Nova on Pandora (thanks to hubs' smart phone) while Daddy and Peach slept on the provided sleeper sofa.  The midwife checked me, hour after hour, and my progress eventually stalled at 7cm.  My water hadn't broken, I still had no pain.  Around 1 in the morning, she stripped my membranes to move things along, and that's when things really kicked into gear.  I kept walking the halls, but this time I had to stop periodically to lean on the wall as each contraction demanded my full attention.  

I found my way back to bed, waking Daddy to let him know we were close. Back in the bed, I lay on my side and clutched at the side rails, breathing through the contractions as Daddy fretted about my comfort and we inquired about the possibility of an epidural.  Thus far, I had remained drug-free, and I was told we were already too close to delivery for an epidural to be effective.  Okay, then.

When it was time to push, the pain was intense, but not unbearable.  My pleas for help likely convinced Daddy otherwise.  The pressure urged me onward, and then I felt a release as she slipped from me and into the world.  She was here.

Peach woke only to her sister's cries.  

Born 2:53 AM on November 2, 2010