The Work In Progress: Month 0

Dear Sophie,

This month, you were born. Well, not really, but I just got this idea that I should write you a letter every month to let you know how much I love you, yada yada, and just let you know in general what's been goin' on, and then publish it in a blog that I used to keep regularly but has been defunct for some time so that all of the internet world could peruse it. Yep, that's about it.

So anyway, this month you were born. Your birth was a pretty huge event, 'cause your Dad and I haven't ever had a baby before (duh). We waited and waited and waited and waited and finally the Dr. said 'Enough already, I'm gonna give you some drugs and we'll MAKE that baby come out!' So, that's what we did.

On Friday, May 30, Carlos and I got up really really early, and went to Bob Evans for a 6am breakfast. They said that after I got to the hospital, I wouldn't be allowed to eat anything, so I felt that a ginormous breakfast was necessary. Then we went to the Virginia Hospital Center in Arlington at 7am and awaited the making-the-baby-come Cytotec.

So anyway, I had this lovely idea in my head that I am strong, I am Woman, hear me roar! and that all the breathing and stuff would get me through labor. No epi for me, no way. Women have been doing this for years. Centuries even. Since the beginning of... well... we'll have the creation v. evolution talk later. Carlos was going to be a great supporter and labor coach and we were going to do this together.

That was, until the Dr. broke my water. Then, all bets were off.

Nearing 4am (the next day), the Dr. announced that what she had warned us of all along was now an actuality. You refused to turn over. See, babies are supposed to be facing the mother's spine when they begin to traverse the birth canal. You, however, were stubbornly facing right. And would not budge. Which meant that you were repeatedly banging your poor little head against my pelvis instead of going straight through. You were, in a word, stuck.