I typed in the correct numbers on the computer and hesitantly clicked the "Calculate" button. No, I wasn't figuring out the amortization rates for my mortgage, nor my monthly budget. Nope. As I watched the little hourglass I held my breath until the dates when our third child would be born popped onto the screen. Third week of July, 2009. Since God and I had made a deal that I would not carry much past 38 weeks (just kidding) that put the due date somewhere around July 4th. How cool would that be? I thought to myself. As a self-proclaimed history nut, especially American history, there really wouldn't be a better day on which to be born.
It's morning and I can't remember the last time I slept for more than two hours without getting up to pee. Last night was no different. I shiver with excitement. Today's the day. Paul has the day off, we're going to the in-laws for a picnic and I know it deep down, that I'll get to meet "Cadence" today. Shame about the name, though. I think to myself. I wonder if I can still slip "Canon" in there. Or maybe Independence.
Before I could allow my thoughts to wonder much longer the other kids woke up and Paul and I busied ourselves getting ready for the festivities at his parents' house. I started having contractions at some point in the morning and by the time we arrived at the party they were about ten minutes apart. My mother in law noticed me glancing at my watch and asked me if I was in labor. When I confirmed her suspicions she shouted and was thrilled. I just smiled and whispered something about hoping that they didn't stop. We ate lunch and I continued contracting.
Lunch was finally over and I was ready to get the heck out of dodge. Labor wasn't too intense, it's just that, normally for me, once you break my water it's a pretty quick party. Meaning, about an hour after you break my water you can expect a baby to arrive so in the interest of timing and that I wanted the baby to be born on July 4th, I wanted to get the show on the road. I readied my things and made final checks on the other kids and the sitter only to find Paul settling into a card game on the living room floor with a few of his friends,
"Honey, whatcha doin?" said the pregnant lady.
"Oh, hey, I was going to just play a game of cards." said the husband.
"Um, no. I think you are going to take me to the hospital."
"But you said,"
"No, I said, 'I will wait until after we ate. It's after. Let's go."
Yep. That's pretty much how it went. We left, went to the hospital and proceeded to have a baby. I'll try to spare you all the gory details, but my other two deliveries really weren't that painful. It basically felt like the worst backache ever and LOTS of pressure, but that whole 'knife in your stomach' pain that everyone talks about? Wasn't even a hint of it. This time, however, I completely understand. I literally felt like someone was stabbing me in my bellybutton all the way back to my backbone. At one point I remember telling the nurse, "I need the medicine now, or I will lose control and I am not going to lose control." What can I say, a control freak to the end.
My other two deliveries were completely natural and medication free as was my last one, but that third-born, dude. And she has lived up to that nick-name. Some memorable things happened when they gave me the Stadol. Basically, I found out that I am extremely sensitive to IV painkillers which actually means, I was higher than a freaking kite. I couldn't even open my eyes. My in-laws came in to say hi and just keep me company because prior to the Stadol my labor had slowed and I was equally ticked and bored that this child hadn't come out yet. I was laying on the bed with my eyes closed, carrying on a full conversation when I said something along the lines of,
"Wanda, (my MIL) you need to tell Pops to turn away or leave because I'm getting out of bed to go to the bathroom." to which my mother in law responded by kicking herself and my father in law out of the room and saying they would be back later. Within thirty seconds my "I have to go pee" turned into "Paul, I have to push. Get the nurse now!"
The nurses did not believe me. They even told me "Don't push." Like heck I'm not going to push! The doctor made it into the room in time to play catcher to a 6 lb. 9 ounce little girl with the most mature face I had ever seen. Ever.
Said baby was named Evie Mae for all of one night. We loved the nickname Evie and Paul liked Maria and I liked Anna and he like Cadence and I liked Canon (which got vetoed, I have no idea why) and finally, as we were waiting to be discharged (2 days later) we decided on Viviana (pronounce Vivi-onna) Maria.