Last night, I ate ungodly amounts of pasta then crammed a petit four in my face. It was so sweet I could feel internal organs shutting down, just giving up and letting sugar run my body. It feels like this: buzzzzzbuzzzbuzzzzzzz
Tonight, I get to do it all over again.
That’s right. Thanks to some spectacular family planning, today is Fox’s birthday. He is 3. He is a very big boy who sometimes yells, ‘carry me like a baby!’ and I love him all the way around the world and to Mars.
Oh god, Sadie are you going to launch into another birth story?
Bitches. You know it.
So Fox was very much a wanted baby. I don’t mean he robbed a bank (*snort* *giggle*) but that I spent a year freaking out baby, no no just after this last New Year’s, baby, no no wait until after the crab boil, baby, baby BABY!
Only it’s not that easy when you’re actually paying attention. Having done this getting pregnant thing twice I can definitely tell you that waking up pregnant is way less initial stress than waiting and taking prenatals and watching your alcohol intake and waiting waiting waiting.
I didn’t have fertility issues or anything but it wasn’t “easy”. My heart really goes out to anyone walking those long months. Good luck to you and keep heart.
Because someday, chances are very high that you will end up pregnant. And when you do, you want a pregnancy like the one I had with Fox. It was a dream. No morning sickness. No diabeetus. A little tired but still lots of energy. The glow.
And man, I was so ready for birth. I was like, ‘bring it on.’ because pain doesn’t (or didn’t) scare me. I get my teeth filled without numbing. I slept with a broken, uncast wrist no problem. I’m a pain sensei.
Or so I thought. At one week overdue and seriously huge and with Fox’s head roughly the size of Texas, my doc was like, ‘you want to induce?’ “uhhhh.”
Look, I’m all for patients making their own decisions but those should be informed decisions. If all you doctor says is, ‘want to induce?’ – ask what that means. Or wait, I’ll tell you.
Induction means you get a nasty little hell drug called Pitocin. Pitocin is evil evil shit. It will turn you inside out while managing to keep the baby inside. EVIL SHIT. It hurts like mofo and you will cry. Then you will get an epidural and you will promise things to the anesthesiologist you wouldn’t promise Brad Pitt. But then, then, the epi will fail on one side. It will suck balls. You husband will say, ‘well at least it’s only one side’ and you will kick balls. Then they will stick a hook in your babies head (still very much in utero) and they will say disturbing things about heartrates and you will be like, ‘moooorrreee ddddraaaahrrruuugggs’. Then finally they will wheel you in for a c-section, past scared looking moms in labor and dads politely ignoring your birthshow. You will be happy for drugs. Baby will be delivered then whisked away. And you will think, ‘did they get that baby from a closet? weeeiiiirrd.’
Or at least, that’s what happened to me.
Afterward, like two hours afterward, they introduced me to my baby and my morphine button. Do I even have to tell you which one I fell in love with immediately?
Then that baby cried for 12 hours straight.
We named him Charlie Fox.
Charlie Fox is a rock star name. Charlie Fox will take your number and never call you. Charlie Fox is BAD ASS.
That baby that cried for 12 hours was straight pissed off. He continues to be pissed off. He’ll be pissed off until he changes the world. Until everything is the way he wants it. Sure, it’s frustrating but also kind of…proud making. He’s charming and terrible. He’s willful and careful. Giggles and screams. When he puts his hands his hands on the sides of my face and says, “Mommy, stop talking”, I can’t help laughing, putting my finger to my lips to, once again, let Charlie Fox rule the planet. He’s different, I get that. But in a good way. Like seeing something rare and out of place and lovely.