Feeling contractions with my third baby, I stood in the kitchen, dancing to Marley, as my husband made ginger chicken wings. One love! People get ready! I felt excited and happy. I could eat because I didn’t have to take castor oil this time. And my husband was right next to me. Here we were, expecting our third child. We finished off the wings and headed to the hospital, believing that every little thing was gonna be all right.
We got there around 10pm in the middle of the work week. Few people were there, and fewer still were grinning from ear to ear like me. The contractions felt strong but bearable. My husband would tell a joke, I would laugh, pause to handle the contraction, and then listen to another joke. Eventually, we went into a room where the nurse checked how far along I was. She also checked my blood pressure, which was elevated, and I thought it was because of the chicken wings. I tried to relax. The nurse told us to wait. Soon we would be in a labor and delivery room. My dad came in to bring some water and some snacks and some well wishes. We all walked over to the designated room together. My dad left so that my mom could come to the hospital and he would stay with the kids. I found the bathtub (not a Jacuzzi, more like tub in a motel next to an airport), and tried to get as comfortable as possible given my height and width and the size of the tub. A wonderful nurse turned the lights down low and attached a monitor so the staff could check on me while I labored (I asked her to “help me have a natural birth.” That was the birth plan). I called for my husband and then realized he fell asleep on the couch.
Well, here I was. It was all me. No doula like with Sasha. No Era and Andy like with little Andy. Just me, with a Marley song in my head (it was me and Marley, man). No woman, no cry. And I wasn’t. I was doing just fine. Taking it one contraction at a time. I am a master, I chuckled. I breathed through each contraction. I could teach this stuff.
The thing was, the contractions were not getting any closer together. And then my mom came in. She also let me labor on my own, but I must have felt more relaxed, because suddenly, I experienced a contraction that would not stop. The “master” started to scream. I got up, stood up, out of the water, and the contraction still persisted. I hollered for a nurse, feeling an overwhelming urge to push. Somehow the nurse and my mom got me to the bed. Ironically, the nurses and the doctor on call told me not to push this time. My doctor had been paged and she was on her way. With God’s grace and an amazing amount of patience (on the part of my mom, whose hand survived the grip of Lenny the Crusher), I was able to hold off until the very last second, when the doctor speed-walked in, putting on her gloves. Big Andy woke up and was able to see how very quickly I gave birth to our baby boy. Praise God! Yah, man!
Redemption song! My mom, who missed little Andy’s birth because she was taking care of her mom in Ukraine, was here to support me and I felt strong enough to do the work presented to me. My little one loves his grandma so much, we call him Babnik—he loves his Baba! He looks like my other grandma, Zina, but with chestnut hair like my grandma Nina. And he has our feisty spirit. He came roaring in like a lion, and I thank him for it. Exodus! You’re free. Now it’s your turn to be courageous and free. Yah, man! You can do it, and we are here to help.