Remember these things: June 2015

I am filled with the spirits of affection, as my mother used to say.

John Daniel Thomsen was born April 11 at 5:27 pm, weighing 7.13 pounds.

I had heard countless times that second babies usually come quicker than the first. John was no exception, and it turns out this is the first of many things he has done differently from his brother.

John was due April 7, and whoever told me the cruelest thing doctors do is give pregnant women a due date was right. My mental calendar ran out on the 7th. For those next four days, I was certain every hiccup was the beginning of labor. I was afraid to call anyone for fear of it being mistaken as The Call. I packed my hospital bag fuller and fuller.

Mild contractions did finally begin Friday night, but I was too afraid of crying wolf to say anything. (Maybe if I kept quiet they'd really start!) I slept through the night, and by 9 am on Saturday the contractions were painful but still ten minutes apart. Will was at Grandma's, so I bounced on the exercise ball, tried to watch a movie, and mentally determined that I would not call the doctor until the contractions were closer. This was after all my second time at this -- I knew the ropes.

By around 2 pm, the contractions quickly picked up speed. I called the doctor on call, and he said I could come on to the hospital and get checked. (I remember thinking this last time, but there ought to be a siren or a flag or something you hang out your car window when you're headed to the hospital in labor. Red lights and labor pains don't mix.)

We got to Rex and were in a room by 3:30. As planned, the first thing I did was ask for the epidural. And could she rush it?

We need to check you first, said Peggy the nurse. I bet you're 9cm.

To which I said, No way. Other women get to the hospital at 9cm. Not me. Just get me my epidural, and we'll all be fine.

Wouldn't you know, I was 9cm.

I've never felt such a feeling of pride and horror at the same time.

I can still have the epidural, right?!

Dear nurse Peggy rushed like her pants were on fire to get me the blessed epidural. The anesthesiologist walked in the room, did his job, and I waited for the relief.

And waited.

Peggy put an ice pack on my leg: Do you feel this?

Oh how I wished I didn't.

Dear nurse Peggy called the anesthesiologist back, and the moment he darkened the door, baby John started making his way. I can still see that doctor out of the corner of my eye make a 180 degree turn and leave the room. No use for him anymore.

I seriously have to do this without pain meds!?!

Oh dear nurse Peggy and Dr. Alvarez. Doctors and nurses, for all of their medical skills and knowledge, are first and foremost cheerleaders. Or they should be. Those two were.

A few moments into it, the thought hit me: I don't have a choice. I have to do this. Let's just get it over with!

And fifteen minutes later, John was born.