baby | And 2 Makes Crazy

So, I was in the Polish hospital a little over a year ago. I was 29 weeks pregnant with my son, lying in the hospital with the contraction monitor on my belly for hours at a time, eventually receiving a raging, itchy rash from that contraption.

And sure enough that annoying machine was jumping up and down like crazy. I was having contractions, so I was given something to stop those suckers.

Yes. Contractions. I know them well.

Let’s continue with this contracting belly baby named Maxwell and how he loved to cause pain.

It’s still a little over a year ago and I actually made it from 29 weeks to 34 weeks. Thirty-four painful weeks and my mom and I are watching my belly.

“Oh, look at Maxwell. He’s so funny.” And my belly would move and turn and slide and then stop.

Hmmm. That’s weird. Oh, wait. There he goes again.

Well, this became a pattern. Now, please keep in mind that I do have a 6-year-old daughter, but 6 years is a LONG time to forget about contractions. Apparently so is 5 weeks, because I didn’t even remember from my 29^th week of pregnancy.

Needless to say, I wind up in the hospital just halfway through my 34^th week and the doctors decide that it’s time for my bum moon to shine, in a room full of 6 other preggo women, and that’s where they give me a shot—on my bum moon.

Let me also say, the shot hurt. Did I mention that I was in a hospital room, on a bed, in a gown and there were 6 other very afraid pregnant ladies there with me?! Yep.

Full moon…Full shot…Full pain…Full hollering.

The nurse looked and me and said, “Oh, now. That wasn’t bad.”

And I replied, “Nie, straszny! Straszny!” Basically, “No! It was horrible! Horrible!”

She just chuckled, as I once again hid my big ol’ bum moon, while she left.

The contractions, however, were not impeded by the shot from Hades, and so I delivered my baby just a half a day later.

Well. If I thought the contractions were bad at 7 minutes apart, I was in for a really big surprise later during the day.

At first, after my water broke, I told my husband who was watching the monitor, “Hey! Let me know if a big one is coming.”

Utterly foolish.

Because he then became the sportscaster of Team Contractions and would holler out each time he saw it rise, “A big one is coming!”

“I KNOW a big one is coming!” I would holler back! “Don’t you think I can FEEL it?!”

The air was tense…he thought his job was fun. And I was at the point where I thought I was going to DIE. Literally. Die. And here is my husband in no pain watching a monitor yelling, “A big one is coming!”

Needless to say, he was quickly FIRED from that job. I put him to work getting me ice, getting me a cool head cloth, hand feeding me the ice, getting me the puke bucket, finding me pain drugs, and so forth.

In hindsight—he was an angel.

And eventually the contractions led to the game winning push! Twelve to be exact. Twelve devilishly painful pushes that popped us out a baby!

A baby…

And quickly all contractions were forgotten.

And then the world seemed right. And peaceful. And perfect.

Those contractions, they gave us a gift. And that gift is our son.

Life is sometimes like those contractions. Big and painful. Often we wonder if we are going to make it through moments in our day or moments in our lives.

And contraction after contraction is upon us. Seemingly endless. And there are people all around shouting—“It’s a big one!”

Exhaustion sets in. There is no doubt in your mind that this is the most painful experience of your life. And you are ready to quit.

To throw in the towel. Kaput with it. No more.

And then the worst of it comes upon you. And you unbelievably know that you will.not.survive.

But you do.

And, in the wake of all that was painful, you are given something precious.

It’s called life.

A chance to begin again.

Like a newborn. Except with experience.

A new day rises before you and you know that you can conquer it because you just survived the most painful experience of your life.

Contractions. Big ones. Labor. Labor that was accompanied by pain. Lots of it.

But you made it through. And now. Now it’s your turn.

Cradle your new beginnings and go to sleep, looking forward to a new tomorrow. You deserve it.

I thought my life was full…bursting really to the brim. And then I became a mom.

NOTHING beat that.

The morning sickness of pregnancy (Which means-all day, all night, all 42 weeks into labor itself)…Glorious!

Even labor…

My 1^st labor went a little like this:

“Here, Rich, hold my hair…Puke. Puke.”

Doctor to me, “Are you ready to push now?”

“Yes.”

Puke. Puke.

“Can you push again? She’s crowning…”

Puke. Puke.

“Okay.”

Push. Push.

And, of course, my husband being a first time daddy had no clue…

Doctor to Richard, “Okay—count to 10 for her and she’ll push the entire 10 seconds.”

Richard, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…..20!”

By now, my brain is exploding, my eyes have popped out of my head, my face is blue. I.AM.DONE.

Finally, after Richard’s doubled “10 seconds” are over, I loudly proclaimed, “Don’t you EVER count to 20 again!”

While he thought, “Oh, the longer I count, the longer she’ll push…maybe the baby will pop right out.” Typical man.

My body thought, “Lord have mercy! I need oxygen! Why is this man still counting? Who married him anyway?! Get rid of him and find someone new!” No joke.

Puke. Puke.

But finally, after many more sessions of 10 seconds (ONLY 10 seconds) and lots of puking, we had our first bundle of joy.

Ah. Such pride.

Wait…is that a girl? Is she mine? I am decently cute, her daddy is hot…She looks as if she has been boxed in the face. Is that normal? No, I mean…I love her. Sure, give her to me.

Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle (All for show, folks. All for show. Wanted to make sure that they didn’t take my baby away from me because I was an unfit admirer of this new, blotchy, boxed-looking creature :))

Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle.

Surprisingly—no more puking.

And overnight our lives changed.

Screaming.

Crying.

And the baby did some of those things, too.

And then, just like the sage wisdom my mom passed on…It too did pass. Both the baby’s crying and my crying.

Sleep invaded our home once again.

I began to feel less like a zombie and more like a … Well, like a…Hmmm. Well, let’s say less like a human delivery truck.

Anyhow—and the months flew by! And then the years.

In Poland, they say that time runs. Truly—my daughter won the Olympic Gold of the 100-meter-dash, because, in no time, she went from my boxed wonder to her very own version of her very own self—and that was FUN to watch.

Let me insert something here—had I been thinking clearly, I would have prepared myself for an independent-minded young lady with a style all her own.

But no. I prepared myself for—I shall dress you in pretty dresses and bows and put you in pageants (okay, not really the pageant part) and decorate you like a dolly. Oh how I love dollies!

Why did she NEVER let me do this?

It seems like as soon as she could take off her own diaper—I had no control over her clothes. Her beautiful girly-girl clothes.

Sigh.

Those dolls sometimes make better babies. (Okay—I’m just kidding. Don’t take my kid away from me.)

But because of Adelyne’s uber-I am my own kid and style-self, I have been gifted the greatest gift…Memories of the uniqueness of her life—called childhood! And I wouldn’t trade one moment for a frilly dress and beautiful bow. Although there are times when I would like just ONE picture in the photo album where she is a little less her and a little more compliant. Nah. Who am I kidding? I love her sense of HER!

And, so friends, I give you Adelyne as your very own encouragement…

May you be the YOU that you are…

Whether it is a kite-flying,