We BOTH left in diapers.

Holy sh!t we are parents. We are now responsible for another person. A tiny terrorist who will basically hold us hostage for the rest of our lives. Joel and I are forever linked by blood now. He can't get rid of me now. After a grueling five week pregnancy and 29 hours of labor, we did it. Mostly me, but Joel was there too. The epidural that I'd fallen in love with wore off and it was time to move us to recovery. All I wanted was a bacon cheeseburger and to sleep for hours in my own bed. I wouldn't get that bacon cheeseburger until the next day and even though I'm back in my own bed, still to this day, I haven't slept for "hours". During the transition into our new room, Joel would not let go of Jordan. He even helped support her body while I breastfed her because I was shaking so bad from the pain and the epidural wearing off, I could barely hold her. He carried her to our recovery room in his arms and didn't want to ever put her down. He is still equally smitten with her to this day. Once we move to the recovery suite, its time to get down to business. I'm in so much pain and have no idea how to care for myself. We meet my favorite nurse. This woman singlehandedly saved my vagina. I will never forget you, Chandra.

Chandra gave me a couple pain pills that I initially didn't want to take. She read my chart and told me to trust her and take the pills. Joel agreed with her and told me it was time for me to stop being stubborn and to just take the damn pills. I am SO glad I listened. I can't imagine what the pain would have been like if I hadn't taken them, because it still hurt pretty damn bad with them. My dear Chandra introduced me to a "vagicare system" that would carry me through the entire healing process. She even managed to snag me a ton of extra supplies for me to take home. First step, liberally apply EpiFoam to three overlapping Tucks pads. Second, try not to cry as you apply that to your recently reconstructed lady parts. She used the words "slap them up there", but I installed them much more delicately. Thirdly, install a giant pad that goes from belly button to the top of your butt crack, followed by an ice pack about half that size. Lastly, put on the ever flattering disposable mesh undies to hold the various pieces of equipment in place. Repeat these steps every two hours and after every trip to the bathroom. I cried every time. I feared the bathroom.

I thought finally I could rest, maybe even take a nap. NOPE. Between the team of nurses coming in to check my vitals every few hours and the team of nurses coming in to run tests and check on Jordan every couple hours, I didn't get to sleep for more than an hour at a time. On top of that, the first real food I had was a hospital grade crap lunch including the worst turkey sandwich I'd ever had in my entire life, a granola bar, an apple and a bag of plain chips. I was tired, starving, in so much pain, cranky and miserable. I know poor Joel was feeling the same way. Except he had cookies, and his genitalia was intact.

Once again, Joel stepped up to the plate and throughout the next two days, he was incredible. I told him to go home and shower and get some sleep but he refused and insisted on camping out in the recliner next to my bed and Jordan's container. After we were settled in our room I asked Joel to change her diaper. Then he reminded me he had no idea how to do that. After a lot of laughs and Joel fumbling around, I successfully taught him how to change a diaper. He changed damn near every single one after that, meconium and all. He helped me out of bed and to the bathroom every single time. He helped me nurse Jordan at all hours of the night. He was my cheerleader. He also got me real food. I had my first experience with Potbelly Sandwiches during that hospital stay. He woke up every single time a doctor came in to check on me or Jordan. Watching him transform from just Joel to Jordan's Father in just 24 hours was an incredible sight to see. Joel was nothing short of incredible, to both of his girls.

Those two days and two nights were a blur. Between breastfeeding every two hours, the constant flow of Doctors, Nurses and Visitors, Joel and I were already exhausted and our parenting journey hadn't even really started yet. We are so f**ked already. In the blink of an eye, it was Sunday, August 6th. Discharge day for both of us. August 6th was also my 33rd birthday, one I'll never forget. Who needs presents or a party? I would be bringing home the greatest gift of all, our Daughter. 

But only if I pooped first. Yes you read that right. I needed to prove I could poop. The hospital will not let you leave until you take the most painful sh!t of your life. Thankfully, before my Mom left the hospital the day Jordan was born, she gave me the best advice she had ever given. LIE. Lie and tell the nurse that you pooped so you can go home. Thank you Mom. A million times over, thank you. Because that dreadful poop didn't come until the following Wednesday, where I experienced pain worse than labor. I'm sure you are looking forward to reading that blog later.

Jordan and I both left the hospital that day wearing a diaper. Joel did the typical Dad thing and fumbled around with the car seat doing some last minute strap adjustments. He then loaded both his girls into the car, and for the first time since she was born, the three of us were alone. Joel said it was the most terrifying drive of his entire life.

OH SH!T. Now what?

Joy and Pain

Joel walks back into the room holding our baby girl. He is sobbing. He looks at me, and mouths the words "she's perfect, I love you". My tattoo covered, heavy metal loving, tough guy fiancé, was sobbing. My heart still melts to this day when I think about that moment. She's already stolen his heart and has him wrapped around her tiny little fingers. She had all ten of them by the way. I finally caught my breath. My 6lb. 5oz, 19" baby girl was safely wrapped up in her Daddy's arms. Jordan Faris made the three of us a family on Friday, August 4, 2017 at 9:37am, 13 hours and 6 minutes after being officially admitted to the hospital and 29(ish) total hours of labor.

Oh but wait. This whole experience is far from over. I still have to deliver the placenta and they still have to put my lady bits back together to something resembling a vagina. Placentas are gross. One short push and the thing slithered out of me and made a splat sound as is fell into basin placed the bottom of my bed under my ass.  Joel accidentally looked at it when they were inspecting it to make sure it was intact, he said it looked like a "weird jellyfish".

The doctor and the midwife are at the bottom of my bed inspecting my vajayjay with a magnifying glass/light combo on wheels, each with a pair of oversized tweezers in hand. I can only assume they are trying to see how to piece me back together. They aren't doing anything, just talking about it. This was concerning. I hear the midwife say the word "significant". That can't be good. The only thing keeping me from sobbing and beginning the grieving process over the loss of my what used to be perfect vagina; was seeing Joel totally smitten with our new baby girl. I try my best to focus on him and tune out what is happening down there. Two suture packs and 30 minutes later, both the doctor and the midwife working together manage to finally sew me back together. They ask if I want a mirror to check it out. NOPE. After that I didn't look down there for almost 3 weeks.

I thank the doctor and he leaves the room, off to save more babies I assumed. The midwife explains to both Joel and I that I suffered a grade 3 episiotomy, had about 20 or so sutures, inside and out, and that my road to recovery would be long and difficult. I look at Joel and tell him we are never ever having sex again. After all, this is all his fault. Then in walks the Nazi. What is he doing here? He tells me it's time to remove the epidural catheter. WHAT? NO! I fought so hard to get it and now he wants to take it away. Doesn't he know I just pushed a watermelon out of a hole the size of a grape and these people damn near cut me a new asshole? Literally. I sit up, he injects my with some fentanyl to "take the edge off" (which it totally did NOT) and then removes the epidural catheter. Then the nurse immediately removes the other catheter so I can eventually pee in a toilet as opposed to a bag. Within seconds, I began to regain sensation from my hips down and it was f*&king horrible. I thought contractions were bad. Nope, this. This is worse.

Joel comes over and lays our perfect creation on my chest. I know every parent thinks they have the most beautiful child in the world. I even told Joel if she comes out ugly I'll be the first one to admit it, but Jordan is truly beautiful. Words cannot describe that feeling of having her on my chest. I cannot even begin to put into writing what this moment felt like. The only way I can try to get you to understand how this felt is that my entire life leading up to this very moment was suddenly insignificant. Now, I am whole. She is everything I never knew I wanted, and more. I have never loved anyone or anything as much as I love this tiny human who I just met an hour ago for the first time. I attempt to breastfeed and to my amazement, she latches on right away. The bond was instant. I was in so much pain but for that moment, it didn't matter.

Mommy and Baby

After our "golden hour" together, They take Jordan away from me to reevaluate her Apgar, she scores a 9 again. Then the nurse tells me its time for me get up and try and go to the bathroom. She must be insane. She helps me up and I waddle to the bathroom, ass hanging out the back of my gown, and tears pouring down my face. Every step was agonizing, and sitting was even worse. I felt like I'd been ripped in half. I sit down on the toilet and the nurse comes in and squats right in front of me, spreads my legs and with a water bottle and begins squirting my vajay with warm water. I wanted to slap her in the face. She tells me I have to pee. I sat on that toilet for a good 10 minutes before a trickle of pee leaks out. I yell at the nurse "there! You happy now! I peed. I'm going back to bed!". She's so close to stealing the Nazi title from the epidural man, I swear.

My first visitors are my Mom, Dad and Sister. Seeing my family each hold Jordan for the first time will forever be one of my favorite memories. Even though I still look pregnant, I have a hell of a headache, my vagina hurts more than words can describe, I'm starving, Joel ate all the cookies, and I look like I've been hit by a truck, I'm happier than I've ever been in my entire life. I did it. With Joel by my side every step of the way and my family waiting patiently in the waiting room, I delivered our perfect baby girl, Jordan.

Joy and Pain

Sound the Alarm

It's baby time! The excitement is overwhelming. I can't explain it, but instinctually, my body just knew what to do. I could feel the pressure of a contraction and my body just knew when and how to push. It was uncomfortable, but it I wouldn't describe it as pain...yet. Joel held my hand, brushed my hair back, he told me over and over again how great of a job I was doing, how proud he was of me, and how close we were to meeting our baby. I needed to hear all of those things. I was SO tired. I'd been in labor for what seemed like forever and its exhausting to say the least. Even though you're laying down the whole time, it takes one hell of a toll on your body. Joel later told me it took everything he had to not laugh at me while I was pushing. Apparently my face turned redder than my hair because I was pushing so hard and I was grunting like wild boar. Bless his soul.

After pushing about six times, all of the sudden in the middle of my next push, the fetal monitoring alarm went off. My baby's heart rate dropped, then went right back up to normal. I panicked and yelled "what the hell is that?". My midwife told me it happens sometimes and I shouldn't worry about it. But I WAS worried. No one wants to hear that sound. I can still hear it in my mind, I still have nightmares about it. I pushed about three more times, and the alarm sounded off each time. Then on my next push, the alarm sounded, but this time it didn't stop. Her heart rate plummeted and wasn't coming back up. This time it wasn't my Mom and Joel telling me not to push, it was my midwife. And that when things got scary. Our baby's umbilical cord was compressing, cutting off her oxygen with every contraction.

Our perfect girl

My midwife hits the emergency button next to my bed. A flood of nurses from the L & D floor and the NICU rush into my room as well as the Doctor in charge of the entire floor. They basically push Joel out of the way, two nurses grab my legs, and push them all the way up into my armpits. The doctor and all the nurses are talking so fast about vacuum assisted birth, forceps and episiotomy's. I look over at Joel, who has basically been forced into the corner, and he is terrified. I could see it all over his face. He later told me he thought in those few minutes he was going to lose us both. I was so scared, I needed him to be strong for me and the baby. I literally yelled at him, "change your face!". And he did immediately. He manned up and even though he wasn't next to me anymore, I just looked at him and knew we would be ok. Then I see the doctor rip open a steri-pouch and pull out a pair of sharp ass scissors. Oh shit, I thought to myself. I know what this means. Episiotomy time. He's going to give me a vag-anus. I hope he knows what he's doing. Joel better not be watching this.

With one swift motion, he performs a grade 3 episiotomy. I wouldn't Google that if you know what's good for you. I swear it was so quick it was like he was cutting through tissue paper. The doctor looks at me and says, "I need you to push like your baby's life depends on it, because it does. We have to get her out NOW and she won't make it to the OR." He was yelling at me. I needed to be yelled at.

Up until that moment, I didn't feel like a Mom. Hell, I'd only been pregnant in my mind for five weeks. When the doctor told me that, I reached down deep into my soul and my maternal instinct took over. I pushed so hard. I was the only one who could save my baby. And I did. She came sliding out in that one powerful push. And it HURT. For a split second, oh my God did it hurt. She came out screaming, peeing on everyone and everything. They place her on my chest for a second before whisking her out of the room to check on her. I did it. She's here and she's ok.

I yell at Joel to follow our baby because I've seen the Lifetime movies, y'all. The ones where the hospital accidentally switches babies. That was certainly not going to happen to us. I yell "what's her Apgar?" as they wheeled her out in her little box. The nurse laughed. She had only been out of my womb for less than a minute and I was already demanding to know her test score. NINE. Her Apgar was nine. She was perfect. They said the only way she would have been a ten is if she came out pooping.

I got what I wished for out of my birth plan. I got drugs and we both didn't die. Success. Victory. Joel is a Dad, and I'm a Mom. From the second the Midwife pushed the emergency button until they placed our perfect baby on my chest, less than five minutes had passed. It seemed like a lot longer than that when you live through it. Those will forever be the most terrifying, harrowing, daunting, exciting, rewarding, and amazing five minutes of our entire lives.

Joel becomes a Daddy

"DO NOT PUSH"

I'm bored. Labor is boring. Now that I'm no longer in pain, I'm freaking bored. The only thing on TV is Law & Order reruns, and to be honest, I'd already seen those episodes. My Mom, Dad and Sister are in and out of the room periodically through the night. We are all just waiting for the show to start. I can't sleep really because I'm too anxious, not to mention, starving. It has been something like 18 hour since I'd last eaten, and that makes a pregnant mama very unhappy. And I'm still mad about the snickerdoodles. I'd of sold my soul for some of those snickerdoodles. Read: Joel is an asshole.

So much goes on outside the delivery room bubble I'm living in. Parents fighting in the waiting room. My family eating food in secret. At one point my Mom went home to let out my dogs and Tripp, my oldest pup, ran away. Thankfully she got him back. All of which I had no clue about. I guess the less I knew about all that the better. So we just wait. All night and into the early morning. Joel naps on and off, I try to but its basically impossible with the constant checking of my vajayjay and having to reposition every hour. I'm in for the fight of my life and the damn nurses won't let me rest up to prepare for it. I'm convinced this is going to kill me. Around 7am or so the nurse checks me again. I'm at 7cm. She tells me we need to speed things up, again. I thought that is what the Pitocin was for, but she has another idea.

Enter the Peanut. It is a peanut shaped birthing ball. The nurse tells me to roll over onto my left side. HA. She's funny. I am literally paralyzed from the waist down. I cannot move. I need help. Enter Mom and Joel. Mom gets on my left side near my head, Joel is on my left at my feet, and the nurse is behind me. I do my best to help them out, and we manage to roll my beached whale sized self onto my side. With my ass hanging out facing the door to my room for all to see, Joel lifts up my right leg, audibly grunts, and the nurse puts the peanut ball between my legs. The idea of this position with this contraption is to help open up my pelvis. That is probably painful, but the Nazi made my night already with his magic juice.

The Peanut Birthing Ball

So we wait some more. Joel has to literally stay at my feet because I even though I couldn't feel a damn thing, In my mind I felt like I was going to fall off the bed. So he had to stay there and keep my legs on the bed and the peanut in place. He was so patient with me and my irrational fears. Here is where I also need to give a shout out to my Mom. She was a real life Carol Brady MOM during this stage of labor. I was increasingly getting more and more anxious about delivering my baby, starting to panic because the nurse told me it wouldn't be much longer. My Mom stood next to me, wiped away my tears, brushed my hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. Her and Joel both kept telling me how proud me they were of me and how it was almost time to meet our baby girl. They both reassured me everything was going to go smoothly. At that moment I remember feeling SO  much love and felt so encouraged by both of them. They made me feel strong when I was feeling so weak and exhausted. I will forever be grateful to them for getting through those last couple hours of labor.

After about an hour of peanut position, all of the sudden I feel like I have to take the biggest shit of my life. The pressure a woman feels when the baby descends is like nothing I can describe. I felt like my hips were being pulled apart with the hooks a butcher uses to carry slabs of meat. Even with the epidural, I feel a ridiculous about of pressure down there, I seriously thought the baby was going to come out of my ass. I can't control the feeling. I panic and yell "I have to push NOW". My Mom and Joel perk up, and panic themselves. My nurse had stepped out of room and was no where to be found.

Simultaneously, Mom and Joel both yell repeatedly "NO, DO NOT PUSH". Joel says "neither of us are equipped to deliver a baby!" My Mom looks at me dead in the eye and in the same voice she used when I'd get in trouble as a kid says "Jennifer Elizabeth, you will not push." Like I have a choice or something. My body is doing whatever it wants at this point and I don't have a damn choice in the matter. Joel yells for the nurse and she pops back in. I am once again rolled onto my back and the nurse checks me. "It's go time, you're at 10cm". I look at my Mom and Joel and say "TOLD YOU." Because I'm mature like that.

I decided that I only wanted Joel in the delivery room. I wanted our daughter to start her life with just her newly appointed Mom and Dad. I wanted my "golden hour" to be just the three of us. So my Mom kissed me on my forehead, told me that I could do this, wished us good luck and left the room. Shit is getting real people. A midwife and a couple other nurses come into my room, shuffle around getting everything ready for the delivery, the midwife puts my concrete legs into the stirrups and we are ready to go. I tell Joel to get a good look at my vajayjay because it will never be the same after all this. I forbid him from looking at my lady parts while I delivered his daughter. I wanted him to remember my vajayjay as it was before and I didn't want him to be scarred for life by seeing what was about to happen down there. I've seen videos. It does not look normal. RIP my vagina.

Our very own Peanut

Not all heros wear capes

While Joel is hanging out in the bathroom eating his freaking cookies, my Mom and sister take turns being by my side, being beyond supportive. I am not being dramatic and I am not exaggerating. I have never been more miserable in my entire life. I cannot get comfortable, everything hurts, I'm sobbing, I dread ever single contraction, and I'm beyond worried about what is about to happen when I have to physically push my child out of my vajayjay.  If you know anything about me, I'm a planner. I love to plan. My motto has always been "fail to plan, plan to fail". I cannot plan how my delivery is going to happen. I am F'in scared y'all. These amazing women have kept me from having a full blown panic/anxiety attack since the epidural Nazi ran out of my room. I want nothing to do with cookie-face Joel at that moment.

Little did I know, there was also a storm brewing outside in the waiting room. Upon hearing the details from my sister, it has become apparent where my irrational personality trait came from. Read: My Mother. Apparently, while she was in the waiting room with my Father, she was watching Netflix listening through her ear buds. My Father was working on his computer as well. My oh-so-rational Mother began accusing my Father of "checking out" and not "being present" while his daughter was in a room down the hall in labor. So, both of them were doing the exact same thing, playing on their respective computers/tablet, but my Father was the one in the wrong. Makes total sense, right? I'm sure my Mom was just stressed and worried about me. My poor sister didn't know where to be, in the waiting room with two arguing parents, or in the delivery room with her sister who was on the verge of a mental breakdown from the epidural that almost was. I wouldn't want to be in either room either, but I didn't have that choice.

All the sudden, in walks the Nazi. He is back. AMEN. I probably looked like a child does on Christmas morning when they see the pile of presents waiting for them under the tree. This is it people. This is my moment. "Do you still want an epidural?" he asks. This is not the time for jokes, guy.

"Are you f&*king serious!?" It is now after 11:00pm. I tell him if he walks out on me again he won't live to see tomorrow. Yes, I threatened the anesthesiologist's life and I don't even feel bad about it. Not even a little bit, not even at all. Joel kisses me on the forehead and everybody clears the room yet again. I assume the position, again. This time he actually numbs the skin. Oh hell yeah, we have made it farther than we did last time! Deep breath in and he inserts the spinal catheter between contractions. I'm not going to lie, it hurt a lot. But nothing compared to the pain I was having every FIVE minutes from my contractions. They squirt in the juice, and oh shit, only half of my body is numb. Of course. Why am I surprised? Nothing medical ever goes right on the first try with me.

Not good enough. Redo. Try again. I am not going to deliver this baby if I can still feel half of what is going on. He pulls the epidural catheter out and reinserts it. Bulls eye. Thank you Baby Jesus. I look at the monitor, another contraction came and went and all I felt was pressure. SWEET, SWEET RELIEF. I am in love. Move over Joel, I've found a new man. I hug him and apologize for cussing at him and calling him a Nazi. He forgives me, promises to check on me soon, then he leaves my room to go save the rest of the floor from the excruciating pain that is labor. Not all heroes wear capes people. This one wears scrubs and jams needles into spines, but he's a hero nonetheless.

Nearly SEVEN hours after arriving at the hospital, I finally got the drugs I longed for. My birth plan is finally being followed. I am relaxed, numb from the waist down and everything is glorious. But its not over yet. I didn't really think it through, but when you can't feel anything from the waist down, you obviously can't walk either. So, I have to pee in a bag. The nurse inserts a catheter and I didn't feel a damn thing. Joel walks back in my room, and points at the bag of piss hanging off the side of the bed and says "is that what I think it is?". Yes honey, that's my pee. If he thinks that a contained bag of pee that he never has to touch is gross, fatherhood is going to be a real smack in the face for him. I can't wait to watch. Still smelling of cinnamon, Joel sets up camp in his recliner chair that he moved from the bathroom and promptly falls asleep. Prior to my epidural, this would have pissed me off beyond belief, but since I was experiencing a moment of rationality I let this slide. After all, he needs his rest too.

Joel wakes up just in time for the doctor to come check my cervix. I'm at 6cm, I have only dilated one centimeter in the past couple hours. She suggests that she breaks my water and starts me on a Pitocin drip to speed things up. I oblige. Yeah crunchy granola Moms. PITOCIN. I have three strikes with you people. Continuous fetal monitoring, an epidural and now, Pitocin. How dare I. OK look, I don't judge you for your choice to eat your placenta and to not shave your armpits, so back off and don't judge me for my choice to have medical interventions. I trust my doctor, I do NOT trust my body, my body needs help.

My nurse pulls out what is literally a crochet hook, sticks it up my lady bits and I hear an audible "pop". Then I see a flood of clear-ish fluid. I am relieved that there is no meconium, aka baby poop, in the fluid. And equally relieved that I didn't feel a damn thing. She swiftly, and I mean ninja-like, cleans me up and tells me to try and sleep and get some rest. The Pitocin is flowing and she tells me that things are going to start moving soon and I'm going to need all the energy I can get to cross the finish line. She dims the lights, Joel and I both fall asleep in no time. Seriously, nurses don't get enough credit. They are on the front lines and are tasked with the nitty-gritty, nasty part of Labor and Delivery. Their jobs are basically dealing with Moms in the most pain of their lives, worried Fathers, worried family members and bodily fluids. People, thank your nurses, they are the real champions.

I wake up a few hours later because I am starting to feel the contractions yet again. Not today Satan. My amazing nurse is already in my room, checking our vitals. She sees my heart rate shoot up during a contraction and intuitively knows that I'm starting to feel pain again. I didn't even have to ask her, she said "I'll page the anesthesiologist." At warp speed he comes in my room and with pushed a few buttons on the epidural machine, I feel nothing. I feel less than nothing. The juice is working stronger than ever. Literally my legs are like concrete.  Of course, NOW he shows up damn near immediately.

I finally got my F*&KING epidural.

The first of many Daddy-Daughter naps

Nazis and Snickerdoodles

The dreaded contractions are back and they are stronger than ever. Or the narcotics wore off and I could once again comprehend my level of pain. Either way, I wanted to die. The pain has moved lower in my body and is now also shooting down the front of my thighs. Then my nurse says the most magical words I've ever heard: "the anesthesiologist is on his way." I literally hugged her. Finally. I've only been in this hospital for five freaking hours begging you people for pain relief. This doesn't bode well for their Yelp review. Up until now, I feel like they have straight up ignored my birth plan. Everything looks good on the monitors and my labor is progressing. During a visit from my Mom, she sees a note on my chart that says "patient is tolerating labor well". Are they serious. Nothing about what I'd going through feels anything close to "well". I wondered if I wasn't being vocal enough about my pain level. If this is considered "well" then I can only imagine what "tolerating labor poorly" was like.

Epidural time. AMEN. Protocol is that everyone has to leave the room when they administer an epidural. So, they kick out Joel, my lifeline, the only person keeping me from losing my proverbial shit. They also wheel the big recliner chair he was confined to into the bathroom to make room for the man who is either going to paralyze me or make me the happiest woman in the world by sticking a huge needle in my back. The epidural guy comes in, introduces himself and gives me a consent form to sign. At that point, I'd of signed over my first born child I was about to birth. It's go-time and I couldn't be happier. I scribble something that hopefully resembled my name onto the form and tell him to call me Jenny because we are now best friends.

In order for the doctor to administer the epidural, I have to sit on the side of the bed, basically stretch out my spine by leaning over and try to touch my toes.  Fetal position while sitting up if you will. All while fighting contractions mind you. This was not easy. My poor nurse has to get on the floor in front of me so she can keep the heart monitor on the baby. The moment of truth. He tells me to stay as still as possible and warn him when a contraction is coming so he could insert the needle immediately after. For the first time I wanted a contraction to come because I knew I'd have relief right after. He slathers on the Betadine to sterilize my back and finds the sweet spot in between two of my vertebrae. He has the numbing needle full of Lidocaine in his hand to numb the skin ready to inject me. Then his phone/pager sounds off.

After a second of him on the phone he asks "do I have five minutes?". The answer was obviously no because then he tells me, "I'm sorry Jenny, I have to go, I'll be back as soon as I can". He was called away for an emergency. I beg him not to leave. Then I got downright mean and demanding.

"EXCUSE ME. OH HELL NO. YOU AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE."
"You f*&king Nazi!"
"We are NOT friends anymore!"
"My birth plan is drugs and you assholes won't give me the drugs!"
"I want the f*&king drugs and I want them NOW!"

If I wasn't strapped to the fetal monitor I'd of chased him down the hallway. I'm sure my objections were heard by everyone on the floor. I was MAD. My anger and hatred towards this man quickly dissipated and turned into a feeling of defeat. The pain is winning and my morale has plummeted. I start sobbing again. I cried so hard the monitor alarm went off saying I had low oxygen levels so the nurse had to put an O2 mask on me, eventually silencing the alarm. Contraction after intensifying contraction, I laid in bed and sobbed, ugly crying, spewing snot into the O2 mask. We had no idea how long it would be until the anesthesiologist returned. With the level of intensity my contractions were, I was certain I'd be delivering this baby au natural. The nurse checks my cervix, I'm dilated to 5cm, AKA the halfway point. At the very least, I find some happiness in the fact that I will most likely not be giving birth on Tom Brady's birthday. She does her best to reassure me that we still have plenty of time to get the epidural. Of course, I don't believe one word she says and sob harder than before. She suggests I try to bounce around on the birthing ball for a few contractions and see if that help give me some relief.

While I barely hold it together bouncing on the ball, my nurse heads out to the waiting room to grab Joel so he could be with me until the epidural man returned. Joel was no where to be found, but my Mommy was. My Mommy walks in, sees my lily white ass hanging out the back of my hospital gown bouncing away and the first thing she said to the nurse was "get her off that f*&cking ball!". She was concerned about my knee. I had forgotten about my knee. Later my Mom told me when she walked into my room and saw my pathetic-help-me-doe eyes, the "Mom gene" kicked in and she had to take control and advocate for me. My Mom turns into an actual Mom for a few minutes and helps me off the ball and through a series of contractions, holding my hand and wiping away my tears.

Then Joel strolls into the room all nonchalant like, smelling like cinnamon. He is chewing, obviously eating something yummy. Oh. No. He. Didn't. While I was dying from pain and having a mental breakdown after the epidural man's premature exit, Joel went to the cafeteria and visited The Great Cookie. For those of you who don't know, The Great Cookie makes and sells the best snickerdoodles that I've ever had. Chewy, gooey, warm, cinnamon and sugar covered deliciousness. Labor burns a lot of energy, therefore I'm starving. The ice chips aren't cutting it. And my fiancé/baby daddy had the audacity to go get a damn cookie while I'm experiencing the worst pain of my entire life!

"GET THE F*CK OUT OF HERE" I scream at him like I've been possessed by the devil himself. I can see terror in his eyes. He is probably thinking that he has made the biggest mistake of his life by agreeing to embark on this journey with me.

Naturally, Joel does what any man trying to support his partner through labor would do. He finds his recliner chair in the bathroom, sits down, reclines it back, throws his feet up and enjoys his cookies. I still hate him for this. He never did bring me a cookie post delivery. Word of advice: NEVER EVER bring food into the delivery room while your laboring partner is going through hell to bring YOUR child into this world.

And still I'm left wondering...

Where the f*$k is my epidural??

Joel STILL owes me a cookie.

Mean Muggin' just like her Mama. She wanted a cookie too.

Death Wishes and Ice Chips

Wait. Wait. Wait and wait some more. I swear, I'm going to have this baby in Triage, if I don't die from the pain first. I must have been delusional. Thinking I could waltz right into Labor and Delivery, be whisked into my private delivery room, welcomed with scented candles, Egyptian cotton sheets and soothing music. I would then endure a short and painless labor then be handed a perfect daughter. Sunshine and butterflies it was NOT. It was literally the opposite. It was dirty. It was gross. It was loud. It was terrifying.

The L&D ward was extremely busy that night which the nurses blamed on the storm. I was later told that over a twelve hour period, I was the ONLY woman who delivered vaginally. Everyone else ended up having an emergency C-Section. Protocol is that before they admit you, they send in an ultrasound tech for one final look at your baby when he/she is on the inside. This tech was terrible. She kept scolding me for moving during each contraction. Seriously lady. Can YOU stay still while you're being ripped apart from the inside out? I don't think so. Clearly, she'd never had a baby before. All the sudden her phone went off and she had to run out of the room, while only half way through my sonogram. She never did return to finish. Probably for the best.. .for her. She left the door open and we saw a herd of doctors and nurses sprinting down the hallway. As if I wasn't already freaked out enough. That only heightened my anxiety. I asked the nurse who came in right after the commotion for a Xanax IV drip. She politely declined and offered me a cup of ice chips instead. I have officially reached the stage in my labor where I hate everyone, and we are only 15 hours in.

The ice chip nurse tells me it will be at least an hour before I am moved into the room where I would be delivering. ONE HOUR. She must have a death wish. I don't have a choice so we wait, contraction after intensifying contraction. We have zero cell service in Triage so Joel steps out to call our respective Mothers and update them on the status of my vagina. He felt it was fitting to actually leave the hospital and go outside to vape while making the phone calls. He must also have a death wish. He and ice chip nurse should have started a club. Approximately nine contractions worth of time later, they finally wheel me into my own room. It is now after 6:30pm and I've been here since 4:45pm and still haven't gotten my damn epidural. These people are straight up ignoring my birth plan and I'm not OK with that.

Other than the great vaping incident of August 3, 2017, Joel was flat out amazing. He advocated for me, he calmed me down and he supported me, emotionally and physically. He hid how scared he was from me like a real life Neal Caffrey. He was my rock. I am so glad that my Mom, Sister and Father followed us to the hospital, not just to support me, but also to be there to support Joel. He needed it almost as much as I did.

I rolled my whale sized self onto the bed, get hooked up to the fetal monitor and contraction monitor which are attached to the rubber band like, uncomfortable belly belts. I'm relieved she still has a heartbeat. And of course, the contraction monitor says I'm still in labor. My nurse who will be with me until morning introduces herself and attempts to reinsert my IV that the crappy ice chip nurse screwed up. She tried my hand and my vein blew. Typical. Nothing medical has ever been easy for me. I've always been a hard stick. Usually it takes 3-4 tries but she gets it in two. I love her. I'd love her more if she could also start my epidural. I beg her to call the anesthesiologist and have Joel reiterate my birth plan to her as I can't talk because I'm having the worst contraction of my life, or so I thought. She obliged without question. She leaves the room for a moment and returns and tells me the anesthesiologist is in the OR, probably helping out with the emergency that happened while I was still in Triage. She tells me it could be a while. My thoughts: why is there only ONE anesthesiologist on this floor? Are women delivering at this particular hospital supposed to go into labor ONE at a time? Did I miss the sign up sheet for that? This is ALL Joel's fault.

Tears pouring down my face, I beg her to help me and offer me some sort of pain relief. I'm terrified I'm going to end up delivering this child without any drugs. I'm terrified something will go wrong just like every other time I've gone through anything medical. She says she can give me narcotics to "take the edge off for a about two hours". SOLD. Give me the juice. If that's my only option I'll take it! After asking if its safe for the baby she proceeds. Ahhh Fentanyl. She injects that magic juice into my IV, I feel the warmth of the drugs flow up my arm and down my body. For the first time in 15 hours I feel relaxed. Shitfaced yes, but more importantly, relaxed. Some of you "Crunchy Moms" are probably ripping your eyes out reading that I opted for narcotic pain relief during labor but, whatever. My body, my baby, my choice. You don't have to read this if its going to make you throw up your lunch of cooked-in-coconut-oil quinoa and kale chips into a cloth diaper. The doctor said it was OK to give narcotics as long as it will wear off before the transition stage of labor. And guess what? He is a doctor so I believe him.

I wouldn't necessarily say they were following my birth plan, but my amazing nurse was sure as shit giving it all she had. I take a nap, or pass out, I'm not sure. It lasts about an hour. I'm woken up by a contraction that takes my breath away.

"Where the F&CK is my epidural!" I yell.

Crickets.....

Must Go Faster

I really wanted my Mom and sister to come with us to the hospital. My Mom had said since the day she found out I was pregnant that she wasn't "that kind of Mom", she wouldn't hold my hand through labor or even be in the waiting room at the hospital while I delivered her granddaughter. She instructed Joel to let her know when I was 10 centimeters dilated and literally in the act of pushing the baby out. Only then would she get in the car and head to the hospital. Or so she thought. Now she says her "mom gene" kicked in and she couldn't sit home knowing what I was going through without being in close proximity. She got to the hospital about 2-3 hours behind us. She tried to be tough. It was cute.

I waddle to the car, still ugly crying. The next time I get into this car and pull into this driveway I will have a child in tow. I take a minute and look around while breathing through another freaking contraction, look up at the sky and see black clouds in the distance. Oh shit, we have got to move now. A storm is coming. Its creeping up on rush hour and I'll be damned if I birth this baby in the car on the side of the highway. I start to panic yet again. Over and over in my mind I kept saying "must go faster, must go faster" imitating Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park. I keep looking behind us and the storm seems to be creeping up on us faster than Joel was driving the car. Now is not the time to drive like a grandmother, Joel. Now is the time to drive it like you stole it, but don't kill us.

Somehow, during the entire 30 minutes, while navigating the city in his car which has a manual transmission, Joel manages to hold my hand and talk me through every contraction I suffered through. They are getting closer together, about 8 minutes apart now and the pain is only getting worse. This must be what dying feels like. The pain has now started shooting down the front of my thighs. I'm being split in two. I feel it necessary to make Joel repeat my birth plan over and over again so I'm certain he understands what I want. He puts up with my irrationality and does as I request not two, but three times. "You want all the drugs and both of you not die. The End" he repeats.

The Best Dad from Day 1

Finally, we make it to the hospital. I see the epidural light at the end of this tunnel of labor. Or so I thought. Joel asks where we should park. Park? Hell no. We aren't wasting time driving around to the three different lots on three different city blocks to look for parking! We are going to valet this bitch, throw the keys at the kid in the orange vest and get this mama to the epidural man. STAT.

Step one, security. We have to check in at the security desk because crazy people have a tendency to steal babies. Of course the day I go into labor would be the same day they are training a new guy at the security desk. "I'm in labor, this is my baby daddy, I need an epidural now". Translation: Hurry the hell up new guy before I throat punch you. Joel trades his drivers license for his Labor and Delivery/Maternity ward badge. They ask me if I want a wheelchair. Nope. It felt better for me to stand up through the contractions and I felt like I could walk faster than Joel could push me. Step two, the elevators. I knew it. I predicted it. It took forever for the damn elevators to do their thing. Time for me was no longer counted in minutes, it was in contractions. It took three contractions for us to get from the car to here. Unacceptable. One more contraction in the elevator before we get to the L & D floor. And then I see it. The labor and deliver triage window. I swear there was a beam light shining down on this particular part of the hospital with angels humming in the background.

Step three, convince these people I'm in labor and to keep me. I waddle up to the window. "Hi, I'm in labor and I'd like my epidural now".

"Lets start with your name", the nurse replies. Yeah, she probably needs to know that. I tell her all my statistics and she gets me into a room in OVERFLOW TRIAGE. Apparently the insane storm made every pregnant woman in the city and county go into labor. So, regular old Triage was full. GREAT. Later, I'd find out that just ten minutes after Joel and I arrived at the hospital, the storm had caused a giant tree to fall over the JFX, the same highway that we'd taken to get to the hospital, closing the road for hours and causing numerous power outages. Thank you Mommy for making us leave the house when you did, or else we'd have to have name our baby "Jones Falls" after the road I'd deliver her on.

So far, my birth plan isn't working out. I'm already at the hospital and I haven't gotten the drugs yet. This is not good. The nurse escorts me to my room, I get undressed and put on the ever so flattering gown and wait. Two contractions later, finally a doctor. She asks how I'm doing and I reply "better now that you're here to give me my epidural". She laughs. Apparently, that's not how it works.

"Let's make sure you are really in labor so we can admit you." She replies.

I say something to the effect of "Excuse me. I'm not leaving. I've been contracting for over 12 hours. I'm miserable and I want the damn drugs. Get this baby out of me. I have a very specific birth plan and you are ignoring it".

This is where Joel interrupts me, grabs a hold of my hand, puts his other hand on my forehead, brushes my hair back and replies to the doctor, "Ok that sounds great, thank you". I probably hated him at that point, but looking back, I am in awe of how he took control of the situation while simultaneously calming me down. Proving to me once again that he is "the one".

They hook me up to the contraction monitor and we wait. Foreverrrrrr. Ok more like an hour, or as I like to call it 7.5 contractions. Finally they move us into regular triage. One step closer to my delivery room. Every single nurse/doctor/sonogram tech that comes in to check on us, run a test, start an IV, etc., I ask for an epidural. I even asked an intern who replied "you don't want me doing that, this is my first medschool rotation". I didn't care. At that point I'd of let the damn janitor insert the epidural catheter. The doctor finally comes in to check my cervix. The moment of truth. I swear I'm at like 8cm with the pain I'm feeling. She sticks her hand under my gown and up my lady parts and proudly exclaims, "yes, you are in labor. We are not sending you home. You're three centimeters dilated!"

THREE CENIMETERS.
That's it?
I want a second opinion.
Where the f?$k is my epidural.



The Best Daughter Since Day 1

Oh Shit, I'm in Labor and it HURTS.

It hurts, y'all. Like it realllllly hurts. I'm instantly mad at Joel for his inability to teleport home. I need him right now. Some part of me thinks that Joel will be able to help me through the contractions that are coming every 15 or so minutes, lasting 30 seconds or so. This is horrible. It feels like I'm being stabbed in my pubic bone with hot pokers by tiny sadistic gnomes who are simultaneously prying my pelvis apart with a crowbar. Word on the street is that this could go on for hours, even days. I'm only three hours in and I'm done. I pick up the phone and call Labor and Delivery. "Hi, this is Jennifer I'm in labor and I'm ready to come in and get my epidural now." The nurse laughed.

At my last OB visit, my doctor told me I would KNOW when I'm in labor. She did not lie. This is definitely labor and I'm f'in over it already. She also told me that I shouldn't come to the hospital until I met the requirements of the 5-1-1 rule, or I'd get sent home. Contractions 5 minutes apart, 1 minute long, and consistent for 1 hour. I describe to the the nurse how far apart my contractions are and how I'm feeling. She tells me to walk around, take a shower, eat a hot meal, because I'm going to have a long couple days ahead of me. A couple days. I immediately know I'm not going to survive this. This is it, this is how I will die.

Where the hell is Joel! I cry. I want to crawl out of my own body. Around 7:00 am Joel finally comes home. He has a weird calming effect on me. He hugs me, holds me and supports me through a series of contractions. We talk about how excited we both are that its finally happening. We are so close to becoming parents I can feel it! Literally, I can feel it. And it feels horrible. I am calm and happy until he crawls into bed and falls asleep. He falls asleep! While I'm in freaking labor! While HIS child is literally splitting me in two, he finds it acceptable to sleep. Aw hell no. Partners take my advice, when your woman is in labor, doing the hardest thing she's ever done in her entire life, you don't sleep. You do the opposite of sleep. You are at her beck and call through the entire process. End of story. I still hate him for this one.

Joel napping with the Pug while I'm in labor, dying

I manage to drum up the last sliver of empathy I can muster and I leave him be while I take a very long hot shower. After all, once the baby comes, long hot showers will be a thing of the past. And so will naps for Dad. I take my time, working through each contractions like a champion, or so I thought. I was tricked into thinking I could do this. The hot shower made the pain almost tolerable. The second I got out of the shower I had a contraction that took my breath away. The hot water was a contraction band-aid and I'm back to feeling like I'm going to die.

I wake up Joel and tell him I need to do things to keep my labor progressing and keep my mind occupied. We head to my work so I can pick up my paycheck and then to Babies R Us so I can walk around and we can get some last minute baby items. I am over the moon that there is an "expectant mothers" parking space available. During my extremely lengthy five week pregnancy, every single time we went to a store that had parking for expectant mothers, all the spaces were full and I was mad. After taking an obligatory "I'm in labor photo" featuring Jenny with the good hair, we walk up and down the aisles of the store pausing every 10-15 minutes so I could work through a contraction. I can only imagine what the other customers were thinking after seeing my giant self grunt and moan like a dying rhinoceros while holding onto the shelf displaying the infant bathtubs or crib sheets. If you know me you'd know I never buy anything at full price. I'm a bargain shopper through and through. The pain must have made me lose my mind because we bought a puppy mobile at full price. Because, puppies, obviously.

Finally. The parking spot of my dreams.

Joel takes me back home to say my farewells to my house, my bed, and my dogs. But first, food. I need food. I know once I get to the hospital they won't let me eat. I need energy to get through the next couple days of trauma and hell I'm putting my body through so, carbs. I need carbs. I send Joel to Noodle and Company for lunch. I eat, then I try and relax and take a nap. Yeah right. Nothing about labor is relaxing and I was a fool to think I could nap. My Mom and sister get home from work at about the same time. They hang out with us for a while, and in true Mom and sister fashion, laugh at me while I work through each contraction. Little did I know a crazy storm was approaching our area and was supposed to hit during rush hour. The hospital I was delivering at was a good 20-30 minute drive downtown without traffic. My Mother then gives me the best advice I've ever had in my life. LIE. Lie to Labor & Delivery and tell them I'm on my way with contractions 5-7 minutes apart as opposed to the 8-10 minutes that they actually are. While Joel loads the car I hug my mom and sister like I've never hugged them before. I am terrified, I'm in the worst pain of my life and I'm sobbing. I have resurrected my Kim Kardashian ugly cry.

It's baby time y'all.

Was that a Contraction or do I have to Fart?

At 38.5 weeks I finally felt pregnant. Ladies, NOW I get. Now I understand. Being pregnant sucks. I gained damn near 20lbs overnight. OK not really overnight but it seemed like it. I woke up one morning and my belly had popped out, the feet which I could no longer see when I looked down, hurt like hell, my boobs swelled up twice their already large size, and I was peeing every five minutes. It was freaking awful.

Everything hurts and I'm dying.
Why women do this more than once is beyond me.
Are you people crazy?
I never want to be pregnant again.

Getting out of bed was a feat in itself. My baby felt like she was literally swimming IN my bladder, I was peeing ten times a night. Those two things together had made me a miserable person. I was SO tired from not sleeping more than an hour at a time, and in so much pain from rolling my giant ass out of bed and walking to the bathroom. Looking back, pregnant-tired is so much better than my baby won't sleep at night-tired.

Oh the hormones. I can't say it enough, Joel was amazing. He handled every breakdown I had with so much love and care it made me question if I even deserved to be in the presence of such a remarkable man. I cried about everything. I cried over a TV commercial featuring a puppy. I cried because I had to get up and pee for the millionth time. I cried because the ingredients on my sandwich weren't in the right order. I cried because Joel brought me home Skittles. Then I cried because how dare he bring me a bag of Skittles with more yellow ones than red ones. I was a lunatic. 5150 psych hold, Brittany Spears circa 2007 type of lunatic. Why Joel still married my crazy ass after all of that I will never understand.

You guys, I had a mental breakdown about a box. A box. A full on ugly cry, face full of snot, nobody loves me, I'm going to raise this baby alone sob-fest. At my house, I have a small box of basic tools. Joel had used the tools in that box to assemble the crib and other various baby containers. That box didn't make it back into the garage where it belonged once Joel was finished. I'd asked Joel to put that box back probably three or four times. He ignored me. Men read: never ignore your pregnant partner. If she says jump, instinctual you reply with "how high". If she asks you to do something for her, you do it, immediately, without question. We have scarified our bodies, mainly our boobs and vaginas, to bring your child into this world. The least you can do it put away a damn box, or go to every Rita's Italian Ice within driving distance to find the elusive Red Sour Patch Kid flavor. Just do it, it will all be over soon.

Joel is what I call a "later person". I am a "now person". He'd rather do menial tasks later, whereas I think its best to just do it now. We still argue about that to this day. Anyway, I walked by that damn box for tenth time and did what all grown ups do, I called my Mommy crying. Over a box. "Joel didn't put the box away like I asked him to do. He doesn't care about me. When this baby comes she is going to sit in a shit filled diaper for hours because hes a later person. Why can't he just put away the box! I don't ask for much". Irrational. Ridiculous. Unreasonable. My mother called me out on my crazy, my Dad sent me a meme he created that said "#boxlivesmatter", and Joel finally moved the stupid box. I love my family. My poor daughter doesn't stand a chance with these people.

The Sunday before I gave birth, my Mom took us all out to dinner at a local mexican restaurant. They were all DONE with my being pregnant, all 4 weeks of it at that point, and wanted this baby out now. So we tried the old wives tales. After a meal of spicy food, she took us all off-roading in her SUV bouncing me all around the back seat. And by "off-roading" I mean she drove me around the grounds at work and drove circles in our very own backyard. Maybe that stuff worked because two days later I lost my mucus plug. That thing looked a Guinness Book of World Record winning snot rocket. Do not google what that looks like, its disgusting. You have been warned. This was a sign that shit just got very real. I'm having a baby, probably within a week. The next day I went to to the OB for my 39 week check. She was SO excited that I'd lost my mucus plug and checked me and I was 2cm dialated and 50% effaced. The clock is ticking. The time is near.

I'd read a lot of stuff in on the internet about being pregnant and I'd talked to a lot of formerly pregnant women. NOT ONE OF YOU PEOPLE TOLD ME about the ever so elusive "stripping of the membranes". I was not warned. Definition: freeing the membranes of the amniotic sac from the wall of the lower segment of the uterus in the small opening around surrounding the cervix. The doctor recommended it, described the procedure and proceeded to strip my membranes using her fingers. She told me it would feel "slightly uncomfortable". Liar. She lied again. That shit hurt for real. The pain that I felt during the procedure and in the days to follow confirmed and validated my want and need for all the drugs. Needless to say, I'd start my maternity leave on that day, August 2, 2017.

I was woken up around 3am the next morning with a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. Was that a contraction? It can't be, I probably just have to poop. I fell back asleep for about a forty five minutes before I was woken up again by the same pain. Maybe I just have gas and have to fart. We'd gone to Golden Corral the night before for dinner, and if you'd ever eaten there, you'd also be leaning toward it being gas and not a contraction. Joel gets up around that time and starts getting ready for work. I'm in denial at this point that I'm in labor. Joel kisses me and my baby belly goodbye and heads to work. I tell him to keep his phone close just in case I'm actually in labor. I figure I'd try and use the bathroom. Oh. My. God. My body literally emptied itself. Lets just say I had to use and plunger and flush the toilet about three times. I read on the internet that one way your body prepares itself for labor is to empty all of its contents. My body did that an more. As the hour that it took Joel to get work passed I was more and more convinced this was it. Oh shit. I'm in labor. I text my Mom, she stops by my room on her way to work and pretty much confirms for me that I'm most likely in labor.  Then she does what every supportive mother does, she leaves for work and tells me she'd check on me later and for me to call L & D and keep her posted. Gee, thanks mom. Before she runs out the door she tells me to call Joel NOW. I follow her instructions and call Joel just as he gets to work and tell him to turn his ass around because today is the day.

Contraction Counter

My New England Patriot fanatic Baby Daddy is beyond excited. The date is August 3, 2017. He really wants me to have our baby on this day. He literally tells me I have 17 hours to get this baby out. August 3rd also happens to be Tom Brady's birthday. Over my dead body. If I am in labor, and it's 11:59pm and they tell me to push, I'm not doing it. My baby will most certainly not be sharing her birthday with Mr. Deflate-gate.

39 weeks, 4 days

They hate me

Nursery set up, check. Birth plan, check. Car seat installed, check. Hospital bag packed, check. But we still don't know the sex of our baby. I'd like to buy something that isn't green, yellow or gender neutral already. I want to see blue or pink dammit. July 14, 2017 rolls around and it's time for my final sonogram. I'm 37 weeks at this point. This sonogram is at the hospital where I will be delivering our baby. Perfect time to check out parking, and where I need to go on the day of. My OB suggested I go to the Maternal Fetal Medicine office for a final and extremely detailed sonogram considering my lack of prenatal care. We all wanted the least amount of surprises possible, all things considered. These people look at fetuses all day everyday unlike the imaging center I'd been to prior. This was also my last chance before delivery to find out if we were having a girl a boy.

The sex of the baby wasn't as important to me as the health of the baby, duh. But my family just HAD to know. My mother thought Joel and I already knew, and at one point threatened to cut me out of her will if I didn't tell her. My mom is very intuitive, since day 1 of my pregnancy, or should I say, day 242, my Mom kept saying I was having a girl. Damn that woman for always being right. ALWAYS. I arrived at the hospital for my appointment, checked in at the front desk and they directed me to my appointment. The MFM office was on the same floor as Labor and Delivery. Cool, I can see where the action is going to happen. I made my way to the elevator bank and waited there for what seemed like forever. Oh great, when I'm actually in labor I'm going to have this baby right here on the floor waiting for ONE of the EIGHT elevators to arrive. This isn't going well.

I walk into the office, check in at the desk. The nurse asks me if I'm in the right place. "Yes I am, I'm Jennifer, here for my 8:45 appointment."

"But it says you're 37 weeks pregnant?" she responds.

"I am." I reply. At this point I can feel all of the heavily pregnant women in the waiting room burning a hole through my back with their death stares. At 37 weeks, I looked about 20 weeks pregnant and felt FINE. They hated me. One of the women couldn't even get up when her name was called without the help of her husband, who by the way let out an audible grunt as he hoisted his wife off of her chair. I basically hold court in the waiting room telling all of the waiting mothers, their spouses and half the staff my story while waiting for my turn. Its confirmed, they hate me.

The sonogram tech was a sweetheart. At this point I was still asking a million questions and she answered every single one. This sonogram appointment took over an hour. She examined every organ my baby had in detail and took about 50 screen shots for my chart. She tells me my baby is perfect. Five-ish pounds of PERFECT. After everything my body had been through, my baby somehow managed to develop into a perfect human. Then she asks if I want to know the sex of the baby. OF COURSE I DO. I knew so little about this pregnancy there was no way in hell I didn't want to know. She points to the screen. "Do you see that?" I had no idea what she was referring to so I say no. "Exactly, we are looking at the lack there of. You are having a healthy baby girl."

The sonogram that shows her lady parts

I was relieved. I'd wanted a girl because research shows that girls are stronger in the womb, and after what I'd put this baby through, she needed to be strong. Also, I wasn't too keen on the idea of all those extra parts I'd have to rearrange during a diaper change. We'd already decided on names. "Jordan Faris" if it was a girl and "Jamison David" if it was a boy. Faris is a family name on my side of the family, and David is a family name on Joel's side, as well as Joel's middle name. We weren't allowed to spell it "Jameson" because that's a whiskey and our baby had already had it's fair share of alcohol. I liked the name Jordan for a boy OR girl, but that was immediately shot down by Joel and my family. Apparently they felt that Jordan is the name of the boy that gets beat up on the playground. Apologies to anyone who is a male Jordan or knows one.

I leave the appointment and turn my phone back on. Obviously, I have to tell Joel first. This killed my mother and sister. They'd been texting me during the entire appointment inquiring if I knew the sex yet. I text them back saying I knew the sex, but I was telling Joel first. Oh man, they did NOT like that. I called Joel and he didn't answer! Rude, he knew I had an appointment. I could be in labor right now and he doesn't answer his phone! This better not be a sign of what happens when its really time. He works for the Union doing manual labor and can't always answer his phone, but my pregnant self does not care about that. So I wait. He finally calls back. I tell him we are having a healthy baby girl! My big, rough and tough baby daddy didn't say anything at first. Then when he finally does speak, I hear it in his voice, he is crying. My now-husband has a history of autism in his family and the odds are higher in boys so hearing we are having a girl was a relief to him.

Now we wait. Baby girl could come whenever she wants. I have OB appointments once a week from here on out. At my next appointment I've given a worksheet with a bunch of questions on it to take home and fill out with Joel.

Who do I want in the delivery room? A doctor would be nice. And I guess Joel too. 
Would we be vaccinating our baby? Yes please.
After she is born do we want her to receive antibiotic eye treatment? Is this a thing?
Vitamin K? Not the rave drug right?
Formula or breastfeeding? Breastfeeding if I can. Because formula isn't cheap ya'll.
Delayed cord cutting? What even is this?
Would I like to preserve my placenta?  Nope. Nope. Nope. I'm not eating that. 
Natural labor or epidural? How many times to I have to tell you people? Drugs. I want all the drugs.

Back to the internet I go. That lasted about two seconds before I called my Mom. Like I said, that woman is always right. She guided me through the questions and that was that.

From here on out every text, Facebook message, Snapchat or phone call I made was responded to with "is it time?" No Mom/Dad/Sister/Baby Daddy, I'm calling you in a panic about my latest irrational fear or dream I had that my epidural worked backwards and numbed the upper half of my body, my baby came out missing an ear, or I had her in the bathroom at Target. My biggest non-irrational fear was that Joel would miss the whole damn thing. He worked over an hour away. During rush hour, that hour could turn into three. I told him I wouldn't give her his last name if he missed the birth. Cause I'm mature like that.

The first time we both felt our baby girl move

Opinions are like Assholes

The realization that I was going to be a Mother in a matter of weeks had finally set it. We had the nursery set up, we had tons of diapers, wipes, clothes, baby containers and equipment. We were physically ready to bring a baby home. But I wasn't ready to deliver said baby. I had only know the baby was inside me for a few days, I wanted more time! Up until now, I had Joel, my parents, his parents, and our friends piling on the advice on what to do once the baby arrives. But ultimately, it was up to me and only me to actually get this baby out of me. No amount of advice can prepare a woman for that. To say I was petrified wouldn't do my feelings any justice. I wasn't scared about caring for the baby, I was scared about what my body was going have to go through.

I had choices to make. I knew right away that I wasn't going to be one of those Mom's who birthed a baby on the living room floor in a baby pool at home. My body has proven to be far to unpredictable. Any time I needed something medical done I end up with every complication known to man. I am medically challenged. I am the 1% complication rate, always have been and probably always will be. I needed to be in a hospital in the event that something went wrong. With an OR down the hall in case a C-Section was necessary and a NICU in case my baby needed extra care. Thank GOD I did give birth in a hospital because odds are, if I didn't, my baby wouldn't be here today. 

Let me spell one thing out for you. Giving birth is the hardest, most painful thing a woman does in her entire life. Birthing a child is comparable to breaking 20 bones at the same time. The human body can tolerate 45 units of pain. While giving birth, a Mother can feel up to 57 units. Read: Women are hands-down the stronger sex. HOW a woman chooses to give birth is nobody's choice but her own. Sorry Dads, Sisters, Friends, Mothers, MIL's, you don't get a say. Period. My MIL suggested I choose and un-medicated home birth, my cousin Carrie suggested I chose an un-medicated birth at a birthing center in a bath tub, my mother suggested giving birth in a hospital with an epidural. I chose to give birth MY way so I am in no way criticizing or judging women who chose another method. To each their own. So please don't view my blog as my advocating for pain relief or shaming Moms who choose to forgo it. Moving on. 

Joel was born at home. More power to my Mother In Law for choosing an un-medicated home birth. I have nothing but respect for that woman for enduring that. I don't think I could have done it. She even tried to give me a book about having a home birth, but I politely declined. That just wasn't for me. I wanted every pain management option available. I literally asked the triage nurse for an epidural before I even told her my name when we checked into the hospital. I have endured a lot of pain in my life through 15+ surgeries, a few broken bones, some stitches and a handful of hospital stays. I didn't have a choice but to experience pain through all of that. But while giving birth, I had a choice. A choice to be numb from the waist down and not have to feel that pain. Getting that epidural was the best decision I'd made to date. Bottom line, it was my choice and I'm damn proud of it. In my mind, it was like choosing to have surgery with or without anesthesia. Choosing to get stitches or having a bone set with or without lidocaine. I wanted the drugs. All of them. 

Not one blog I write would be complete without including something about my hilarious Mom. Warning, this might get graphic. Let's talk about my vagina. My mom took it upon herself to scare the living shit out of me by describing in graphic detail what was going to happen to my vagina and how it would feel. I'm surprised she didn't use visual aids such as a watermelon or cantaloupe. She told me in detail about the probability that I would tear from vagina to asshole. I might end up with a "vag-anus". Thankfully, I ended up one degree short of that. She told me I'd bleed for nearly six weeks after the birth and the chunks of tissue that would fall out of me would be the size of a ping pong balls. As usual, she was right. So very right. Holy hell. Nothing can prepare you for that feeling and seeing what your body expels afterwards. NOTHING. It was like a damn crime scene every time I went to the bathroom. My cousin, Carrie, said she felt like she got "f**ked by a walrus". I had never seen a walrus' penis, so I googled it. That was a terrible idea. But at the end of it, she was right. That is exactly how Labor and Delivery should be described. 

Bottom line, opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one. I made it real simple for Joel because it is very important that you tell your partner what you want regarding birth in case you are unable to speak for yourself. He would be my advocate in the event I couldn't advocate for myself. I told him I wanted all the drugs, and I wanted to leave that hospital intact with a healthy baby. If I ended up needing a C-Section, OK fine, do it. I certainly didn't go to medical school so I was not going to argue with the people who did. All that mattered to me was that I got the drugs and both me and my baby didn't die. THAT was my birth plan. The End. 

Spoiler Alert: I got the drugs and we both lived. 

Our first selfie together

All. The. Things.

It took a while for me to recover from my panic attack about the way that this baby would have to exit my body. But I eventually calmed down. It's not like I had a choice anyway. As I've said before, you can't stop a train. Joel and I arrive at the shore, walk in the door and are greeted by my parents. The first thing Joel says is "yep, it's real, there's a baby in there!". I hang the sonogram picture up on the fridge. My father is over the moon, I didn't know until this point, but he'd always wanted to be a Gramps. His name was already set in stone as we'd been calling him "Gramps" for some time now in reference to his relationship with my two doggies. My Mother pretended she was indifferent.  She kept saying "I won't be that kind of grandmother" which later would prove to be a huge lie. The one thing she was adamant about was that she would NOT be called Grandma or any variation of that word. So "Sudie" it is.

We settle in and start talking about what we need. Lists. So many lists. I made the mistake of googling "new baby checklist" and oh my goodness. ALL THE THINGS. There are SO many things that the internet says are must haves for welcoming a baby. My Mother immediately squashed more than half of the items that the internet said we'd need. Of course I wanted the best of everything for our baby, sparing no cost. My Mother kept reminding me that people have been having babies and raising children just fine for hundreds of years without the help of luxury baby items. A "wipe warmer" for example. Because clearly my baby is too good for a cold butt wipe and it was essential we spend $24.99 to remedy that. A "pee pee teepee" was another good one. This is used to prevent a baby boy's pee from spraying all over the place during a diaper change. Really? I'm sure there is nothing else that can be used to prevent that and it was imperative that we spend $9.95 for this revolutionary invention.

We needed essentials and we needed them now. Technically, once I got to 37 weeks I'd be considered full term. Still, our baby was already viable outside the womb even at 35 weeks. We had to move quick. Car seat. Crib. Diapers. STAT. My Mother had already gone on amazon and ordered us a top of the line car seat that would last until baby was 90lbs. So that was amazing. One thing crossed off the list! Once word was spread everywhere except for social media, the outpouring of love and support was amazing. Joel and I got a beautiful crib and an awesome off road stroller from a co-worker of my Father. My friend Rachael gave us an infant car seat, a baby Bjorn carrier, and a ton of clothes. My other friend Lauren gave us a Rock 'n Play and a bunch of toys. The Amazon boxes started piling up at the house filled with gifts from all our friends and family. Side note, WHY is everything for a baby end in "'n Play"? Rock 'n Play, Pack 'n Play, Pop 'n Play, and Sleep 'n Play. I don't get it. These are items for infants. How much "playing" do they really do?

The next morning my Mom went to the store. She returned and proudly announced that she had purchased me my first baby related item. My excitement quickly dwindled when she handed over my "gift". I was expecting a cute onesie that said "Worlds Greatest Mommy" or something along those lines. Nope. I should have known better. Boob Pads. My FIRST baby related item was nursing pads, 100 nursing pads. Because as she so eloquently put it, "You're gonna leak milk everywhere." Thanks Mom. My amazing sister came to the shore later that day and brought me what I consider my first REAL baby gift, a Baltimore Ravens onesie. Thank you sister for understanding whats really important. My Patriots fan baby Daddy wasn't so happy, but he said he'd tolerate it because it came from my sister.

I know I've been giving my Mother a hard time in all my posts, but in reality, her humor really helped me get through the times where I felt totally unprepared and out of control. She was truly my rock through it all and I'll never be able to thank her enough. That weekend she took me to Target for my first experience in the baby department. Holy baby stuff Batman. It was unbelievable. To say I was overwhelmed would be the understatement of the century. I left Target with a greater understanding of how expensive a baby is, a few unisex onesies, and Joels first baby gift, a Star Wars tee shirt for the baby. I wanted his first Dad gift to be better than something comparable to boob pads.

That weekend our relationship status on Facebook went from "in a relationship" to "engaged".  Now I'm sure some of you are thinking that we only got married because of the baby. Even IF that was the case, which it was definitely not, it's not your place to judge so you can STFU with that noise. Joel had literally asked me to marry him every single day since January. I knew I was going to marry him, I just didn't know when. My being pregnant had no bearing on my decision to say "yes". Joel had already been in talks with my parents, asked for their blessing, and my Mom even gave him a family heirloom engagement ring to give to me. He proposed in a beautiful way in a beautiful place, and this time, I didn't say no.

The first REAL baby gift

Engaged! July 4, 2017