Urban Drool

It has not escaped my attention that we are hours away (well, about 36 hours away) from my first child’s first birthday.

I fully plan on enjoying her “birthday weekend” (which I stubbornly call the next 4 days, because her actual birthday will fall on an actual day when I have to actually work – SUCK) with every ounce of my being. There will be kisses.

And cake.

And 45 people coming to love on her.

And balloon animals.

And magic shows.

And face painters.

And cake.

And a piñata.

And homemade pizza.

And endless squees of children and babies and tons of fun.

And have I mentioned the cake?


Anyway. From tomorrow morning onward it will be laa laa lee doo doo and happy birthday and loveangelbabyjoy and all that. I promise. I truly am looking forward to it and cannot wait to celebrate with everybody.

But for right now, this evening, please forgive an emotional, angst-filled Lumi and indulge her. Allow her a few hours and more than a few (hidden) tears as she pens a letter to herself, one year ago exactly right now:

Dear Lumi of One Year Ago Exactly Right Now,

Go home. PLEASE go home.

You just spent 24 hours tied to a hospital bed, with cervadil up your hoo-hoo and pitocin racing through your veins.

All for naught.

Your cervix is still 3 cm. You haven’t effaced for shit in the past day. And, just so you know, all that poking and proding from dozens of different fingers? And all those harsh and out of nowhere contractions which are slamming that 9 pound baby’s head onto your cervical tissue? Is making your cervix start to swell.

Please note: your cervix will be so swollen in 30 more hours that a drop of extra virgin olive oil would struggle to find it’s way through.

Your water hasn’t broken yet. You still have time. Time to unplug your wires and tubes, put on your clothes and go home. Rest and eat yummy food for a couple days. Please stop trying to force this child to come before she is ready to. You are only 10 days past your due date – you have a couple more days you can wait through.

Please note also: what waits for you in the next 36 hours is the most mind-boggling painful labor you could imagine, and endless frustration as you dialate to an 8 ½, see the nurses get all excited and bring out the baby bassinet and break down the bed and get everything ready for you…only to have your cervix puff up and seal shut like a blow fish and then…slowly…slowly…dialate back down to 5. An epidural will be administered, which will shatter all the pride you feel for laboring through a FULL DAY of horrendous labor without pain medication. An emergency C-Section will be performed. You will barely recall meeting your child for the first time. You will not get to be the first person (or even in the top 5) that gets to hold her.

And four hours after that, you will nearly die. Your uterus, frankly pissed off and exhausted after all this abuse, will decide to flush 1/3 of the blood in your body OUT of your body in an attempt to destroy itself. 5 IVs, a Hep Lock, 3 blood transfusions and a week in the hospital will be the result.

So seriously, please go home.

Just stop it with the weeping and the “I just can’t be this pregnant anymore!” and the impatience and the calling of the midwives and vainglorious determination to make this all about YOU.

I can’t be sure, of course, but there is a small possibility that if you leave now and go home and give it a few days time, this baby just might decide to come of her own accord. And perhaps you could avoid all this. And perhaps you could have the natural, intervention-free birth you have been dreaming about for months. And perhaps your uterus won’t be so compromised that any future pregnancies and deliveries won’t be in such jeopardy.

I wish you could hear me. Oh, how I wish. I wish my hindsight and experience could trump your naïveté and make you see how much better it would be if you stopped right now and give nature a chance to take it’s course.

But you can’t. Of course, I know you can’t.

So, all I can say is, good luck. Don’t die. And you will fall to pieces with love when you see her, you really will.

Two more things, that nurse in recovery is going to be a royal cunt and won’t want to give you a cup of water. Tell her to go fuck herself and have the Boy go get you some water.

And? For the love of all that is Joe Pesci, take the Percoset THE VERY FIRST TIME IT IS OFFERED. You will NOT win some kind of prize for pretending to be all brave and snotty and “Oh, my incision doesn’t hurt! Just a few Tylenol will be fine.”

You idiot.

Love,
yourself