Our Story
Amidst that bloody orange moon, waves of rain over the woods, and double rainbows, W wrestled with me to help me fight contraction pain. When I finally asked for the epidural, W started playing songs on his phone to help me relax during the procedure. Before the heavenly dose even hit me, I found myself bursting into tears from the music.
The immoral pain departed. Due to the meds, I could only be on a liquid diet, but I was satiated by the splendid options the hospital had to offer. That cup of sweet and delicate chicken broth was just heaven at that coffee-level temperature. I also helped Mom and W order their share of the guest tray. It’s my happy zone: watching others enjoy their food and demanding they report back details of their experience.
Then was the labor. My few pushes got the baby out and brought me to relief in under ten minutes. I burst into tears again involuntarily. This time there was no music, just me and the baby, both crying.
As hospital standard, I was moved to the mommy-baby room for two more nights‘ stay. It was like fancy camp, where Baby and I were then checked by hospital staff every one or two hours on various topics like vitals, recovery orders, lactation education, photography services, and birth certificate. We had little time to ponder more on baby’s name.
Our second night was the toughest. Baby was screaming through the roof, our hands tied. Her lips shivering and her lungs expanding like she was fighting for the last bit of humanity in this world. I was numb and irritated.
But then it got a little bit better, and it was almost enough: she slept through the night (meaning three hours), and I woke up to the room’s beautiful sunrise before W, who was sleeping on the couch. I then had an idea about baby’s middle name.
For breakfast, W and I coffee-cheered to the breezy morning, our final moment at the hospital. For both baby and I, we celebrated sleep, food fed to our mouths, and pooping.
“Tell me your whole story,” one of the rounding nurses held our baby in the air, looking deeply into her eyes.
Welcome to the world, you fuzzy baby. Right, you are not living our story. We are living through yours.
