This Will Only Hurt a Little(67)
Nope. Just trying to stay healthy, lady! The worst was a woman at Rachel Davidson’s wedding who insisted there must be something “wrong” with me because of how big I was. It was so humiliating. She was an older woman, so I didn’t tell her to fuck off, but seriously, the exchange was insane.
“I can tell you’re ready to go!” she said, beaming at me. “Any day now?”
“Oh no . . . I’m just seven months—the baby is due in August!”
“NO! That can’t be right!! Is there something wrong with you? It’s not normal to look that big at seven months!!!”
“Nope. Nothing wrong with me. Okay. Nice to see you. Enjoy the paella! ’BYE.”
So around, eight and a half, nine months, I was ready to get this baby girl out of me. Let me say this: I’m a big believer in choice. All across the board. I mean, the choice to have a baby, certainly. But then beyond that, how you choose to have your baby is totally up to you: if you want to breastfeed or not, save the cord blood, give birth in a pool of dolphins, be knocked completely out, whatever. I couldn’t care less. But I have always felt really strongly that I personally would not get an epidural. There are a couple mitigating factors in me feeling really strongly about this. I mean, the least of which is that when I decide to feel really strongly about something, it’s hard for me to stop feeling really strongly about something. I remember watching a 20/20 when I was in middle school with my mom that was about hypnobirthing (which is a natural and drug-free way to give birth, basically involving meditation and deep breathing and visualization), and I declared after the segment that that was how I would have a baby someday. My mother rolled her eyes and said, “Sure, Biz” (I feel like that was her response to me for most of my teen years.)
My two closest friends who’d given birth, Michelle and Kate, had both done it without drugs, too. Also, the idea of sticking that huge needle into my back, inches from my spinal cord was way scarier to me than any trauma my vag was going to go through. Vaginas are meant to birth out babies (I thought!). Needles are not supposed to be put inches from my spinal cord! But most everyone I told that I was going to do the birth without drugs said I was crazy or that it would be impossible. Most of Marc’s girlfriends would just snort and give a knowing, “Yeah. Okay. Talk to me after . . .”
My due date was officially August 15, but I knew from my hypnobirthing that babies come when they’re ready, not some random date based off when you remember your last period starting. I was secretly hoping the baby would show up on August 8 so her birthday could be 8/8/08 but alas, it was not meant to be. Plus, my doctor later told me that the hospital was a total shit show of women getting induced for that very reason. I’ve always had this picture in my head of women giving birth in the hallways of Cedars-Sinai because they wanted a cool and auspicious birthday for their baby.
In the weeks leading up to the birth, we didn’t have much to do. I didn’t really feel like going out, although a few times Marc forced me out of the house to go see bands play or to a friend’s birthday party, where I was always miserable. Not that he noticed, since I think he was just happy to be out and seeing people. We spent a lot of time watching TV leading up to my labor. It was August 2008. The second season of Mad Men was about to start airing on AMC and people were just finding the show and getting into it. THERE WAS A LOT OF HYPE. Marc and I decided we should watch the first season in the two weeks before the second season started so we could jump in and be all caught up. Marc and I watched every episode of Mad Men that existed and SOME OF THEM TWICE, which was a lot of Mad Men in a little amount of time.
On Monday the eleventh, I went in for a checkup where my doctor was a little concerned that my amniotic fluid was low. We did a stress test on the baby, which is where you sit in a chair with a fetal heart rate monitor on for an hour and they make sure the baby isn’t showing any signs of distress. She was fine, so he told me to leave and go drink a ton of water and come back that afternoon. When I went back, my fluid was better, but he still was thinking that the baby could come sooner rather than later. Since he knew and was on board with my vaginal, no-drugs birth plan, he suggested something called “stripping the membranes.” (I’m so, so sorry if you haven’t had a baby yet and are reading this, because it all sounds disgusting. And I mean, for the most part, it kind of is. But then you get a baby at the end of it all! Yay?) Basically, if you’re a few centimeters dilated, your doctor can put on a glove and then (gross) stick his fingers up in your cervix and kind of sweep around and sometimes this induces labor. But it’s way less intense than having a drug like Pitocin.
So! Membranes swept, I went home. We watched some Mad Men, took a walk when it cooled down, and waited for me to go into labor. Which didn’t happen. I started feeling some contractions for sure, even painful ones (or so I thought) but they weren’t consistent enough to count. The next morning, Marc and I went back to sweet Dr. Crane (who is totally famous now, because he’s the Kardashians’ doctor and was on their show, but he was always famous in L.A., because he’s seriously the best). Again, my fluid was on the low side, again stress test for baby; she was fine, again with the membrane sweep. Dr. Crane suggested we walk around Beverly Hills for a bit and see if anything started to happen. We did and bought some pool furniture that was on sale (because why not?) and then walked back dejected. Nothing.
Dr. Crane did one final membrane sweep—I mean, at this point, were there any membranes left? It clearly wasn’t working, but whatever. I knew that I would probably end up on Pitocin in a day or so and then probably have to get an epidural. I was a little bummed and tried to google the name of some restaurant in the Valley that serves a salad that puts women into labor, but I couldn’t find it and it was too hot to drive to the Valley anyway. Marc had to go to work and I decided to go get my hair colored because I felt like after the baby came, it would be a while before I could get my roots touched up. So I did that, and went home and watched some TV, bored and hot and wanting to go into labor. After it got dark, Marc suggested we take a super-long walk, ending with me hiking up the giant hill that leads up to our neighborhood. We must have looked insane. I was a giant inflatable beach ball, and here was my tall skinny husband pushing me up a hill. We watched the last two episodes of Mad Men we had left and then went to bed.