Hello. It's been a very long time since I've written you a letter. I could go over a billion things right now - updates, silly stories, poo poo and pee pee anecdotes - but I thought for my first plunge back into this I would start from the beginning. Many of my friends have had babies in the last 6 months, their stories so fresh in my mind. It has caused me to reflect on your birth story, and it suddenly dawned on me that some of the details are blurring together. So before I forget any more of that fateful day, I wanted to write it down. After all, when you're a grown man, I know you'll want to recall everything that happened to my vagina on March 15, 2009.
You were due March 31st. People had bets on when you'd arrive, and most of them were post-due date. But I was all, hell to the NO! You see, I was experiencing horrible back pains that resulted in long, sleepless nights. Don't worry, it wasn't your fault! I'm just being nice, it was totally your fault. ("Tiny Bingo" is what we called you when you were in my belly, a nickname and a story for another day.)
The morning of March 14th, your dad and I were at our final "Birth Class" - you know, the kind where they teach you to do breathing techniques on a giant exercise ball that are completely useless. I started contracting, but I had no idea. I must have had a pained expression on my face, because our teacher looked at me and said in front of everyone, "Are you having a contraction?" I was like, "Um no? Yes? Maybe? What!?!" But it passed, the class ended and we went along with our day - which consisted of putting the car seat in the car, taking an infant CPR class, and eating huge sandwiches. We were very productive.
Early evening, I felt like taking a walk. I went by myself, and wandered to the exact same spot I sat, staring at the ocean, on the day I found out I was pregnant. I became emotional. I started talking to you, out loud, which, to a passer-byer, must have looked insane. I told you I was ready to meet you. I talked about all the people who were also anxious to meet you, who loved you already. I cried happy tears. And then I went pee in a port-a-potty.
When I got home, I made mac & cheese for your dad and I. We finished off the box, and settled down on the couch for a movie. 3:10 to Yuma. I fell asleep half-way through it. I dreamt your dad and I were a part of the movie...
This is when the party got started. Around 9pm, I was jolted awake by water, everywhere. I thought I had fallen into a toilet or peed my pants, and then I became sane. I said to your dad, "SOMETHING JUST HAPPENED." He gave me a funny look and then I said, "MY WATER BROKE!" We both jumped up and started talking to ourselves at the same time. My side went like this, "Ok, I'm going to go change. Maybe go to the bathroom? I don't think I have to go the bathroom. Ok. I feel fine? Oh dear, look at the couch." Your dad, "I should call someone, I should do something, I need a drink." When we finally started talking to each other, we came to the conclusion that we should get our "Go Bag" and head to the hospital.
We pulled up to Saint John's in Santa Monica and checked in. Once I was in bed, they checked to confirm my water had actually broken. I kept thinking, please don't let it be pee, please don't let it be pee. Because that would have been embarrassing and that would have been a record breaking amount of urine. It wasn't.
They gave us the option of going home, spending the night in our beds, and coming back in the morning. A lot of people probably would have preferred that option, but not your father and I. We like doctors and machines and drugs and people who know what they're doing. So we got settled in. I called my mom (your Gigi) who was still in Minnesota. She started looking into early morning flights. Carson called his parents in Palm Desert, and they got in the car. While I was getting all hospital robed and IV'ed up, your dad went home to get music and BEER. This shouldn't surprise you. Like I said, the party had begun...
To Be Continued.