October 20, 2013

My muscles are like an accordion, cramping and expanding at a rapid rate. My stomach convulses as my cheeks flush with agony. Sheer agony.

I grip the bed railing with my right hand, burning, throbbing red from clenching my fist. I roll on my left side, my legs twitching as they bend up toward my chest. My husband wipes the sweat from my forehead as he stands nearby. His eyes say, "I wish I wasn't so helpless," but his teeth say "I'm glad I'm not the one in labor," as he bites his bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. Sheer agony.

"I'd like that epidural now," I whisper.

Having kids was never on my radar even though religiously, I knew God commanded to multiply and replenish the earth. I used to say "the only way I'm ever having kids is by accident." Ask and ye shall receive.

Nine months ago I took the pregnancy test in a high school bathroom. The high school where I taught, mind you, not where I attended. Not that unplanned. Married for less than a year. People were like "oh, so this was a surprise huh?"... Not really. I mean, we know how this works. I took Biology. Not planned, but not prevented.

I told my husband on Valentine's Day. Gave him all of his gifts then made him watch a video, the end of which revealed the big news. I expected... I don't know what I expected. Tears? No. Elation? Maybe. When the video ended, his eyes glossed over. "Seriously? ... Crap ... We need to buy a house." He was right. Our one bedroom condo wasn't ideal for starting a family. Here I was thinking my biggest worry was getting fat. He was always so practical.

Boredom. Complete boredom. Twenty hours since those wretched nurses induced this labor. Eight hours since that gorgeous anesthesiologist made my body numb. Still not dilated. Water not broken. Can't eat. Can't sleep, comfortably. Spine on a very short drip. Can't get up.

Catheter.

Mom eyeing her watch like she's the one stuck to the bed, as she eats her KFC right in front of me. I can smell it. Extra crispy.

"Can I get some water please?" ... "How much longer?"

I hated going to the doctor. As one plagued by anxiety, doctor's appointments were in my top three heart-attack inducing events, just after swimming in the shark-infested ocean and speaking in public. Now, to have to go every month? Every week? Spread eagle for a stranger to poke around in places... well, there's a reason they're called your privates, you know?

And then, the nausea. The "morning sickness" that lasted morning, noon, and night for three months. I ate nothing but fruit and chicken broth. I couldn't sleep. My hips were separating. Literally, moving apart. Bones... widening. The sound was enough to keep me up at night. One night my husband awoke to sobs and coughs from a heavy chest.

"What's wrong?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"I can't do this" I sighed. He put his arm around me, kissed the back of my neck, then fell back asleep.

What did I get myself into?

Twenty-six hours of labor, twenty-six minutes of pushing. Of screaming. Then, my screaming stops ... and hers begins.

The doctor visits, blood tests, financial stresses, apprehensive tears and pity parties disappear. I blink and there is an angel on my chest, squirming and crying and majestic. A goddess, exquisitely glowing with the aura of heaven. Her new voice echoes into eternity and tears fall from my eyes like rain on a fire, extinguishing the pain, heartache, doubts, and fears of the last nine months. That time washes away, those emotions belonging now to memory.

My heart clamors out of my chest, leaping toward this beautiful baby girl, clasping hold of her tiny heart and vowing to never let go. Suddenly and all at once, I am whole. Spaces in my soul that I did not know existed are filled. Overflowing. Who was that woman so selfishly concerned about her weight? Who was that person overwhelmed by hesitation and worry? Certainly not me. That person who dreaded having children, who knew nothing of the breathtaking love, the selfless concern, and the celestial adoration one could feel for their child ... That is not me any longer. Who am I now? Now, looking into the eyes of my greatest gift, my greatest joy... Now, I am a mother.