(I've been posting a link to my blog on my Facebook page each day. After last night's ramblings, I received a complaint about the use of the F-bomb in my subtitle. I won't go into the entire conversation ad nauseum but suffice it to say that, out of respect for the friend who doesn't like to see the offending word on his home page every time I post an update, I've rephrased things slightly. But only up there *points to blog subtitle* - down here, it's business as usual and that, my friend, includes the occasional F#@!! or even a little *#$^~! once in a while. You've been duly warned; enter this journal at your own risk. Alrighty, now that that's out of the way, let's get back to my history.)
The last time we'd talked, I told you about my decision to keep my beautiful, brilliant, sweet son who is now a wonderful 25 year old daddy of his own little girl. So what happened? Well, as I mentioned, my parents suddenly changed tack and began supporting me instead of fighting me. And that changed everything. I admitted that I really did want to keep the baby and so I called my boyfriend who was with his family for the winter break holidays. He told his mom and we made arrangements for the two of them to visit my family the following day.
I don't remember all of the details except that our parents seemed to get along well enough. My mom was pushing for a pre-baby wedding (which alarmed me greatly - remember, I was trying to break up with this guy! Marriage? yyyyikes) but eventually, after talking with a representative from the health insurance company, she realised that it was actually more beneficial for the purpose of health insurance coverage if I was still single when the baby was born. Ultimately, the adults decided it was best for me to return to the university town since the doctor I'd been seeing was there and deliver the baby there.
So! Back to the college town I went and my boyfriend and I began telling everyone our big news. We became even more solidified as "the darling couple" of the fraternity and I have to admit, his frat brothers were just about the sweetest, most helpful guys you could possibly imagine. They surrounded me like a flock of mother hens, taking care of me, making sure I was well rested - they even had me move into the fraternity house so someone would always be available in case I went into labour and needed help. Pretty cool for a bunch of teen aged and young 20 something boys!
On Friday, January 18, I was having an extremely uncomfortable night and, to my horror, I kept peeing a little once every hour or so. I was really embarrassed and kept taking showers because I felt just... gross; I think I took NINE showers that night! Finally, the next morning a few contractions began taking place. By noon, we decided maybe we should call our parents and by 4pm, we decided that it might be a good idea to go to the hospital. 19 January was also one of the coldest days in the history of Illinois (wind chill of -79) and no one's cars would start. It took several tries before we finally found a car that could get us to the hospital and we were on our way!
Things started out innocently enough but, by 8pm that night, after receiving ungodly levels of pitocin to "speed things along," I was ready to kill someone and, frankly, I'd have let the garbage man come in and see my nether regions if he could promise to make me feel better! My mom, in an attempt to help me learn Lamaze breathing at the last moment, gave me a picture of a prairie dog nibbling on a daisy to focus on. I think that's the only time I've ever sworn at my mother to her face. I was in pain, exhausted, and I thought I was going to DIE! I remember the doctor coming in at 2:00 am, checking my progress and saying with a smile, "Good, good, Kerrey... you fie centimeter dilated so oh-nree sree oh four mohr howah now." WHAT?? Did he say THREE OR FOUR MORE HOURS? I don't think so, mister! I cried and wailed, "I can't do this for three more hours! I can't!" but he just patted my hand and told me he'd see me later. I was miserable... and then, 20 minutes later, I felt a pain that can only be described as "ohmahgodwhatthe--!!??" as it felt like my body was turning inside out, starting with my pelvis. I told the nurse watching over me, "ohmahgodit'scoming! it's coming out!" She ran over, starting talking to me very rapidly and telling me to stop pushing. I distinctly remember giving her a death glare and hissing, "I'm not pushing - it's coming out all by itself!!!!!" The nurse said, "impossible!" but called the doctor just to humour me. He came in, looked at me very doubtfully and said declared that it was highly unlikely but I kept insisting that the baby was coming so he checked (I think, more than anything, just to shut me up). His expression changed immediately when he saw the baby's head beginning to appear and from that point, everything moved lightning fast. Fifteen minutes later, on Superbowl Sunday morning, at 2:36am, after a very long and painful back labour, James Andrew Leeds (5 lbs, 11 oz, 18 inches long) made his entrance into the world and immediately peed on the doctor. I'd like to say that it was a Hallmark moment filled with joy and tears but to be honest, I'd been up since Friday morning and all I thought was, "well thank God, that's over!"
The next day, however, I had some private time to get to know my son. I remember holding this teeny, tiny little bundle, thinking, "I'm going to break it. I just know it," and then thinking that plenty of women much dumber than I had managed to raise a child before so I guessed I'd learn as I went, too. He was beautiful with tons of pitch black hair, soft, soft skin and dark eyes that stared and stared at me.
"So, here you are, little man. It's about time we finally met, don't you think?" I whispered to him. He blinked his tiny eyes and continued to stare. "I really have no idea what I'm doing," I went on, "but I promise you. I promise, I'm going to do my best, okay?"
It's funny how something so tiny and unexpected can change everything about you in the blink of an eye. I was a kid when I had my son. I had no idea what I was doing. I'd barely even changed a diaper before. And I was terrified that I'd break him. That I'd fall asleep while holding him and he'd fall out of the hospital bed or I'd roll over on him and smother him or I'd accidentally do something terrible just because I didn't know what I was doing. But you know what? I watched. I watched the nurses clean his umbilical cord. I watched them swaddle him in his blanket. I watched them hold him as easily as if he was a little human football. And I learned.
My mom tried to get me to name him "Sanford Bruce," after my grandfather. I refused and we had another Battle Royale. "Think of the inheritance!" she said. "Grandpa doesn't even like his own name! I'm NOT naming my son Sanford!" I retorted. "You're ungrateful and selfish; you know what? Forget it. I'm not coming to get you - find your own damn way home; how about that??" My mother and grandmother had arranged to pick me up from the hospital so when she issued that threat, I felt sick to my stomach and scared to death. I began to cry and my mother told me to quit being a ninny. The next day she and my grandmother showed up at the hospital. When it was time to fill out the birth certificate information, the nurse asked me, "and the baby's name?" I couldn't look at my mother but I replied quietly, "James Andrew Leeds," and, with that, we headed out the door.
My first four weeks postpartum were spent at my parents' house in Chicago. After that, my boyfriend and I rented a cute little apartment in Bloomington, Illinois. So whatever did happen between Jim's dad and me? I said I'd tell you that story today and here I've gone and spent the entire time talking about the birth of my first born instead. Awful of me, I know... okay, okay. This time I promise: tomorrow I WILL tell you what happened between Jim's father and me. I promise. But now? It's time for this girl to get some shut-eye. I hope I'm not boring you with the story of my life. I know I'm certainly enjoying telling it!
Good night, whoever you are. Talk to you tomorrow...
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