Birth Eve

I've been looking forward to writing Aria's birth story, but there's two totally different parts and for the life of me I couldn't make them in my mind transition smoothly from one to the other, however, neither could exist on their own. Such is life. Here's the day before:

I'm a lucky gal. I've got some amazing genes from my mom and have loved every minute, make that every second, of being pregnant. The second time around was even better than the first because I knew what was coming. The presence, the shifts, the movement, and oh, the excitement! Almost each night I would enjoy a yoga session, and not just for me physically, but because it seemed to be good for both of us. I was really getting to know her during that time. Even now, when I do a session, which is tragically rare, I can still return to feeling the weight of her in different poses. Yes, I miss it.

Roland's birth was difficult, but this is not that story. We couldn't help but be shaped by the experience, but in my mind I was determined to to really know birth. I told my doctor that a C-section was like training for a great race, and then when you get to the end you get wheeled across the finish line in a chair. Argh. So whatever anyone feels about it, and no matter how many times people tell me I was/am crazy, this is how I feel and that was what I wanted. Granted, I was open to everything, and aware of all the risks and possibilities, but in my mind I could absolutely see having this baby unassisted. I listened to relaxing tapes at work (which I should probably still do), I read tons of books, and Brian, the doctor and I were all in agreement, all the potential was there. Sigh, or maybe not.

Whatever the reason, whatever the situation, we reached a point where a call had to be made. It was, with no regret, the right one. Of course it was, I'm crazy, but not stupid. The weeks leading up to the due date made the decisions become more, inappropriately, isolated in my mind as "right" and "wrong". So as the days passed I kept changing my game plan, trying to adjust the options, jockeying percentages and potentials to keep the hope in there that maybe... When the doctor told me on a Wednesday that it was in mine and the babies best health interest to schedule a cesarean I could barely keep it together. (And what an embarrassingly foolish thing to even waste a seconds thought over) Immediately after receiving this news I'm reviewing a computer screen schedule with an office assistant, who was telephoning around to the different hospitals seeing who had an opening for us. Scheduling oil changes are more pleasant. I held out some hope that we could wait a bit more, scheduling further out, giving more time for something naturally to occur, but Brian and the doctor put their foot down, which I needed, and the appointment was set for noon that Friday, September 18th.

It's an extremely weird thing to know that life is going to begin* at a certain time, on a certain day, in a controlled environment. And it's even crazier to think that a control-freak such as myself wouldn't want that. It must be the closet romantic in me that hoped for it. In the darkest of places I was heading - quickly - into, I was instantly rescued by the most humbling and sincere pair of friends I will ever know. Chip and Markana demanded I go out for lunch on Thursday, now my last day, to celebrate. Sitting there, along with Brian, it really was a celebration. Beer glasses clinking and healthy anticipation growing. By the time Michelle gently kicked my but and focused me past it, I was getting psyched. Thursday night at work wasn't bad at all. Chip and Annie put me at ease and I headed home at a decent time.

Ever the list maker and planner, I threw myself into making everything perfect for the people who would be supporting us through this time. Brian had taken care of just about everything, all the while carrying me through these emotional struggles, keeping me focused, making me laugh. My parents were ready, our plans were set. All that was left to do was pack my bag for the hospital.

This is when the magic started to happen. Talking in the bathroom, Brian sitting on the edge of the tub, the night before our child is born, we were still going over names. As I folded a gown to pack in the bag, Brian saw that the tag read "Aria" and presto, we had found our full name for Ari, which is the original name we wanted. I can't even remember what we had chosen if it was to have been a boy, but I recall desperately wanting an Owen, and Brian equally desperately wanted a Dooley. Some wars are never won.

You'd think you wouldn't be able to sleep a wink knowing tomorrow was the big day, but you're pretty motivated when you know just how little you'll have in the coming months - every minute counts!

Till tomorrow