NaBloPoMo "M"

M is for M to the J



Here is it, the moment you've all been waiting for...

The Story of MJ's Arrival

Our story starts with the pill, or rather without it, and how I was convinced my confused body wasn't ovulating, so we were just going to have to wait to get pregnant.

Or maybe our story starts with a nice night Frank and I had together just after the Christmas craziness.

Or maybe our story starts with the stomach flu I suffered in January. "It's just not going away," I whined to my manager at work. "Could you be pregnant?" asked she. "Nah."

Oh, wait...

Or maybe our story starts with nephew-son Jerry. He was living with us and very sweet about taking care of me. He would run to Ray's Drive-in for my afternoon hamburger fix. (Hamburgers and ice cream sundaes were my cravings. And hot and sour soup.)

Or maybe our story starts with car repairs. You know how some women nest before they deliver? Well, I went out and worked on the car. Nine months and one week pregnant, and I was out there replacing bulbs and air filters and I don't even remember what all. The car had only been in our possession for about a week, purchased used from friends Bobby and Diane—a new family car for a couple that had up until then found increasingly creative ways to cart around large objects and a family of three (counting Jerry and an increasingly pregnant woman) in a two-seater car. (Sidenote: We also helped Jerry buy his first car the day we bought the Tercel. The previous owner: "When is your baby due?" "Today." He went pale.)

Or maybe our story starts with my dad and his wife, Reneé, who were up visiting from San Diego hoping to be in attendance for the big event. They were sleeping on our sofabed when I felt the first contractions Sunday night. I think they were even more excited than I was.

Or maybe our story starts with Stephanie's car. She and I went shopping on Monday to try to stimulate my exceedingly slow labor. She drove us from mall to bank. It was very bouncy (something I'd never noticed about her car before and couldn't detect after). But I suppose it was stimulating.

Or maybe our story starts with dueling Casio G-Shock watches. Jerry and Frank spent a couple of hours timing my contractions Monday night while I experimented with different positions under some deluded idea that I could get comfortable.

Or maybe our story starts with our arrival at the hospital about 26 hours after my labor started only to discover that I wasn't dilated. At all. The nurses sent me off to walk the halls for an hour. It was a surreal time, walking along very slowly with Frank at my side, thinking I was in such pain. (Ha!) At my next exam, I showed some progress, so they admitted me.

Or maybe our story starts with the arrival of my mom and Stephanie. Except I'm a little fuzzy on when that happened.

Or maybe our story starts with "These contractions are pissing me off" as I sat in the tub in the dimly lit room. (I have no idea if the "dimly lit" part is true. I only know that it's dimly lit in my memory; I didn't become aware of the daylight until after MJ was born.) My mom was on the phone to somebody (note to self: if there's ever a next time, do not allow people to call the birthing room) and yet another contraction hit and suddenly I had just had enough.

Or maybe our story starts with "Somebody tell me it's too late for drugs." Definitely.

But our story definitely starts at 11:36 a.m. on Tuesday, September 15, 1992. The big moment. I had Stephanie on one side and Frank and my mom on the other. The room was full of people (again, only an impression). The cord was wrapped around the baby's neck. "Oop, we have the cord wrapped here," said the unflappable midwife, cutting the cord early while my mom hid behind me so I couldn't see her terror. I was never worried, either because I was too tired or because the midwife was calm.

And then MJ was born. "It's a girl," said the midwife. "It's a girrrlll," Stephanie and I crooned in unison.

They put her on my tummy (another reassurance, because they definitely wouldn't have done that if she'd been in danger). She was a little gray but pinked up quickly as they did their measurements. Then they gave her back to me and we started bonding. I don't remember his words, but I remember that Frank spoke. And even though she'd been ignoring a dozen voices all around her, at the sound of his MJ turned to look.

She was daddy's girl even then.