I wish I could begin this with something like “it was a dark and stormy night,” but truth be told I can’t remember what the temperature was like outside, or if it was even drizzling. Chances are it was at least dark, because it was night time, but even on that note I cannot be 100% certain. The reason for this is that my wife and I spent the first part of the evening in pain, tag-teaming the bathrooms in our home just a day after our little baby bird got the flu and erupted all sorts of fluids and chunks, some identifiable and some completely foreign, from both ends. Apparently, it was our turn for this bug… and a whole lot more than some chunks was about to get erupted.
My wife, Ellie (who shall henceforth be referred to as “Superwoman” or “She ra,” or some such other appellation appropriate for such a sturdy and strong woman), had some anti-nausea meds called in by her midwife, and sometime shortly after midnight she managed to calm the inner storm and make her way to the bed for some rest. She mentioned something about being dehydrated and having contractions, but we were both kinda of the mindset that being able to keep down some water and taking a bath would silence the crampy contractions and she (read: I) could just focus on sleep.
Naw, dude. Not even close. Somewhere betwixt the puking, dry heaving, diarrhea, and cold sweats the placenta had abrupted partially (something we learned after the fact, as suspected by our awesome midwife), and then the blood starting flowing. *also: I don’t care if abrupt is not a verb, so save it. She had a partial placenta abruption, so at some point something abrupted. Got it?
I’m not one to mess around when it comes to unseen trauma, so we grabbed our half-assed half-packed hospital bags and headed to the hospital at some ungodly hour, like 0300-ish. Thankfully, Ellie had had the presence of mind to ask her mom to come stay with us overnight, just in case the flu had dehydrated her so much that we had to go the hospital for IV fluid replacement, so we didn’t have to worry about finding a last-minute middle-of-the-night babysitter for our dear sweet little lady.
We got to the hospital and Ellie was admitted, and learned that she was already 7cm dilated and 100% effaced (to me, and at that hour, everyone was 100% an eff-face). They ran some IV tubes into her arm and started replacing some of the fluid lost, but just like last time she progressed through labor, like, fast as shit.
No pain meds, no bargaining with God or the devil to end it, nothing; just cold, hard, exhausted, literally shitty laboring to bring our little boy into the world. She must have broken some records doing this, too. From the moment we left for the hospital to the moment Jude Patrick was born, less than 3 hours had passed. 3 fricking hours. THAT is the way to ring in the new year.
What a champ. I’ve seriously never been prouder of my wife. She pushed a human being out of her hoohah, without any pain interventions, after spending the entire night puking and crying and painting the bathroom with liquid dookie, and still looked like she had just sashayed off the pages of a magazine.
Like, if child birth had a face, my wife just curb stomped it. Blammo.
Sadly, even after all of this, I’m pretty sure that little man is also going to look way more like dad. Sorry, boo. Better luck next time?