Our baby is one year old. Suddenly, a year has flown by and sweet Miranda is now one. One year ago tonight Scott went to bed early, I finished up some last minute packing for the hospital, and we settled to sleep with butterflies in our tummies (and a baby in mine). The next morning, after a couple false starts with hospital admissions over the phone, we departed for the hospital. Early, around 7:30 AM. The drive was quiet, Scott and I eager, anticipatory, worried about what to expect when we arrived to bring our daughter into the world. What would the day hold? Had we made the right decision to have labor induced? Could we hope for a speedy delivery like we remembered Eva's? How would the hospital staff handle a nervous, joke-cracking pregnant chick and her wheelchair driving, diet Coke guzzling husband?
I kept picturing Eva's birth, the other hospital, her room, her smell, the melting of my heart when she arrived...would it be the same with Miranda? Would this baby even look like my precious Eva? How could I possibly love another human being as much as we loved our firstborn?
The day began with some special treatment. We stood around for 15 minutes while they cleared out a very large room for us. Scott could drive right up to the side of my bed and stay close through the whole labor and delivery. (Well, most of the labor, except for the part where he went to get a chocolate shake for himself. This also happened when I was in labor with Eva. Ahem.) The nurse was fantastic, fun, and a photography buff, which was a huge blessing since she saw to it to take some amazing photos of Miranda's birth no one will ever, EVER see. She also took some "coverage" shots, ran the video camera, and snapped our first family photos with baby Miranda--whew, one less worry for Mommy about keeping even the documentation between our two girls. We haven't watched the video yet...and her baby book is pretty bare...but we've got the birth photos at least...
The nurse started the pitocin while this other guy put an epidural in my back. Girls, I highly recommend this--get both drugs at the same time. The nurse was thrilled with this approach and agreed--I believe she said her day depended on my mood and the epidural was a key factor in keeping me happy. So labor started. Dr. Jacob stopped by (her office is across the street) to check in and say hello. She'd be back in a few hours. Now, my labor with Eva I barely remember. But with Miranda, my body was definitely in labor. Amazingly, I felt no pain with the epidural, but my breath, my clenched fists, and my tight back and neck muscles knew what I was going through. I could tell when the contractions were happening just by noticing my fists clenched tight...the lovely nurse dimmed the lights and opened the shades to let the grey, rainy day light into the room. To think my coworkers were already in the office by then seemed totally bizarre. My mom came in to say hello. I'm sure I started tearing up somewhere around that time. But mostly I was excited.
After a couple hours of laboring and being turned and twisted side to side to help the baby move south, Dr. Jacob came back to check on me. One centimeter to go. I distinctly remember talking about one of the other doctors at the clinic and how he could be on a soap opera, and how I was glad Dr. Jacob was there because, hey, I was sweaty and compromised enough already. We chatted a long while, then she noted that the longer she stayed in the room the less likely that centemeter was to progress. Sure enough, an hour later I was ready and she'd finished lunch. (How OBs can actually eat lunch in between deliveries perplexes me. But then again I get grossed out watching ER, so clearly I'm not cut out for that job.)
Pushing. More pushing. About, oh, I don't know, 20 minutes or so of pushing. At one point, Dr. Jacob and our nurses (our lovely nurse brought in a backup so she could take photos and help Scott--amazingly helpful) stood at the foot of the bed commenting, "Wow, that should be a magazine advertisement for epiduals," and, in a matter-of-fact tone, "There's no way she could stand that amount of pain without an epidural." Um, thanks. (And in what magazine?!) They kept rolling the mirror out of the way so I couldn't see. At some point I stopped asking to have it moved back.
And then there she was! Our beautiful Miranda Roxanne! Full head of dark hair just like her sister, but a look all her own. I think the first thing I said was, "Oh! She doesn't look like Eva!" because I really expected her to look just like Eva. Her nose was a little crooked and smooshed but her pretty head was round and her little body was perfect. Scott's tears rolled down his face. The nurse snapped more photos. Then she bundled up our little honey and sat her in Daddy's lap. Sheer joy.
It's amazing how you don't really notice what's going on down south once you've got your baby. Somehow the doctor and nurses keep working and don't just stop to gush about your perfect offspring. Lucky for me, I missed most of the rest of the medical part just watching and talking with Scott about our baby.
Later, our parents came into see her. They exclaimed about her hair and how it reminded them of Eva, but that this girl had her own look to her. I called my dad and my sister to tell them. They loved the name. My mom and Scott's parents stayed with us through Miranda's first bath and swaddling, smiles all around.
We transfered to the recovery room where I stayed for the allowed 48 hours. For some crazy reason I decided to walk to the car after lying in bed that whole time and almost lost it on the way down. But I held it together. The ride home was far less threatening than our ride home with Eva. I think I was more comfortable, definitely more confident, not cursing every bump or mindless driver like I did last time. Scott met us at home, and together we carried our baby girl into her new room. She fell asleep on Scott's lap in the sun. Perfect.
And *POW!* suddenly it's a year later. Happy Birthday Miranda. We love you!
Labels: baby, birthday, Miranda
in the middle of the night. Technically, she knew how to do the last 2 from the start, but she's gotten really good at both lately. She has become our little "Miranda Panda" although her teachers at school sometimes call her "The Cougar" when she growls in displeasure.