My baby has a birthday today.
I woke up this morning, and began to cry. Over a decade ago (has it been that long?), contractions started at one minute after midnight. It was his due-date but he was huge, and all amount of persuasion from doctors and drugs went ignored by him. The pains felt intense but I handled it as long as they were spread out. I labored in silence, alone. Feeling my baby move within me, spreading out for his journey. Kicking and punching. Hiccup. A brief rest.
My birth coach picked me up around 5 a.m., pre-arranged for another induction-attempt. By the time we got to the hospital, the contractions had closed together. But my baby suffered. The cord had wrapped around his neck.
The doctors rushed me into a C-Section. Needle in my spine. Tears on my face. Hand held tightly. Background surgery noise. Then laughter. As the medical team lifted my baby out of my belly, he had let go a stream of urine that a horse could be proud of. They "vaccuumed" me out and sewed me up.
My swaddled baby in my arms. Strawberry red tufts of hair. Dimple in the chin. Beautiful eyes.
Happy Birthday, Baby Boy.
Mom
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