Pushed to the limit -- NINE POUNDS FOUR OUNCES!

I was afraid that baby going late meant that she would be a little bigger...Apparently my fears were well-founded. How on earth I managed to pass a nine pound baby out I don't know! I can tell you it wasn't easy! She tore me apart (literally. I refuse to look at the stitches from my episiotomy. I don't want to know. I just know it's a world of hurt down there!) Anyway, I've been wanting to write about my labour/delivery experience but it's hard to find time these days with the baby! She's asleep at the moment so here goes. I'll start at the beginning...

It was Sunday. I was due for my induction on Monday at 8 a.m. One week past her due date. The doctor had told me that it would be much better for baby and me if she came naturally but what can you do? I discussed it with Michelle (yes I'd been talking with her, reading to her, singing to her for many months in utero.) I told her that this was her last chance to come out before they came in to get her. I had asked the doctor if there was anything I could do to bring on labour. Her reply was sex (not a possibility!) and MSG (how much Chinese food can you eat?!) Other people had told me that walking might help. It made sense. Being on your feet may push baby down a little, with the force of gravity and all.

I had been staying with my sister (she and my Mom were going to be with me during delivery. I sure didn't want to go through this alone!) She needed to pick some things up anyway and suggested we go to the mall. It was a distraction if nothing else. I was getting very nervous about the induction on Monday. While at the mall I had some pretty severe Braxton Hicks contractions (at least I thought that was what they were. It couldn't be labour I reasoned because there was no set pattern. They just came randomly.) I also kept experiencing the need to run to the bathroom only to be frustrated that I couldn't go when I got there. Constipation usually isn't a problem for me. Usually it goes the other way. I got tired of running to the washroom and pushing for nothing. Then as we were leaving the mall, I got the grandaddy of all Braxton Hicks contractions. I must have looked a sight. 41 weeks pregnant, massive belly, swollen legs, heavy breathing, grasping my abdomen, a pained look on my face. A kind man held the door for me "Are you OK?" he asked, with genuine concern in his eyes. "Just Braxton Hicks" I said. He thought I was going into labour. I wasn't convinced.

We headed back home. I was trying to keep busy. I sewed a stuffed seahorse (I had a nesting urge. Some people knit booties but I don't knit. The mobile was done but I figured I'd make a couple of little stuffed seahorses. It gave me something to do with my hands aside from gnawing my fingers to the bone.) We watched TV. I kept feeling like I had to go to the bathroom, the way I had at the mall. It was happening more and more frequently. At around 8:30 PM when I hit the washroom, there was blood. The bloody show! I had read about it. OK. It seemed like something was happening. Maybe my water would break. Maybe my baby was going to come naturally without induction. But my water didn't break. The blood was just a few drops, not much of a show, really. I asked my sister if contractions feel like really bad menstrual cramps mixed with feeling like you have to run to the toilet with diarrhea but when you get there you're constipated. She said that wasn't how hers were. I didn't know what to think. But something was happening. The pain was getting worse and more frequent each time I ran to the toilet. I finally thought "This is ridiculous! I might as well start timing them." So I wrote the time down. It was just past midnight. 12:09. The next one was 12:19. Then 12:29. "Holy cow!" I thought. "I'm really in labour! The contractions are 10 minutes apart." I told my sister. She asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said I'm not supposed to go until they're 5 minutes apart or my water breaks. Each time the pain was a bit worse. It would last a minute and go away. Then things started to accelerate. The pain got worse still after 1 a.m. and the contractions were 5 minutes apart.

I called the hospital and told them what was happening, that I was due for induction in the morning but that baby had beat us to the punch. They said to come in. My sister tried to call my Mom and couldn't get her! Really?! Your daughter is pregnant, could give birth any minute and you don't have the phone by your bed?! (As it turned out, her ringer didn't work. My brother drove her to the hospital later.) My sister called her mother-in-law to come watch the kids and we headed to the hospital.

The contractions were really bad now. I couldn't wear a seatbelt. I faked it by pulling it over me when we passed a cruiser (I thought if someone dares to pull us over he's going to get an earfull!) The ride was brutal. Every bend, every bump in the road was excruciating. My fantasy of labour pains being "just like menstrual cramps" was being shattered.

We got to the hospital and they told me I was 2 cm dilated. It was around 2 a.m. The nurse was very nice and supportive. She told me that I could elect to stay at the hospital and could get the epidural but it would be ideal if I could wait a little longer. She suggested I go home, take a bath, have a tea and come back when I'm 4 cm dilated."I think you can handle it," she said. She had more faith in me than I did.
"How will I know when I'm 4 cm dilated?" I asked.
She explained that the contractions now lasted about a minute and in between them there was a break without pain. I would know things were bumped up a knotch when there was no break from the pain, when even between contractions was uncomfortable and painful. Great. That didn't sound pleasant but I decided to tough it out. The idea of sitting in a warm bath for an hour or so was preferable to sitting in the hospital. So we headed back home. I hoped my sister could grab a little sleep.

It was soothing being in the bath. The contractions kept getting worse. With each one I would think "this is as bad as it gets" until the next one would be even worse. I realized that until now I had no idea what pain was. Nothing could prepare me for this. No one can tell you. You have to experience it yourself to understand. I had heard so many stories ranging from "the pain is unbearable" to "it's not so bad." One thing the nurse had said stuck with me "Remember that the pain is natural, that it's necessary, that it's for a good cause -- your baby. She'll be worth it." It kept me going. When I'd have a contraction, I'd breathe through it, huffing and puffing like they do in the movies. I clenched my fists. I kept thinking "It's just for a minute and it's over." When it would end it was such a relief. I prayed to God for strength to get me through this. I tried to use affirmations, positive energy, meditation. I was proud of myself. I was toughing it out. I didn't have a clock. I didn't know how long I'd been in the bath. I wanted to give May a chance to sleep a little. I wanted to impress the nurse that I could manage the pain and come back when I was at 4 cm. I cheered myself on. You got this. You're doing great.

And then everything changed. The worst pain yet, the worst pain of my life, beyond description and then after the minute was up, there was still pain, not as severe but still no picnic. Oh my God. I can't do this anymore, I thought. There's no break. I could endure anything for one minute, looking forward to the next break but when there is no break, when it's just endless suffering, I can't take it. I was done. Get me to the hospital. Give me an epidural. Please!

So I woke my sister, who had had about 1 minute of sleep, to drive me to the hospital.

It was 5 a.m. "Good girl!" the nurse said "You're 5 cm dilated!"
I was proud of myself. I had overshot the mark even. Great. Now please get me an epidural. I'm dying here.

It's ironic given the fact that I've had a phobia of needles my entire life that my salvation from pain would come in the form of a giant needle to my spine. I couldn't wait. I had heard that the pain would cease instantly. That from then on I would feel pressure but no pain. I couldn't wait. I didn't know how much longer I could take these contractions. Which now just felt like one cruel horrendous never-ending wave of pain.

Then she arrived, the epidural goddess. I had to sit up, at the edge of the bed, my hospital gown open. I didn't want to see the needle and luckily couldn't since it was behind me. I was a little nervous but mostly just anxious for the pain to end. She told me that it would sting a lot. When she stuck the needle in me, the sting was so negligible compared to what I was going through that it didn't even bother me. I realized I would never faint at a needle again. I realized that anything I ever went through in life now would be a cakewalk compared to this. And just like that, the pain was gone. Beautiful, delicious, pain-free moments. My butt started to feel really warm. I started to feel itchy. I asked if I could scratch. They said no. I didn't care. I'll take itchy over pain any day! Even my face got itchy. I scratched when no one was looking.

I wasn't a fan of the IV or the catheter but I was feeling no pain so nothing mattered anymore. I was happy. My Mom made it to the hospital just in time to see happy, mellow, pain-free Ann Marie. She admitted that she was relieved she didn't have to see me suffer through the worst of the labour cramps.

Now I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything since before 8 pm the night before. I'm used to eating every few hours. I was starving. I figured I wouldn't be allowed to eat during labour and I wouldn't want to poop on the table (it was something I'd heard could happen. Frankly I didn't want it to happen to me) but I felt so weak I didn't know how I'd make it through the next several hours. I was eating ice chips and pretending they were freezies. A nurse brought me some toast and jam. It was the best toast and jam of my life. She offered a banana popsicle and it was like winning the lottery.

The next time they examined me (which wasn't fun but really just pressure rather than pain in there) they said that I was 7 cm dilated. I thought this was great, I'm really progressing quickly. I knew that 10 cm is the point where you push though they said that you don't push right away, they like to give the baby a chance to wiggle out on her own. Does that really happen?!

Unfortunately I was stuck on 7 cm dilated for a long time. Several hours later I was at 9.5 cm dilated. So close! And then I hit 10. We were getting so close now. I wondered what it would be like when I had to push.

They had a button for me to press when I wanted more epidural juice. It locks you out though once you're at the limit so you don't OD. It makes a little ringing sound. I heard that sound a few times. When I started to feel a little something I was hitting that button like a fiend. I didn't want to risk running out. I made them assure me that there was no way I could run out. When another bit of it dripped through it made a little squeak like a mouse. I mentioned it to the nurse. She said one of the patients was convinced there was a mouse on the windowsill. I trusted that it was just my lovely epidural machine.

Then it came time to push. They described it as pushing through my butt as though I had to go #2 really bad. I was an expert in this area. Having suffered from constipation the day before and having suffered from IBS for years and spent an inordinate number of hours on the toilet, I was a pusher extraordinaire! Unfortunately, as wonderful as the epidural is, the problem is that it paralyzes you so that you can't actually feel yourself pushing. You can't tell if you're pushing or not. So when I held my breath and pushed, the place I felt it most was in my face. It felt like my head would implode. I wasn't sure I was even pushing down there. Apparently I was and they said I was doing a great job. A nurse was holding one of my feet, pushing my leg up to help with each push. My Mom was at my other foot. My Mom was too gentle. She wasn't pushing my leg hard enough so I was yanking the back of my leg myself to help things along. My wrist was aching. I had had carpal tunnel before this so this wasn't helping. Later my sister stepped in to help and she was a lot stronger and more forceful than my Mom.

Then they called in another doctor. The baby apparently needed to be turned around a little. In walked Dr. Marquis de Sade. He reached in, up to his elbows I think, and was twisting things and doing God-knows-what. It hurt. I was not happy. Nothing was supposed to hurt. What about my epidural? I was just supposed to feel pressure. This wasn't pressure, it was torture. I decided I hated this man. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't like you!" I told him. "This is the first pain I've felt since 5 a.m.! I'm not a fan!"
"I'm just trying to deliver your baby," he said.
"Yeah. I know. It just figures that the one man in the room is the one to hurt me!" Yeah. I have men issues...

On top of Dr. Pain twisting my insides, he'd brought with him a little tour group (my sister explained it was just one student/intern and the rest were a group of nurses) to gawk at me at the most harrowing moment of my life. I wasn't impressed but I had more important things to worry about than strangers seeing my cooch. I kept pushing. It seemed we were getting close but no cigar. Then Nurse Ratchet, accomplice to the Marquis de Sade started pushing on my leg so hard she nearly folded me in half. Even the doctor scolded her that she was going to damage one of my body parts. I hated her.

The doctor got out a plunger (vacuum?) and salad tongs (forceps) to try to pull the baby out as I pushed. Gone was my fantasy of having a pain-free, easy delivery via my lovely epidural. This was scary now. The doctor even started to threaten me "If you can't push hard enough, we're going to have to do a C-section." That was the last straw. I didn't go through all this just to have a C-section. I would push harder and longer than ever. I would strain to hold my breath as long as possible. This had to be it. So I gave it everything I had and then some. Like my life depended on it, because at that moment it did. And then, she was out!
"That's it!" they said.

It was 18:19 and my baby was born! I saw her being carried away. But where was the cry?! She wasn't crying. I started to panic. The nurses had her off to the side. I was so relieved when I heard her cry. But it was a weak cry of distress. They said there was a problem with her breathing. I was terrified. Please please please let her be OK.

I started to cry. I was so scared. So overwhelmed. One nurse (possibly the dumbest human alive) asked why I was crying. Ummm...I just gave BIRTH you friggin idiot, it's a bit of an emotional time. Not to mention my baby may not be BREATHING! Not to mention I'm on NO SLEEP, NO FOOD (except a popsicle and a piece of toast) for a day.

They were checking her out. Weighing her etc. She was 9 pounds, 4 ounces. Holy crap! No wonder there was tearing. They had to do an episiotomy. He told me the stitches would dissolve. In the end I did thank the male doctor for his help in delivering my baby.

They brought me my little girl and lay her on my chest, to calm both her and me down. It seemed to work. She stopped crying and her breathing settled down. She was a healthy, pink, blue eyed, redhaired baby girl. I was beyond grateful, beyond relieved. I had my baby and all was well with the world.

A little redhead like her Mama. I had been hoping she'd be like me and not like her father (who, as you know if you've been following my blog won the coward of the year award by disappearing when I was 4 months pregnant).

"We made it, baby," I said to Michelle. With tears in my eyes, I started to recite the words to Goodnight Moon. I had been reading it to her every night since February. Now I could talk and sing and read to my baby and hold her in my arms. I had loved her so much before I even met her. Now it was even more intense having her here. And the pain I'd endured was more than worth it. I would do anything for her.

I've never been a fan of hospitals. Staying in them is far worse than visiting. Most of the nurses were nice. I got stuck with a clueless one unfortunately. She kept calling the baby "he" even after I'd corrected her 15 times, even when I put a pink sleeper and blanket around her. Apparently a lot of women gave birth on that day but everyone else had a boy. I had the only girl. So the Absentminded Nurse couldn't keep track. She also admitted that she was distracted since she'd just sold her house. She was getting on my last nerve though. I'd ask her for pain medication (the stitches were pretty sore) and she'd forget to bring it. She'd snap at me about going to the bathroom and get annoyed that I wasn't moving quickly enough (excuse me! I just gave birth! Have some sympathy. I'm a little sore!) She snapped at me when I asked questions like I was an idiot and should know (about meconium coming out from the womb for the first few days etc). "Sorry if I ask stupid questions" I said "this is my first baby. I'm not an expert."

The only thing worse than my nurse was my room. I was bunked in a semi-private with a couple who also had a newborn baby that screamed every hour or so. So even when I had Michelle settled down, the other baby would cry and wake her up and then she'd be crying. Even when both babies were miraculously silent for 5 minutes, the father of the baby snored all night. I was in hell. Plus, I like my privacy. Especially when I'm trying to nurse my baby. People kept moving the curtain and I wouldn't be able to get up to pull it back across so people could just saunter by and see me in my bed. I was so frustrated.

The food situation wasn't much better. It was pretty awful. I ordered chicken on a kaiser and they gave me a hamburger. I ordered a banana and they gave me apple sauce. I guess placing the order was merely a wish/suggestion and they just substituted whatever they had in that category.

The hospital must have been pretty hard up because they didn't even have supplies for the baby. The nurse was relieved that I had brought my own diapers, baby wash, lotion etc.

By the next day I was fit to be tied. I begged my doctor to let me go home. She said there was a series of tests that they had to perform at the 24 hour mark but if all was OK then I could leave after that. Thank God. I couldn't wait to get out of there. One much more helpful nurse taught me the proper technique for breastfeeding. It felt like kind of an awkward position. I really didn't like any of the positions I'd been shown. None of them felt natural. My baby was much more powerful than I expected. It felt like she had teeth! My nipples were raw! My sister explained that it does hurt in the beginning but your nipples toughen up and get used to it (like getting calluses on your fingers when you're learning to play guitar, only much more painful!) The nurse commented about the baby's suction power. I joked that her father had been a vampire, so maybe it was partly inherited. "Be careful when her teeth come in!" she warned.

After they'd done the tests and everything was fine I was so relieved to be given the OK to go home. My mother had said it's terrible how the hospital kicks you out after only a day now. They used to keep you in for a week. I said I'd never survive a week. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I couldn't wait to get home and get some sleep.

Not that I would get a lot of sleep. The first day home was difficult. The baby barely slept at all. I tried to feed her and my nipples looked like a war zone.My baby literally drew blood. I would do anything, go through anything for her, but I was feeling overwhelmed. It was so much harder than I thought.

Luckily after a rough first couple of days, I started to get into my groove. She actually sleeps a little now and I've managed to catch some sleep. I've been wanting to write a new post but never had the time or energy. Now it's been a week since I had her.

I love her so much. I can't even explain it. I am mesmerized by her. There are times I just lay next to her and stare at her in awe. She's like an angel. She smiles. When I say I love you or touch her cheek she gets this beautiful adorable smile (someday I'll actually capture it with my camera! I'm determined!) They say that babies don't smile that early and that it's just gas but I don't buy it. My baby smiles. And she said Mama on her first day (in the midst of her crying, she very distinctly said "Mama." My Mom heard it too. Of course it was probably coincidence. Or maybe she's a genius. When I recite Goodnight Moon or sing her the lullabies I've been singing to her for months in utero, she does calm down, she gets a look on her face of recognition. On some level maybe she remembers, she realizes I was that voice all those months before she came out. I'm her Mama. I love her more than anything and I'd do anything for her.

I didn't know what pain was until I went through labour.

I didn't know what love was until I looked into my baby's eyes.

Welcome to the world, Michelle! It's been quite an adventure so far, for both of us, and I know there is much more to come.

You and me, little girl!

xo

Labour of Love

July is sneaking up on me. I kept telling myself I had plenty of time before the big day but we're into April now. I'm almost into my third trimester. And I'm scared to death.

A creature of habit (and admittedly, a bit of a control freak) I've always had a hard time dealing with change. This is by far the biggest change in my life, EVER. This is a new life, a new me, a future that I never expected. Physically, emotionally and in so many ways, I have already changed so much. My lifestyle bears no resemblance to what it was. I can't do the things I used to. My priorities and dreams have changed so things that used to seem important don't matter so much now. The flat tummy I worked so hard to achieve last year is now turning into a beach ball. No matter what, even when I feel emotional, exhausted, stressed, out of breath, with swollen feet, numb legs and a belly that feels like it may burst, I know that it's all worth it. The baby is worth it.



My 25 week belly



My pre-pregnancy belly



The biggest metamorphosis of all is coming. Sometimes it's overwhelming. This isn't something I ever imagined for myself. Now it's happening and the closer I get to the day, the more the reality of it starts to sink in. Any milestone in life -- embarking on a new relationship, moving to a new home, starting a new job -- brings with it a mixture of excitement and fear of the unknown. Having a baby is so far beyond any of that. Life as I've known it is going to change completely. I am going to be a Mom. I am bringing another person into this world and it is up to me to make sure that she has the best life possible, that she has everything she needs, that she grows up healthy, happy and lives to her full potential. Talk about pressure! An enormous responsibility. And if that isn't scary enough, then of course there is the fear of actually bringing the baby into the world -- the pain of labour and delivery. A terrifying prospect for someone like me!

I'm not a fan of pain and I have a phobia of blood, needles, hospitals -- anything that might involve pain. I'm a huge wimp. I faint when I get a needle. Every. single. time. It's embarassing. It runs in the family. My father is squeamish and turns green at the sight of blood or a needle. My sister and nephew inherited it too. I can even "hear" about something (if I read something or if someone goes into a little too much detail about a medical problem, blood, pain, surgery, etc) and start to feel lightheaded. I have a vivid imagination and am so sensitive, so sympathetic to the pain of someone else that it's like it's happening to me. I turn my head away at the gross parts in movies. I can't bear to watch, even when I know it's not real. Of course it's that much worse to see or hear about someone in pain when it is real. I fainted in church every Good Friday hearing about Jesus being nailed to the cross. Obviously there are people who aren't grossed out by anything. Doctors, paramedics, morticians. I have a cousin who not only loves gory movies but enjoys watching real life surgeries, etc. She even watched a videotape of a friend's surgery without flinching. I can't imagine it.

I've read enough about it and seen it depicted in enough movies to know that labour is a world of pain. I picture the scenes of shrieking women, moaning, screaming and writhing as they struggle to get the baby out. It's like an exorcism. Whether it was a drama or a comedy, those scenes have always frightened me. I didn't plan to have kids (subconsciously maybe half the reason was to avoid the pain!) so I never thought it would be me on that table screaming. Now here I am counting down to July 23rd when it will be my turn. How on Earth will I get through this?!

The last time I had a needle was at my first doctor's appointment in November to confirm I was pregnant and to check that I was healthy. I warned the nurse (as I always have to warn them) that I was a fainter. She just shook her head. "Afraid of a little needle? Honey once you go through labour, you'll find needles are a piece of cake. It'll toughen you up. You lose your dignity. More people see your cooch than you ever thought possible. And you don't even care anymore."

Somehow her down-to-earth perspective was comforting. I'd never heard anyone use the word "cooch" before. I cracked a smile. It almost distracted me from what was coming. My worst fear. The dreaded needle. She was very encouraging and tried to coach me through it. "You won't faint," she assured me, "Relax. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth." Following her instructions seemed to help a little. The needle was in and it hurt but I just kept breathing through it and tried not to think about it. "Mind over matter," I thought, "You've got this. Piece of cake. Breathe in. Breathe out." Maybe I was getting stronger. Maybe this would be the first time I wouldn't faint like a dork. Or maybe not...

"There you go! You did great. We're done," she said.

I was done, all right. Despite her encouragement, all the familiar feelings came flooding back. There was a ringing in my ears. My vision was fading. Everything went sparkly and yellow. I felt light-headed. I was sweating. The room was spinning. My legs were buckling. "Oh dear. Sorry. I need to lie down." I took off my sweater and lay down waiting for the feeling to pass. I felt as though I'd disappointed her. It was so embarrassing. I couldn't even deal with a little needle and I was going to give birth in 9 months? I drank some water. She gave me a cold damp cloth for my forehead. I kept breathing like she had told me. After a couple of minutes, I started to feel OK. This time wasn't actually as bad as usual. The time before this, when I went for a needle a year previous, had been the worst. I fainted of course, as always but it took a long time for me to come out of it. Maybe because I wasn't allowed to eat before that blood test. I'm borderline anemic with low blood pressure, so going without food and then losing blood, on top of my fear and phobia, is a recipe for disaster. When I finally thought I was OK, (I couldn't lay there all day) I got up, left the building and started to drive home. Then suddenly, in the middle of heavy traffic, I started to black out behind the wheel. Not good. It was terrifying. I could barely see. Luckily I didn't have far to go. Just one more traffic light. Two more right turns...I made it home alive. I collapsed on the couch in tears and swore I would NEVER subject myself to another needle as long as I lived. Little did I know I'd be pregnant a year later and have no choice.



So, understandably, labour will be the scariest thing I have ever had to face. It's called labour for a reason. You just know it's going to be hard work! Delivery doesn't seem a very appropriate term to me though. I picture a guy at the door with a pizza. If only it were that easy! 30 minutes or it's free! The whole thing sounds like science fiction to me. It still boggles my mind that it's physically possible and that women have been doing it for thousands of years. It just sounds far-fetched. It's like someone telling you you're going to pass an apple through your left nostril in a few months. Sure. Could happen. For a control freak, it's tough not knowing what to expect. Yes I have read about everything that could go right and everything that might go wrong. I've talked to friends and acquaintances who have had children and every story is unique. Some endured a long difficult labour lasting more than 24 hours! (Dear God, I wouldn't want to do something that I ENJOYED for 24 hours let alone be in pain that long!) Others had a relatively quick and easy birth. One friend I talked to apparently had each of her three kids in less than an hour! Popping them out like a Pez dispenser! If only I could be so lucky. Some can't deliver safely and have to have their babies by Caesarian section. Some go into labour early and have premature babies. Some go longer than 10 months and have to be induced. Some have their water break, others don't. Every story is different. There is no certainty. You just don't know until the time comes how it's going to go. One close friend I knew rushed to the hospital to find she was only a centimetre or two dilated and was sent back home, a few times. Another nearly didn't make it to the hospital in time. She was 10 centimetres dilated already! They had to run and grab a doctor to catch the baby.

I hope I have a quick and easy labour but if my periods were any indication, I may be in for a rough time. Some lucky women never get menstrual cramps. Then there are poor schleps like me who suffered from excruciating cramps every three weeks. Sometimes it was so bad I'd be on the toilet for hours, gripped by waves of pain and a burning through my intestines like molten lava. One time I even started making out my will on the toilet. I read that Catholic girls tend to have worse cramps. Something about all that Catholic guilt. We try so hard to be nice girls, we're a little too uptight. Sounds about right. The doctor gave me muscle relaxants that helped ease the pain. I guess the key was to loosen up, literally. My concern is that if I went through that much pain every month just from a little blood flow, then how, in the name of all that is holy, am I supposed to pass a kid through there?! I still can't imagine it. It seems physically impossible. I've done the math. I know it stretches, but I still have a hard time seeing how anyone survives the ordeal. Still, they must, or none of us would be here, the human race would cease to exist!

One thing is for certain. I'm getting the epidural! No question. I told my doctor on my second visit to her after it was confirmed that I was pregnant. She laughed. As much as I hate needles (and as terrifying as a gigantic one injected into my spine might be) it's a necessary evil to numb the pain down there. I can't take any chances. I'm going to need all the help I can get. My sister had a natural childbirth for her first and it sounded like a horror movie. I'm not going there. I am not strong. I am not brave. The less it hurts, the better! Another certainty is that I want my sister and my Mom to be there with me when I deliver. They have been so supportive I don't know what I would do without them. Knowing that they survived this (my mother four times and my sister three times) is encouraging. They will help me through it. The original plan (when it seemed like my ex, the monster, was going to be sticking around) was to have the baby's father in the delivery room with me. He is not the squeamish type at all. In fact he can't get enough blood and gore. The horror movie scenes that made me cringe and turn away had him leaning in for a closer look. He probably would have delighted in my torment, watching the whole ordeal in macabre fascination. He'd probably want to pull up a chair, crunch on popcorn and enjoy the show. It's for the best that he's not around. I need someone with me who will be sensitive, sympathetic, supportive, caring. Someone who has been through it and survived.

I don't know what my labour experience will be like. Maybe I'll be one of the lucky ones and deliver my baby faster than a pizza! Miracles can happen. People try to tell me that you forget the pain anyway. I don't see how you could but women must on some level because a lot of them have more than one child which means they willingly subjected themselves to labour again and again, even knowing what it was like. So that's a good sign. Every painful experience you go through, every severe test, every time you stare fear in the face and survive it, you grow as a person. You become more powerful, more resilient. It stretches you. You become more than you thought you could be. You transform. From caterpillar to butterfly.

My sister used to be afraid of needles before she had kids. She's over it now. Maybe I'll get to that point too. Maybe after this experience, anything else in life will be a cakewalk.

The bottom line is that no matter how long it takes and no matter how hard it is, the end reward is well worth it -- to bring my baby into the world. It is a miracle. A gift. The most powerful experience a human being can have. It is a labour of love.