Dear Maxwell,
There was a moment right after you were born that I could live in forever. That was the moment that the midwife told me to reach down and take my baby. You. One minute the world was filled with pain and chaos, and the next it was only your warm slippery little body in my hands.
I was eight days past your due date when I decided to have my water broken to hurry things along. No one expected our third baby to be so late. Grandma Julie had been at our house for weeks waiting to meet you and she finally had to go home before you arrived. I can’t help but wonder now if you ever would have been born, had it been entirely up to you. You were very comfortable in there.
That morning a nurse at St. Joseph’s called me to say that there had been a sudden baby boom in their maternity ward and that there wasn’t room for me. I would have to try for a different day. I was heartbroken. And mad. And hugely pregnant. And also just really crabby. I couldn’t believe that I still wasn’t going to get to meet you. When I’d finally calmed down enough to see straight, Daddy took me out to have a very spicy lunch and then we drove to the Mall of America and to walk and walk and walk - hoping in vain to induce labor.
We’d walked past every store at the largest, most crowded mall in the country and I was still not having any regular contractions. My feet were pretty tired though, and my stomach hurt from the Szechuan lunch, and I was ready for a nap. That was when my phone rang. It was Mary, the midwife. “St. Joe’s has space for you,” she said, “if you can make it here really soon.
I was floored. I’d been so sure that you were not going to make an appearance. Like, ever. And now I had a chance! Daddy and I rushed back to the car, with strangers all the while pointing at us and whispering to each other that they’d never seen a pregnant woman move that fast. Actually, I’m fairly sure it was the quickest I’d moved in the past nine months. We made it to the top floor of the parking garage, squeezed between the cars of thousands of Christmas shoppers, just as the first light snow began to fall.
In a rush of optimism, we’d packed our hospital things in the car before we left, so we were all ready to go. We dragged them into the hospital to the maternity ward, got our room, and waited for the midwife to come. When she arrived, she broke my water right away and then we all sat around waiting for the contractions to start. You caused a lot of waiting before making your appearance, sweet one.
My water was broken at about 4:30, Auntie Mara arrived at 7:00, and the real contractions began around 7:30pm. As a snow storm swirled around downtown St. Paul, I walked up and down the hallway of the maternity ward, simultaneously urging the contractions on and wishing with all my might that they would end. Yours was my third labor, and the third time I’d apparently forgotten what hellish, awful back pain I experience when giving birth. I heard myself begging for an epidural, heard the midwife say “not until you start having real contractions that will push the baby down,” heard myself say “these aren’t REAL contractions??”. We walked up and down, up and down the hallway. Me stopping every twenty feet to clutch the wall and moan, Daddy pushing down on my back so hard that it left marks on his hands, Auntie and Mary murmuring encouragements that I could almost hear over the pain.
I’m not sure exactly what time the agony ended but I do know that it involved a doctor with a very long needle that freaked out everyone in the room except for me. “Side effects include possible headache and backache” said the anesthesiologist. “I don’t care,” I said. “Also an extremely rare possibility of spinal cord injury and paralysis,” said the doctor. “Sounds awesome,” I said, “Bring it.”
Epidural in place, the next couple of hours went by in a warm cloud of comfort. By the time your Ouma arrived the snow was coming down hard outside, covering the dark streets in a soft white blanket. I lay there quietly as Mary, various nurses, Daddy, Auntie Mara, and Ouma stared at the fetal monitor. Your heart rate was eratic. Sometimes it was 160, sometimes it was 65. Everyone looked concerned. I felt helpless until the midwife suggested that we get the baby out as quickly as possible. Okay, I thought, something I can do. Truthfully, I’m not good at handling back labor but I’m an expert pusher.
I was moved to my side, which you seemed to like better because your heart rate evened out to a more stable rate. Then we took bets on when you would arrive, guessing it would be before the clock struck midnight. We were all wrong because, of course, you were in no hurry. I began to feel more and more pressure just after one o’clock in the morning. Finally the midwife told me I was ready to push.
I can’t remember exactly how many pushes it took to get you out, only that I could have done it a lot quicker if you weren’t quite so big. Mary kept making me stop at the most painful moments so that you would do less damage on the way out. It all felt very surreal to me, maybe because I didn’t actually go into labor on my own. I couldn’t believe I was really going to meet you. By 1:15am you, my precious Maxwell Bennett Missaghi, were born.
All of us exclaimed at once, “It’s a boy!”. I pulled you to me and you were chubby and purple and slimy and perfect. We waited with bated breath for you to scream, but you only let out a feeble little squawk. You’d had the cord wrapped around your neck and you’d swallowed some fluid. I wasn’t the only one who’d had a hard time of it. The nurses harassed you until you cried a little bit, and I held you to me not wanting to ever let go. Daddy and I stared and stared at you, both of us in awe of sweet and beautiful you.
Maxwell today you are six days old. So far you are probably the best baby in the history of babies. You’re calm and good natured. I’ve only heard you cry a handful of times. You love to sleep, to be cuddled, and to eat. You are so very loved by your big brother and sister, your mom and dad, your grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends. I wish I could explain to you how much you mean to me, and how much I look forward to watching you grow.
But, if you want to stay tiny, quiet and cuddly for a while longer, I’m okay with that.
I love you til forever.
Mama
There was a moment right after you were born that I could live in forever. That was the moment that the midwife told me to reach down and take my baby. You. One minute the world was filled with pain and chaos, and the next it was only your warm slippery little body in my hands.
I was eight days past your due date when I decided to have my water broken to hurry things along. No one expected our third baby to be so late. Grandma Julie had been at our house for weeks waiting to meet you and she finally had to go home before you arrived. I can’t help but wonder now if you ever would have been born, had it been entirely up to you. You were very comfortable in there.
That morning a nurse at St. Joseph’s called me to say that there had been a sudden baby boom in their maternity ward and that there wasn’t room for me. I would have to try for a different day. I was heartbroken. And mad. And hugely pregnant. And also just really crabby. I couldn’t believe that I still wasn’t going to get to meet you. When I’d finally calmed down enough to see straight, Daddy took me out to have a very spicy lunch and then we drove to the Mall of America and to walk and walk and walk - hoping in vain to induce labor.
We’d walked past every store at the largest, most crowded mall in the country and I was still not having any regular contractions. My feet were pretty tired though, and my stomach hurt from the Szechuan lunch, and I was ready for a nap. That was when my phone rang. It was Mary, the midwife. “St. Joe’s has space for you,” she said, “if you can make it here really soon.
I was floored. I’d been so sure that you were not going to make an appearance. Like, ever. And now I had a chance! Daddy and I rushed back to the car, with strangers all the while pointing at us and whispering to each other that they’d never seen a pregnant woman move that fast. Actually, I’m fairly sure it was the quickest I’d moved in the past nine months. We made it to the top floor of the parking garage, squeezed between the cars of thousands of Christmas shoppers, just as the first light snow began to fall.
In a rush of optimism, we’d packed our hospital things in the car before we left, so we were all ready to go. We dragged them into the hospital to the maternity ward, got our room, and waited for the midwife to come. When she arrived, she broke my water right away and then we all sat around waiting for the contractions to start. You caused a lot of waiting before making your appearance, sweet one.
My water was broken at about 4:30, Auntie Mara arrived at 7:00, and the real contractions began around 7:30pm. As a snow storm swirled around downtown St. Paul, I walked up and down the hallway of the maternity ward, simultaneously urging the contractions on and wishing with all my might that they would end. Yours was my third labor, and the third time I’d apparently forgotten what hellish, awful back pain I experience when giving birth. I heard myself begging for an epidural, heard the midwife say “not until you start having real contractions that will push the baby down,” heard myself say “these aren’t REAL contractions??”. We walked up and down, up and down the hallway. Me stopping every twenty feet to clutch the wall and moan, Daddy pushing down on my back so hard that it left marks on his hands, Auntie and Mary murmuring encouragements that I could almost hear over the pain.
I’m not sure exactly what time the agony ended but I do know that it involved a doctor with a very long needle that freaked out everyone in the room except for me. “Side effects include possible headache and backache” said the anesthesiologist. “I don’t care,” I said. “Also an extremely rare possibility of spinal cord injury and paralysis,” said the doctor. “Sounds awesome,” I said, “Bring it.”
Epidural in place, the next couple of hours went by in a warm cloud of comfort. By the time your Ouma arrived the snow was coming down hard outside, covering the dark streets in a soft white blanket. I lay there quietly as Mary, various nurses, Daddy, Auntie Mara, and Ouma stared at the fetal monitor. Your heart rate was eratic. Sometimes it was 160, sometimes it was 65. Everyone looked concerned. I felt helpless until the midwife suggested that we get the baby out as quickly as possible. Okay, I thought, something I can do. Truthfully, I’m not good at handling back labor but I’m an expert pusher.
I was moved to my side, which you seemed to like better because your heart rate evened out to a more stable rate. Then we took bets on when you would arrive, guessing it would be before the clock struck midnight. We were all wrong because, of course, you were in no hurry. I began to feel more and more pressure just after one o’clock in the morning. Finally the midwife told me I was ready to push.
I can’t remember exactly how many pushes it took to get you out, only that I could have done it a lot quicker if you weren’t quite so big. Mary kept making me stop at the most painful moments so that you would do less damage on the way out. It all felt very surreal to me, maybe because I didn’t actually go into labor on my own. I couldn’t believe I was really going to meet you. By 1:15am you, my precious Maxwell Bennett Missaghi, were born.
All of us exclaimed at once, “It’s a boy!”. I pulled you to me and you were chubby and purple and slimy and perfect. We waited with bated breath for you to scream, but you only let out a feeble little squawk. You’d had the cord wrapped around your neck and you’d swallowed some fluid. I wasn’t the only one who’d had a hard time of it. The nurses harassed you until you cried a little bit, and I held you to me not wanting to ever let go. Daddy and I stared and stared at you, both of us in awe of sweet and beautiful you.
Maxwell today you are six days old. So far you are probably the best baby in the history of babies. You’re calm and good natured. I’ve only heard you cry a handful of times. You love to sleep, to be cuddled, and to eat. You are so very loved by your big brother and sister, your mom and dad, your grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends. I wish I could explain to you how much you mean to me, and how much I look forward to watching you grow.
But, if you want to stay tiny, quiet and cuddly for a while longer, I’m okay with that.
I love you til forever.
Mama
6 comments:
Oh, boy, I cannot get through a birth story without sopping sobs. I am very proud of you and so excited by how many things are similar between all births! I pulled out Iulia, too, by the way, the most amazing feeling ever! Congratulations again.
Such a miracle! Thanks for sharing! Can't wait to meet the sweet little boy.
Wow... Awesome. :)
Wonderful story and congratulations to you all! God is good and we are so happy for you!
Thanks all! I love to get comments on the actual post (instead of Facebook), because then I can look back on them later. xx
Beautiful birth story!
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