I often wonder what's more important in our lives: the actual moments that we live and experience or the memories that last once the moment is over?
Grace turned one-month old on September 3rd; time has flown and somehow has moved at a snail's pace at the same time. Her hair is coming in thicker, her face is filling out, newborn size onesies are now too small; she's changing more and more each day. One thing that has not changed, however, is the indellible mark her birth has left on me. And I mean her actual birth. Each night as I lie down to sleep I try to avoid thinking about tasks that need to be completed (like a dissertation, maybe?), and so I replay in my mind the events surrounding Grace's birth in much the same way I replayed over and over my and Jeff's first kiss four years ago. Is it reviewing it in my mind for weeks that has helped me to remember it? It was snowing outside. I see a snapshot in my mind of us sitting on his couch after finishing a game of Scrabble, me in an ivory fleece, jeans and yellow sneakers and him in a navy blue Eddie Bauer sweatshirt. He held my hand and I commented sarcastically, "I suppose you're going to try to kiss me next." The rest is history...
Fast forward four years. It occurred to me last night that I should write down the story of Grace's entry into the world both so that I'll have it to share with her one day, but also for me. For as painful as the experience was, I bask in its retelling, each one a memorial of a completed piece of life...one I want never to forget.
I woke up at 6:00 am on Saturday, August 2nd--contracting. Not painful contractions--just a tightening of my lower back coming every 10, then 7, then 5 minutes to let me know that my life was about to change forever. It was the day of Bryan and Jill's wedding, and Jeff was the Best Man. As he ran around getting ready to leave, he simultaneously timed my contractions on a stopwatch. I reassured him that they weren't that bad, that it was okay to head out for the wedding, I'd see him at the church. The story would be much more interesting if I said I went into full-blown labor the moment he walked out the door, but no. I made it to the wedding, contracting throughout the ceremony and then reception. My mother-in-law and the mother of the groom convinced me before dinner to call my doctor since we were an hour and a half away from the hospital. I did, and he told me to 'stay for a while, have fun, but try to get closer to Rochester soon.' After Jeff's speech and a eating a meager dinner (out of fear I would throw up during labor), Jeff and I headed out on our way to the hospital.
We arrived in triage at the birthing center, they "checked me" and I was 3 cm dilated. They told me to "walk around for awhile" and they'd check me again in an hour or so. After said hour, I was dilated to 3.5, but the resident on duty decided it would be best for me to take a percoset and head home to get some sleep. For the record, I knew that was a dumb idea, but I did what I was told. We made the one-hour drive home, I showered, got into bed...and then my water broke. We made the one-hour trip back to the hospital and in that brief time, my contractions went from tolerable to "holy cow, I don't know if I can handle this" painful. Our car ride began with chatting, to breathing, to moaning through contractions.
We got back to triage at around 3 am. I told them my water broke and their little litmus test was inconclusive as to whether or not it really had. It had. I knew it had. So when they told me they'd have to use the speculum to do an exam, I was anything but compliant. I made up my mind--there would be no speculum going anywhere near me. They "checked me" again and I was dilated to 5 cm, begging for drugs--"any drugs! Just something to make the pain go away!" After what seemed like an eternity (a nurse who didn't believe me when I said on a scale of 1-10 the pain was a 12, another nurse who admired my "beautiful veins" before she inserted my IV, and sitting in a wheelchair leaking all over the hallway forever), they brought me into a new room with a nurse named Joy and Dr. Sciabetta. The pain suddenly turned to an intense need to go #2...at least that's what I thought I had to do. In actuality, I was nearly fully dilated and it was time to start pushing! "Wait! Does this mean I can't have the drugs!?" I cried. The doctor decided I could have a saddle block because it would take away the pain for about 2 hours (instead of the epidural which is meant for more long-term pain relief). I love Dr. Sciabetta for this. I have never so looked forward to a needle in my life! Once it was in, I was completely numb, happy, and on my back ready to push.
It was a very intimate scene. No stirrups, masks or gowns. Just Jeff holding one leg, Joy holding the other, Dr. S. sitting at the end of the bed chatting and joking with us (in between pushes, of course). After about 30 minutes of contractions and a handful of pushes, Dr. S. warned me, "Now, if you don't get her out by the next contraction, the pain medication is going to wear off and you're going to feel everything." I knew he was kidding, but his joke signaled to me that it was time to get the show on the road and with the next push out came little Grace's head. I laughed and cried, amazed at both the work I had done in getting her out and the work Jeff and I had done together in creating such a masterpiece. For the first time ever, I saw tears in my husband's eyes. And our world was forever changed.
Grace entered the world in silence, her eyes wide open as she took in whatever she could make of her environment. Part of me was concerned that she wasn't tense and crying like all of the babies I had seen born on TV. But there was another part of me that was proud of the grace with which she made her entrance. Quiet and aware, cautious and curious, observant. I only hope that this is the way she will live her life as well--eyes open, looking ahead, quiet enough to attend to the world around her in thoughtful and meaningful ways.
Grace is one month old and I can't stop thinking about those several hours on August 2nd and 3rd that ushered her into this world. I have learned the meaning of the phrase "labor of love" and I am forced to admit that everyone was right--it was SO worth it.
As has become our morning ritual, when Grace woke up at 6:00 this morning to eat, I fed her and then brought her into bed with me, holding her next to me as she slept with my cheek pressed against her sweet-smelling little head. Every morning this is a moment I want to hold onto--put it in my pocket and save it for later for when she's too big or too cool to snuggle with her mama..
The experiences that I live are important, but they are fleeting--my and Jeff's first kiss, the birth of Grace, our morning snuggle-time. However, it is in these moments that I formulate the memories that I will hold and cherish forever.
Here's to never forgetting...
