Shock and Awe

The Kid will be one year old this week. I can't believe how fast these last twelve months have gone by. She's been into everything lately; if it will stay still long enough, she'll try to run and get it. She wrestles the dogs, opens up every door and drawer she can get to, and lately, trying to run away from me when I try to take something out her hands. It kinda makes me pine for the days she was tiny and just laid there... and cried , alot. So maybe not, but I did start to think about the day she was born.

Actually, it all started the Tuesday night before. It was about 5 o'clock at night and I was helping my mom make dinner. I had been feeling good all week, but I was pretty sure this baby was going to show up sooner rather than later. My due date wasn't for another week, but seeing as I was 200lbs and measuring at 42 weeks, I had better have this baby soon. All of a sudden I felt bad. Real bad. Like 'Get outta my way so I can get to the bathroom'-bad. After about an hour of getting up and down I thought I better call a medical professional; so I called my cousin, the nurse. I told her what was going on. "Do you think I'm in labor?" I asked "Because it really feels like it". "Well, personally, I never went into labor because of the C-Section so it was awesome, but it sounds like you are. Let me get a second opinion. HEY!" and then she proceeded to yell at her sister in law, who is also a nurse. "She says yep. Have you called the hospital?" "Not yet" I reply "My water hasn't broke, so I'm just gonna ride it out.". "Umm, O kay... let me know how that turns out." So there I was, doubting myself. About 8 o'clock I finally called the hospital. I basically had the same exact conversation with the on-call doctor, so I decided to go home and try to get some sleep, I had a doctor's appointment the next morning, after all.
The next morning, I got up and got ready to go to the doctor's office. The drive there was the longest one ever, and so was the wait. When the nurse called me back, the first thing she said was "Umm, how are you feeling?" "Like I'm gonna have a baby" I reply. She took me back and got my weight and blood pressure and after seeing all that she let me lie down. Thank God. I had been up all night watching BBCAmerica. How can there not be one episode of Doctor Who on when you really need it? Seriously! Anyway, when my doctor came in she confirmed it. "Yep, we'll have a baby today! Let me call over and get you admitted and we can go on over and get you started." Sweet relief. "Sweet!" I reply "Ok. I'll go to the car and get my bag. Do I need to meet you in admitting or..." She actually looked shocked. "Oh no! We'll take you over there in a wheelchair. Don't worry and just hang tight. I'll get the girl to come get you."
Now, I'm thinking this girl better be named 'Helga' and be an Olympic wrestling champ for the former Soviet Union. You know, someone who has the upper body strength to push a 200lb girl to labor and delivery. About the time I've gotten a really good picture of this hoss of a woman in my head, I hear a faint knock on the door. In walks a small girl. "Are you ready to go?" She says. This was not the 'Helga' I pictured. This poor girl is about 5'1 and probably weighs about 98lbs soaking wet. Poor thing. I load up in the chair and off we go. Ready to have a baby.

Fast forward a few hours and I'm really in labor. I had decided even before I got pregnant that I would have a natural childbirth. But, after a few hours of excruciating pain, I wussed out. The drug lady came in and stuck that huge needle in my back. 'Perfect' I thought, but it was far from that. After a few more hours, it was evident God has a sense of humor; my epidural did not work. At all. I was determined though. Determined to get this kid out before sundown, determined not to make a peep while pushing out this humongous baby and determined not to puke. Oh wait, I just puked. Right at Bubba. Oh well, this was all his fault anyway.
At about 7 o'clock my doctor comes in. "Let's take a look..." she says as she violates me without warning. "Great! We'll have a baby by 8!" Well awesome. Let's get this show on the road. 8 o'clock rolls around and The Kid has other plans. She decided that 8 wasn't going to work for her, so she turned. She was already doing things her way so, we're stuck. Family here, doctor here and The Kid decides she's not quite ready.
Then, my doctor and nurse have a great thought. Why don't I get on all fours with my bare ass in the air and rock back and forth to get this kid to turn? Seriously. But, by 9 o'clock, I was ready to try anything.
After 45 minutes of acting like a cat in heat, she was right where she needed to be so I could start the fun task of pushing.

At 10:20 pm on a Wednesday, The Kid  made her official debut. At 8lbs 3oz and 20 3/4 in long, she was perfect. Bubba got to take her down to the nursery so the nurses could do their thing and clean her up. He was such a proud daddy. He came back and told me about the nurses telling him that she was the prettiest red-headed baby they'd ever seen, and about what all the family had to say and then he stoppped and looked at me. "You know, I have never seen someone in so much pain in my entire life, and you didn't even make a noise. I'm so proud of you. But, holding your leg... I saw alot more than I wanted to see." Well, you're welcome.

Now,after a year of Colic, crying (baby and mommy), sleepless nights, first smiles and giggles, crawling, talking and first steps sometimes I'm surprised we've survived, but it's been an adventure. A really fun adventure I'm not ready to do again... quite yet.

Work Out

While I was pregnant with The Kid, I got big. I mean huge. Like almost twice my weight huge. So I promised myself that I would lose it all after I had her. I was not going to be one of those mothers I saw at the grocery store: haggard, tired, wearing her husband's sweatsuit while their kids were dressed in the newest Gymboree. Not me. I was gonna be the "are you her babysitter?" mom. But, like many good ideas, this one got lost by the wayside. To my defense, I was busy. I worked and took care of a baby (who I breastfed and co-slept with, so there.) And I never, ever, went out of the house without make-up or in a sweatsuit. (Full disclosure though; I did go out in a velour sweatsuit once, for like 30 minutes, but I wore sunglasses and a ball cap so I looked more like a hung-over celebrity than a new mom who hasn't slept in three days.)
So, since The Kid is almost a year old, I decided that it is unacceptable for me to look like I've just had a baby. It's not that I'm overweight. I'm a good weight for someone who's 6 foot tall. But my problem is that I'm 5'4. And since it's impossible to find good quality human growth hormone outside of major league baseball, I decided I would work out. 'I'll hit it hard and work off this huge ass.' I thought. How better to do that than with one of those ever-popular work out videos. I was a moron to think this, but I didn't know that yet.
In an effort to work it off real fast, I decided to try P90X. From the infomercial it looked like exactly what I needed; an ass-kicking. Sweet. I was ready to bust it out, but what it really did was bust me. I should have known there was going to be problems when there's a disclaimer at the beginning that says "You must meet minimum physical requirements". What does that even mean? I didn't know and was too lazy to find out. What I did find out , after two days of sore everything and a lot of dry heaving, was that I definitely did not meet the 'minimum physical requirements'. For your information, these 'requirements' are probably that you can run a five minute mile and be an ex-marine. All I did was push out a 8lb 3oz baby with no working epidural. I was a wimp, but I wasn't giving up that easy.
Since I can't bench press 120lbs, I'm gonna do it the hard way; with diet and exercise. I know, those two words make me shudder too.
"How has it gone?" you may ask. Well, the first week I thought I was going to die of a heart attack (and of lack of fat and sugar), but I made it. I'm three weeks into it now and I go out running/walking 3.3 miles every day and have cut down my food intake by, well, alot. I've actually lost weight (gasp!). So, 'Yay Me!'. I say I deserve a cupcake... or three.