They became worse..
Then I remember poking him awake, whispering that I thought it was maybe "time to go. NOW". I remember him bolting out of bed, jumping in the shower trying to desperately shock his body awake, even though at this point it was now closer to 2 am. He threw on a hat, grabbed my hospital bag and we jumped in the car. I grabbed at the door handle, writhing in pain for the longest 20 minute car ride of my life. At this point they were coming every 1 to 3 minutes.
The next thing I remember is being wheeled into a room, baring my ass so I could get into the gown and snuggling into the bed with the pillow I had brought from home. Every few minutes I felt a searing pain shoot across my stomach, followed by a brief moment of relief. But that moment was always over just a little too soon, and then I had to brace myself for yet another jolt of pain. Hot, searing pain.
Then the nurse came in, asked if I'd like an epidural and I said "Yes. Hell, yes". When the anethesiologist came in, I rolled on my side like an obedient dog waiting for some bacon strips and waited for the extremely long needle to do its magic. 30 minutes later I felt all the pain subside, as well as any other feeling in my body from the waist down. I can't recall ever being so happy as I felt the pain lift away from my body. It was at that moment I decided that I'd have a t-shirt made, maybe even coffee cups, that said "I love the epidural. I love it so much I would marry it". It was that good. Drugs are good! And then, time seemed to suspend in air, like fruit in a jello cup. It was now 6 in the morning and I felt I deserved a nap. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was having him tuck me in and then pass out himself in the chair next to me, exhausted from me gripping his hand like a wad of putty.
I woke up around 8. The nurse informed me that I was ready to go. Hmm, I could have probably refuted her statement but I figured it was probably safer to listen to the medical professional than my tired, irrational bloated mess of a body. The next hour flew by. I remember pushing, resting, pushing, resting. I also remember thinking that the time would have been more enjoyable if the tv had been turned on to the food network. But anyways, after some more pushing, she was here. Finally here. They placed her tiny, bloody body on my chest and I remember thinking "
"Whose baby is this? She's black!"
and also,
"Yay, I'm not pregnant anymore! I can eat sushi!"
Heh. What can I say, I am random.
But upon closer look, I realized "Oh. She's dark because she looks like John. She looks like her daddy."
I watched as they weighed her on the scale, wiped her eyes with ointment and wrapped her up like a delicious, tiny little asian burrito. The nurse handed her to John, who wiped his eyes and stared at her in amazement. Then he placed her in my arms and all I could do was laugh. She was so dark, so hairy and so tiny. She was the baby I'd incubated for 9 months. The baby who left me a present of angry stretch marks and bad skin. And yet, all I could do was stare at this beautiful thing.
Evelyn Hae-bin Bang, we'd decided her name would be.
And now, five years later, here we are.
She is the best daughter in the entire world.
