[Dutch Lock Down Day Two Hundred Twenty]
You came early.
I went in for a regular weekly checkup on a Wednesday, my blood pressure was too high and I was asked to come in that Friday.
My blood pressure was still too high, but, good news, you were thirty seven weeks along, so you could arrive safely.
Induction would take twenty four hours, so did I want to deliver on Saturday or Sunday? On Saturday the doctor that I had worked with quite often was on duty, so induction had to start immediately.
We went home. Packed our bags. And returned to the hospital to give birth.
But first the news:
- Venture capitalists still investing in startups, despite Covid crisis
- Hundreds caught at Hilversum illegal party; Mobile sauna fest busted in Hengelo
Induction sounds scary and when you’re a first time mama and haven’t experienced anything like this before, well, it IS scary.
I was dilated NOT AT ALL so they had to put in a balloon. And inflate it.
My birth plan was something along the lines of, see what happens, do what the doctor’s tell me to do, get pain medicine if I can’t hang, push a baby out, go with the flow.
I didn’t have pain medicine intially.
And when I realized I really needed it, the nurse still wouldn’t give it to me because I asked calmly. I didn’t look like I needed it. Even though I was vomiting from the pain.
At some point shortly after puking for the second or third time, I said, “But first, let me take a selfie.“
It was hilarious.
Everything was hilarious.
Because we were all freaking the fuck out.
J and P were AMAZING. We were exhausted because I had to sleep in the hospital and they had to sleep at home and it meant that none of us slept. Also, the next day started at five in the morning.
J is your Aunt Jacque and P is, of course, your papa. And at another point right before I started throwing up, I said, I’m going to throw up and they started running around the room in utter panic looking for something to give me to put puke in – it was like a cartoon IN REAL LIFE.
So that first puke was me ALSO laughing.
I finally figured out that I had to LOOK like I needed pain – beyond the actual puking – so I pulled off my mask of stoicism and cried hysterically. It worked. And because the hospital was chill that day – it was a Saturday – I was wheeled immediately up to the anaesthesiologist and hooked up with some OH MY GOOD GOD AMAZING pain meds.
In America this means that you can’t feel your legs anymore or use them and in the Netherlands, this means that there’s just enough pain medicine to cut the edge off of the pain because they still want you to be able to push and such.
It was incredibly disturbing to find that out RIGHT THEN instead of, I don’t know, days or weeks or months in advance, but it wasn’t something that I thought to ask and the Dutch don’t volunteer information, so that’s where we were.
But my birth plan was go with the flow, so I did.
The rest of the delivery was fairly chill – I had to cry every once in a while to get them to increase the pain meds – and then it was time to push and I pushed and you were here.
And I really can’t believe you’re six whole years old.
Since you’re our first minion, you’ve taught us SO MUCH. The first time we registered you for school. The first time we took you to swim class. The first time we went for a drive as a family and forget a diaper bag and you pooped and we were miles from home so we HAD TO stop at a grocery store to get diapers and oh yeah, you pooped up your back so ALL your clothes were covered in poop so we also bought men’s shirts and socks and sort of wrapped you up and it was so cold to change you in the back of the car that your little butt SHIVERED and we felt absolutely awful, but we NEVER forgot a diaper bag EVER AGAIN.
You taught us all those things.
I’m so glad you’re here and, sure, your brother and sister, too, but today is YOUR day and today is the day that P and I went from being two to three and the world was so very different every day since.
Happy sixth birthday, A.
I can’t wait to see what you teach us next.