A Mother's Tale: Caden's Birth

When Pete asked me to be a guest contributor, I wasn’t terribly interested since my “free time” these days is usually dedicated to cleaning the never-ending spit-up, droppings, and urine; sweeping up the dog hairballs from our very stressed out and anxious puppy; and catching an occasional nap. However, once I read Pete’s interpretation of our dear son’s birth day, I felt obligated to convey the truth of that day to our dedicated followers. You see, my husband has a very interesting way of remembering things. Here is the story from Mommy’s perspective of Cade’s big day.

It was about 1:00 AM on Tuesday, December 6th when I started to feel some cramping. When I told Pete, he concluded it was most likely gas figuring it was too early for Baby Jaslow’s arrival. After all, he hadn’t even wrapped up his work at the office since he assumed the baby wouldn’t come until after his affairs were in order. Babies usually operate on a schedule that’s convenient for Mom and Dad, right?

I tried to rest for the next 2 hours, but the pain was getting progressively worse. By 3:30 AM, I decided it was time to wake my snoring husband. I told him I was going to go downstairs to eat something in preparation for the long day ahead and to try to practice my breathing techniques to ease the pain. I assured him that I would be OK and that he should get some sleep because the next 24 hours might be pretty exhausting. I wanted him to be well rested so he could keep me going throughout the day.

By 6:00 AM, I was in agony. I went back upstairs to find Pete sound asleep. (I really didn’t think he would be able to sleep knowing that I was in labor downstairs, but then again, this is the same person who fell asleep in every class in high school…and somehow still ended up with an A++++ average….and at our prom when he was “hypnotized” by the hypnotist who was hired as the evening’s entertainment. I still believe he just fell asleep.) Pete seemed in utter shock and disbelief when I woke him to tell him it was time to go to the hospital. In typical Pete fashion, he began cracking jokes to ease some of the tension. None of his jokes were funny. He also started snapping “cute” pictures of me in labor. None of these pictures were at all cute...see “Day 0: The Birth.”

When we got to the hospital, the jokes and the pictures kept on coming, as did my frustration with my baby daddy. What are some of the things my dear husband said, you ask? Here are some examples: “I’m so tired!!” “I’m hungry.” “I’m so hot. Why did I wear this sweatshirt??” On an ordinary day, these comments would not have upset me. But the fact that I had been awake all night, with only a half bowl of cream of wheat in my stomach, and sweating like I had just run a marathon, I could not have cared less about Pete’s mild discomfort. In addition to these remarks, the nurse on duty thought it would be helpful to tell me that my “contractions would get a billion times worse” and that what I was experiencing was “nothing!” Thanks, nurse… b*#%^. Little did this b*#%^ nurse know at the time, I was already 5 centimeters dilated when I walked through the hospital door. Take that, nurse!

It was around this time, that my favorite nurse decided to take some blood and hook me up to an IV. While I was writhing in pain from the contractions, and the nurse was searching for my hidden veins, Pete was turning as white as a hospital bed sheet in the corner of the room. He claimed, with what I thought were tears in his eyes, he couldn’t watch because it was making him queasy. I truly thought he was going to pass out. Now I thought, “Holy crap, I am screwed.” The nurse says my contractions are going to get a billion times worse, and my coach is about to pass out because of a very small needle!!

I was so thankful when another man came into my life on this particular morning: The Epidural Man (and he wasn’t even afraid of needles!). If I weren’t already married, and in the middle of birthing someone else’s baby, I might have kissed him. Within minutes of getting the epidural, I was saved. My pain subsided and my sleepy, hot, hungry coach was, once again, able to fall into a deep slumber on the nearby couch while we waited for Caden to make his grand entrance.

From this point on, Papasaurus did a pretty good job of accurately describing the birth of our son. Caden shot out like a “flash” (Pete says he foresaw that part which is why he was so adamant about his original choice of name) after only about 20 minutes of pushing and was placed (goo and all!) on my chest. It was truly a beautiful moment between Mommy, Daddy, and little "Flash.” My hatred of Pete’s jokes and picture-taking subsided. My coach did a terrific job getting me through the long day. All was peaceful in the world…well at least until it was time for baby Caden to eat.

-Mamadactyl