Hi, I’m Michelle, a random Stay-At-Home-Mom of three. Things just happen to me. And I laugh. The father of my children is to a wonderful man who probably didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he proposed, but he’s stuck with me now, mwhahaha. And so are you… You can read more about our humorous happenings at www.LaVidadeBlondieChell.blogspot.com , but for now, here’s a glimpse of thing kind of things that happen to me….
In a lot of cultures, babies are named at the time of their birth, based on different things, like how the mother was feeling, what was going on, the first thing they saw…etc. If I was raised in one of these cultures, my third child’s name should have been Oops. Instead, we named him Malachi (it means “angel” or “messenger of God”).
A little over a year ago, I looked like I had shoved five watermelons up my shirt and my sanity level was out the window. I was a week over-due for my third child, and I had been to the hospital twice for what turned out to be false labor (oops). Depressed and weighing more than any pregnant woman should (over 230lbs…oops), I woke up on the morning of April 19, 2011 with what felt like mild cramping.
Unalarmed (the contractions were irregular and completely bearable), I proceeded with my plans for the day and headed to my friend’s house to help her babysit. As the morning progressed, so did the cramping, but the timing did not (for those of you who have experienced pregnancy, you know the hospital will not admit you until the pains are five minutes or less apart, and last for about a minute).
Around 11:40 a.m. the pain intensified, and my friend suggested that we started timing again. We were passing the time in her backyard, and one of the toddlers needed a potty break. After she rushed the little one inside, I experience what felt like the worst pain of my entire life. I glanced at the phone she left outside (since we were timing), leaned over her picnic table, and started screaming, “Oooooh my gooooooooosh!!!!!!! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOh my gooooooooooosh!!!!” (How did I remember what I was screaming, you ask? One of the three-year-olds repeated it back to me after the EMTs came. Again-oops). I needed pain meds. NOW. I didn’t care if the hospital sent me home after they gave me some; I just knew that I needed them.
My friend’s hubby’s employee (poor teenage kid) was outside, witnessing my spectacle, and I sent him inside for help. My friend rushed outside (she heard the screams, but thought it was the little ones horsing around), gathered the children, then came back to help me. I told her (in a slightly panicked, not-so-nice voice) that I couldn’t move. Then the pain subsided and I could feel my legs again. I then stated, “I need to go to the hospital NOW. I can’t wait for JR to come. Mike needs to take me”.
Since I know my wonderful friend is a bit of a germaphobe, I decided to go pee before we left for the hospital. I made it into her bathroom via the garage (this is important-it explains why the other door was unlocked), dropped my pants (little did I know that Mike’s employee was following me inside-oops), sat on the toilet, and immediately began to scream, “The baby’s coming! The baby’s coming! Help!!!” I tend to panic in emergency situations, and this was no different. Apparently I was also screaming, “Save the baby! Save the baby!!!” (You must understand that his cord was supposed to be wrapped around his neck, and we didn’t have a Dr. on location-oops.)
Next thing I knew, my friend’s hubby was sitting on the floor in front of me, holding towels. I looked at him, he looked at me (and my nether region), and he said, “Push!” Angered (he’s a man-what right does he have to tell me to push??), I replied, “I CAN’T push! My BODY tells me when to push!” then, I pushed. By this time, I was squatting, not actually sitting on the toilet, and he caught my little boy before he fell into the bowl. Still worried, I watched as his umbilical cord popped out after him like one of those old fashioned spiral phone cords. He cried. Relieved, I fished my cell phone out of my pocket, and proceeded to announce the news to the world-my mom, Twitter and Facebook were among my first recipients (yeah, that totally could’ve waited, but… I may have been in shock-oops). To give you an appropriate time frame, it was less than five minutes from when I started timing the really bad contraction in my friend’s yard to when she heard his first cries (while I was in her bathroom having a dramatic moment, she was in the hallway on the phone with 911. In denial that I was pushing a kid out. In her bathroom. I believe her conversation with the operator sounded something like, “Hi. Yeah, um, my friend is in my bathroom and she thinks she’s going into labor. Oh, wait-I think she just had him”).
And that, my friends, is the birth story of my third child. Let me end this by telling you about the “running joke” my friend and I had due to my depressing pregnancy hospital stays(you know-false labor and all)- we had joked about me giving birth at home, with her husband acting as midwife (to give you a picture, he is a huge, strong man who only does manly things). Now, he is taking college course to become an EMT. And that poor teenage kid? Yeah….he witnessed the entire thing…..apparently I wasn’t the only one in shock.