...I woke up at 2:30 a.m. and knew I was in labor. Sure, I was still bitter about that one nurse sending me home the day before, but I had to admit that THIS was the real show.
I woke Eric up, because misery really does love company. He suggested I relax in the shower awhile--that seemed to help when I was in labor with Abby--and then he made me a fire and brought out my favorite rocking chair (that I got from my mother-in-law, Joni, when Abby was born--it used to be her grandparents' and sat on their front porch. I love that sort of thing). After my shower, I sat and rocked. And rocked. And breathed through my contractions. And then rocked some more.
Eric called Joni around 5:30 a.m.--she was "on call" for Abby Duty when the show came to town. It's helpful to be married to an Eagle Scout, by the way--those boys are always prepared.
Joni came over, laid on the couch for a while (well, it was 5:30) and then got Abby up and ready and off to school. At exactly 8 a.m., I called my midwife, Susan. I had an appointment that morning, except it was at 10:30 and I wasn't sure I could wait that long. She told me to come in to the office and we'd see what was up. And, as we'd hoped, what was up was that the baby was on her way. She told us to get ourselves to the hospital.
But first we took a little detour. I called Mom from the parking lot of a mini mart and told her that I'd been to the midwife and I was in active labor.
"So you're at the hospital now?" Mom asked.
"Well, no. Eric's getting me some Chap Stick."
This did not go over well. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but I was like, what? My lips are totally dry. I can't very well be expected to give birth with dry lips, can I?
I still don't know what all the fuss was about.
My mother has still not forgiven me.
It was a busy day in the maternity ward. Full moon. (I know, I know... but it was a full moon and it was packed, so you do the math.) Our nurse, Mary, was not even supposed to be working that day, but I'm so glad they called her in. Because she was AWESOME. She was soothing, and caring, and wonderful. She was the exact opposite of the nurse who'd been with us the day before, and actually, having Mary made me glad that I had been sent home after all.
Mom came to visit us at noon during her lunch break. My contractions were beginning to get stronger, although not more regular (well, why go for normal at that point?), and as she was leaving, I was having a good one. I told her so, but she claims that I said it in such a way--and was acting in such a way--that it was not obvious. Whatever. I guess I have a high pain threshold, plus I just figured everyone knew why I was in there, so why carry on about it?
After Mom left, I decided what I really wanted to do was take a hot shower. So Eric got me in there, and then all of a sudden, it became very obvious that it was a bad, bad idea. Because transitional labor! Had hit! I was like, get me out of here NOW. And then as he was trying to help me out, I was like, no, wait! He was all, but you just said... and I was all, I know, but. Give. Me. A. Minute.
So he did. Eric is a wonderful person to have with you in the delivery room. He lets you say and do whatever you want, even if it makes no sense. (Actually, this is representative of our life in general, now that I think about it.)
And when I finally got out of the shower (that was a crappy ten minutes, I tell you what) and Susan was there!
"Let's have a baby," she said. I was all for that plan.
To break it all down for you, I had 45 minutes of transitional labor, pushed for 15, and then... Johanna! All 6 pounds, 9.5 ounces of her. Maybe it's because I'd had a baby before, but anyway, Susan let me push whenever the heck I wanted, which sped things up quite a bit, not to mention that Johanna was 2 pounds lighter and 1 inch shorter than her big sister.
And then the round of phone calls began. Eric called Mom at work and asked if she wanted to come meet her new granddaughter. She was like, what? There is no way that baby is here already. And Eric was all, well, things happened fast after you left.
My in-laws picked Abby up from school and brought her to the hospital. My parents met them there, and they all came in together.
When I saw Abby, I started to cry. I couldn't help it. It was just so damn emotional. My two girls. I wasn't sure we'd ever be in that position as a family, and there we were. The four of us. We were finally complete.
Abby was very, very happy to see her sister, but she wondered: Would the baby speak English or Spanish? I said probably she would speak English, since that's what we speak at home.
(The joke was on us, though. Johanna spoke what appeared to be Russian for the first three years of her life. She knew what she was saying. It was just the rest of us who couldn't figure it out.)
Mary let Abby wash Johanna, and get her dressed and weighed and measured and whatever else it is they do to babies. Abby felt very special and important. Like I said, Mary was awesome. I thanked her profusely for being there, and being with us, and helping us so much. She was a gift.
We finally got moved to our "regular room" and got situated for the night. We had one last group of visitors--Eric's brother Bub, wife Elaine and boys Cody and Kam. Kam really wanted to see Johanna ON HER BIRTHDAY--he'd only been two when Abby was born, and had no memory of that, and just really wanted to come to the hospital. And I think Johanna totally knew Kam was behind that whole scheme, because to this day she loves Her Kameron with her whole heart.
And now, it's seven years later. My baby went to school this morning in her favorite outfit--her 5k t-shirt with our names on the back and a pair of cammo leggings. She brought cheese sticks and crackers for a special snack to share with her class, as well as a Santa Gram for everyone.
She requested hot dogs for dinner, so I got those together before I went to work today (I made wiener wraps... it's just easier when you have to make your own buns. Oh, and Painted Hills has a natural hot dog that I can actually eat, not that I could eat one every day, but on special occasions such as this, I'm so glad that's an option). When I came home, she was already dressed for her winter concert--Grandma let her "borrow" one of her Christmas presents for the occasion--and looked absolutely adorable. We had dinner, we hung out for a while--she decided she wanted to wait to open her presents until after the program--and then went to the school.
Johanna was very serious about how this was supposed to all play out. The children were going to their classrooms to work on a project until the show started. Afterwards, we could pick her up in her classroom.
I tell you what, she must pay attention in class, because I could almost hear her teacher speaking when Johanna was telling us the plan.
The concert was wonderful--K-2 performed tonight, and it was just darling. Cute songs, the kids were obviously having a great time, and it just FELT like a winter program.*
Johanna opened her presents before going to bed--she loved the Harry Potter Legos, or, specifically, Ginny. She got a video and book from Grandma and Grandpa W., and Stacey gave her a dry-erase board with neon crayons that Johanna cannot wait to use tomorrow "to practice writing my letters and doing math." Okay, then. (My parents had given her Tangled and a Hello Kitty Lego-ish set on Sunday, just in case I want to remember that in ten years.)
P.S. When Abby was in first grade, her winter concert was the night of Johanna's first birthday. It's unbelievable that was six years ago. Time goes too fast.
*Last year, our music teacher was insane. And that's putting it politely. The winter program consisted of Beatles songs, lots of free dancing under strobe lights, and bongos. I wish I was joking, but I am not. We have a new teacher this year, so. MUCH better experience!
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