Pals, as this is my third kid’s birth story, I thought I’d employ the technique of telling the tale in anecdote form. It’ll also be much more linear than anything my post-op drugged mind could otherwise manage.
You’re welcome.
December 19th, 2013:
-I got roughly three hours of sleep the night before, what with anxiety, last minute stuff, and positively abdomen-crushing Braxton Hicks cramps. (But not labor, ha ha! Just fake labor!)
-The surgery was originally scheduled for 2:30pm (meaning I’d have to stop eating by 5am- early breakfast, woot!), but was pushed up to 1pm. I was totally stoked. Until I realized that meant I’d need to fast from midnight on- unless I wanted to eat breakfast at 3am. Which- see above- might actually have worked out. But I didn’t. Leaving me incredibly thirsty by the time we left for the hospital at 10am. On my way to the car, I actually scooped a fingerful of backyard snow onto my tongue and just left it there. Yeah, I’m sure I was a downright joy that morning.
-My anesthesiologist, upon entering my room, actually prompted a mental “Oh COME ON” on behalf of P.J. that could kinda be heard down the block: the dude who administered my spinal was ridiculously attractive. Like a surfer dude with puppy dog eyes. I’m surprised P.J. didn’t crick his neck, what with his eyes rolling back that hard. (For my part, I was all “Why yes, doctor. Personal questions? I have all the time in the world. Sit right here beside me.”) It’s the little things that make a difference, people.
-Guess what? The c-section wasn’t that bad. It honestly wasn’t. Maybe it’s the fact that it was my third (a friend likened it to me going in for an oil change at this point), or perhaps it was because a chisel to the ear drum would’ve felt better than what was going on in my lower uterine region…but I was more than ready to waltz [waddle] into that O.R., find my happy place during the prep (okay, I noticeably stared at my anesthesiologist), and meet my last little Roo.
-We knew it was gonna be a girl. Not really, but we knew. Even on the drive down Lake Shore Drive, we placed our final bets: Girl. (“Which totally means it’s gonna be a boy, ha HA,” we laughed.) So when P.J. peeked over the surgical curtain to tell me what we had…and paused…and stared…and laughed…I knew something crazy was about to go down.
“It’s a boy.”
P.J. laughed a rather delirious laugh, then he whispered in the absolute sweetest way I’ve ever heard: “It’s Jasper.”
And then he teared up, still softly laughing.
So I began to laugh and bawl and shake- because, you know, spinal drugs are really frickin’ trippy- and then watched as they weighed and cleaned my son (P.J.: We have a SON!) across the room.
Eight pounds even. Exactly twenty inches. A crazy head full of jet black hair. A 9 on the Apgar. And a beautiful shriek that could shatter glass.
P.J. brought him to my face and even in my fuzzy, twitchy state of mind, I could tell that this little guy- Jasper Callahan- was utter awesomeness.
(Both of these pix courtesy of Bella Baby. My word, I love them.)
The next morning, his sisters vehemently agreed. (So did my parents and aunt- but they weren’t the ones trying to wrap blankets around his extremities and hand him everything not tied down, now were they?)
“Let’s put this on his head!” “No, THIS!” “Okay!”
And now we’re home with our daughters, I’m no longer pregnant, and I’m totally in love with a short, dark man who thinks I’m the bee’s knees. (My husband’s more than cool with it- I’m pretty sure he’s crushing on the guy, too.)
This is totally the best Christmas I’ve ever had in my life.
Happy Holidays, friends- see you in 2014.
Love,
Keely, P.J., Nora, Susannah & Jasper
(Oh my God, that’s so many people!)
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