A year ago yesterday, my little girl made her earthly debut. I can't tell you exactly what time though, and, because of that, I'm worried I'm already starting to forget important moments about my pregnancy and her birth.
I can tell you it was after 11:11 a.m.. I had an unplanned C-section... one I really did not want. So, I was making myself feel better about our decision to evict Zuul, Alien's style, not with the normal justifications of "for our baby's health", but because I figured, if I had to have one, it would be cool if she was born at 11:11.
There's a theme to this. Let me back up a moment.
August 27th, 2011: I was a little late by the time my birthday rolled around. I'm never late. In fact, I could narrow it down to the hour shark week would commence. This is not an exaggeration. We all have hidden talents and mine is the ability to predict menstruation.
Never one to be irresponsible, and also one to obsess to the point of anxiety induced insomnia, by 3:00 a.m. I had decided that I would head over to the pharmacy on the way back from Ghost's morning walk and pick up some pregnancy tests. I actually managed to hold my morning pee the entire walk, stop at the store and return home, even though the package told me it wasn't necessary. But, as an obsessively responsible individual, I needed to be sure. So, it hurt a little when I peed on a stick.
Minutes later it would come up positive. Guess I won't be drinking. Happy birthday?
That was a Saturday, so first thing Monday morning, I made my responsible trip to the doctor to confirm pregnancy, but by this time, I already had an app that estimated a due date of May 5th, 2012. Fuck yeah! Cinco de Mayo birthday! I know better and remind myself that it's just an estimate, but my doctor ruined my optimism for my Mexican drunken holiday baby dreams by estimating a May 7th due date.
Haters be hatin'. I was having either a Jedi baby on May 4th, or my little Mexican Pride baby on May 5th. My doctor could suck it.
Despite a couple of migraines, my 1st trimester went off without a hitch. We opted against finding out the sex of the baby just to troll friends and family. The rest of my pregnancy was easy breezy.
May 4th passes without even a contraction. There was no Jedi mind tricking to be done here. Bummer. May 5th was equally disappointing, despite a couple of days of walking while eating spicy foods and trying to induce orgasm --- my best efforts between extreme irritability and fatigue. Just as well. Despite my Mexican lineage, her father's is French, so celebrating Cinco de Mayo is done quietly on my end while Subversive Dad mourns the loss of Puebla.
Nobody knows my geeky fandemoniums like my Twitter peeps, so, come Sunday, May 6th, we were joking about how ironic it would be if I went into labour during Game of Thrones. I kid you not, my first hard contraction came during the intro theme music. If I remember correctly, it was even the episode where Davos saw The Red Woman queef a demon. Mother of Dragon's, this baby will have to wait until the show's over!
And she did. My contractions were too far spaced and inconsistent in their intensity to say I was in pre-labour. Figures.
I got to sleep relatively well. The contractions came and went, but subsided enough for me to get a good night's rest. By the time Subversive Dad's alarm went off, they picked up again, but nothing to get excited about. Still the ever anxious first time dad, he asked if it would be ok to go to work. I said walk the dog and get ready and we'll play it by ear. He walked Ghost to our local branch of the giant green-logo coffee company, where the baristas asked if there was a baby yet, when I called his cell to let him know my water broke, and, with it, my first complication. Meconium. I'll save you all that don't know what meconium is the google search. She shit in my uterus. Not even out yet and she's already grounded.
I won't bore you with the details from here on out, because it's pretty typical. While my birth preferences leaned towards not having a c-section or an epidural, (Subversive Dad fainted when the needle went in my spine which was just the moment of levity I desperately needed) it had been 24 hours since my water broke and I was refusing to dilate further than 3-5 cm. Not wanting Zuul to be harmed from swimming in her feces, she came out of the emergency hatch.
The first few months are always tough for new parents, but Zuul really was an easy baby. And now, in a flash, she's a toddler.
So, Happy Birthday, Zuul! Stay sweet and the sleepless nights and poosplosions will be forgiven, but shitting inside me has scarred our relationship, I'm afraid.
Happy Birthday, Zuul. And congratulations to you.
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