Written by: Suzanna October 16 2011 Editor's note:Suzanna and her husband Tom welcomed their beautiful, healthy baby boy Jacob on Sunday, October 9. Here's Suzanna's account of the days right before her delivery. The words […]
Written by: Suzanna October 16 2011
Editor's note:Suzanna and her husband Tom welcomed their beautiful, healthy baby boy Jacob on Sunday, October 9. Here's Suzanna's account of the days right before her delivery.
The words hit me like a ton of bricks, like a bucket of cold water, like a slap in the face. Whatever analogy you want to use, you get the idea: I was shocked.
When my midwife announced to me today—sounding more cheerful than I thought she should—“We’re having a baby on Monday!” I thought I might fall over in a messy heap of tears. I lost my breath for a moment as her words settled in. It wasn’t the “we’re having a baby” part that got me. I had become rather used to that idea over the last 41 weeks and 4 days. It was the “on Monday” part that waylaid me.
I was being induced.
No ifs, ands, or buts about it, I would be headed into the hospital in two days and Jacob would be on his way into the world in three. After nine months of waiting and wondering just how and when it would happen, this was it.
It wasn’t how I planned it.
And, for me, that was a big deal. Some little girls dream about their wedding day from the time they are small. Me? I imagined how I would someday tell my husband we were having a baby and, later, what it would be like when I announced to him that it was Time. (I think it was a romantic notion I got from watching a particular I Love Lucy episode one too many times.)
As a youngster, I never imagined that I could announce to him it was Time three days early. Finding out my baby’s birthday this way didn’t have the air of excitement I had imagined as a little girl. Instead, it felt sobering. Somber even.
Now, before I start sounding too puddleglum, I should mention that 25 years of girlhood fantasy wasn’t the only reason I was saddened by my midwife’s announcement. As quickly as she declared my baby’s birth date standing in the office hallway, she explained that his fluid was low and to wait any longer for him to make his grand entrance could endanger us both. Sombering moment number two. Oh, and did I mention the ultrasound has him pegged at 9 pounds 11 ounces? Sombering moment number three—especially for my lady parts.
As I did my best to collect my thoughts, it dawned on me that, although this wasn’t going to be the birthing scenario that I had planned, it was an appropriate close to my pregnancy. After all, the last ten months haven’t been about me and my wants or wishes (except maybe where ice cream was involved). They’ve been about what is best for the little guy growing inside of me. And so, as I walked out of the office, I decided that if he was okay, then I was okay, too. It’s not about my birth plan going exactly as I, well, planned, it’s about the beginning of our new life—me, Tom, and Baby Jacob.