Meet my Spawn

Yuna Maxine was born  on the lovely spring day of April 6, 2010 after 30 wonderful, almost pleasurable hours of drug-induced labor (Never planned on going drug-free.  I'm too much of a pussy for shit like that, but that's a whole other story).  Honestly, it should have been later than that but I somehow managed to trick my doctor into inducing me during a routine check-up. I remember everything so vividly.  I slept and ate through most of my labor (Yes, I also know you're not supposed to eat but when you look at the l&d staff and they suddenly seem savory, I think that's enough to warrant a small decent serving of steak and eggs) that I almost told myself, dang, I got this whole labor and delivery thing down like a pro!  That was until I dilated to a 10, sooooo ready to push and the epidural decided to wear itself off.  The wonder drug decided to bail out on me on the most crucial hour of my life. 

I had Shi, my other half, Jen my sister and Chris my brother-in-law surrounding me in my room.  I figured in case my dear love faints at the sight of my blood at least I had other people on standby to rush him to the ER.  So there I was pushing my life away with three people beside me who were as helpful as having your 90 year old grandmother spot you while you bench press 200 lbs.  Crap.  Three varying opinions, personalities and dialogues.  One was telling me to think of my greatest enemy while pushing, one was telling me that he could finally see the head (which I later found out was pure bs) and the other one was correcting my leg positioning. When I told them all to just shut it (all this while on the verge of what seems a lot like dying), the baby finally crowned, and surprise surprise, successfully got its head stuck midway through my vajayjay.  

Naturally, you'd expect the OB-GYN to be right there, ready to suck that bugger out, but noooooo.  Of course he wasn't there, I mean c'mon, this is ME we're talking about.  I realized that if a person was unfortunate enough to be having a classic Murphy's Law moment, it needs to come and go with a bang.  It was just really my luck that 6 other babies in the L&D ward decided to make a beeline for the same OB the same time mine was making a run for it.  So we took a number and got 6.  Cheers!

 So anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah, my daughter getting stuck in there right?  I let out the mandatory scream.  No doctor.  Another scream.  Then another one followed by "It really hurts!! Can we just suck her out? Do a c-section?"  (looking back I shouldn't have sounded too gracious). Doctor Busybody was still nowhere to be seen.  Trust me, around this time, I was seeing red all over. If it weren't for her obvious physical advantage of holding my left leg in place, I would have cranked the nurse's head to submission, but  miraculously upon thinking this, she left my side and proceeded to press the red button.  Mental telepathy?

Three grueling hours after (Fine, more like three minutes after, but it sure felt a whole lot like hours), guess who finally decided to show up?  You got it, another nurse showed up to start warming that tray they place babies in.  Then, just like the Immaculate  Conception, my doctor makes his grand entrance, clad in his crisp white coat.  He comes over, takes a good look at my already deformed baby's head still stuck in  my crotch while sloooowly putting on his latex gloves and manages to say: "Okay Cristina, what's going on here?"  

Really?  REALLY?! Let me show you what's going on you @!#($*!#*)_!!!!!!

Very calmly, he took another couple of minutes to change into his delivery scrubs and at this point, all I could do was let out a faint groan.  I mean, what else can I really do? In situations like this, it might be best not to aggravate the person in charge of your life. On a lighter note though,  the man knew his stuff.  All he needed to do was push my legs farther so that my knees would touch my chin, ready his scissors and wait for my next contraction.  After this, it only took seconds for him to reach in and pull my daughter out.  I'm not gonna get into the gorier details of my episiotomy because I feel that innocent readers need not be subjected to such grossness (HA! As if you haven't had enough), but trust that it involved a huge amount of the words FLESH, BLOOD and SPLATTER.  You get the picture.

Poor baby, it must have been terribly uncomfortable hanging out in there to say the least.  It's just like that fishing game all of us used to play when we were kids.  The one where the girls would run after the boys with their skirts raised high up as if they were fish nets so that they can catch the boys (the fish) with it and hold them captive inside.  Good times. Wasn't that uncomfortable?  Oh, wait, what is it?  You mean you never played that game? Seriously? Never heard of it? Oh.... *crickets*

Looking back, I'm starting to believe that my agony was really not the doctor's fault.  Nor was it the stupid epidural exiting my system at such an ungodly time. I mean, seriously, who would've known that I was about to spew out a 6 month old?  Look at her.  You could almost picture her going to preschool.  Isn't she the happiest baby on the block, vernix and all??

Anyway I was getting ready to get up and scoot over to the warming thingy to take a good look at my spawn when my doctor reminded me that he still needed to deliver the placenta and stitch me up. No big deal.  Having lived through this ordeal made this announcement sound surprisingly pleasant.  Pffft. What pain? I spit on the face of pain. This gave me the chance to look around and see what was going on around me.  As my brother-in-law diligently took advantage of the photo op, I saw my sister and Shi in tears.  I panicked.  Why wasn't I in tears??  What happened to the mandatory maternal tears?  Did this make me a bad mom??  Maybe, maybe not.  I wasn't about to force myself to burst into tears right then and there.  I figured I might as well save those weepy nights when she starts using a sharpie on my pristine white walls or when she insists on watching reruns of Yo Gabba Gabba during Gossip Girl nights.

It is true that Yuna Maxine was born utterly miserable and humongous.  Add 2 more points for that sorry, deformed head.

 But guess what?

 Exactly 72 hours after her birth:

*She was a certified superstar*

And just so you know, soon after this shot was taken, the tears just started falling :)

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