blood and guts and milk and magic

Once upon a time, I used to speak (and read and write) decent German - at least decent enough to watch movies and write contrived essays. This came after years of schooling, of course, but also a couple of stays in Germany. Once in the vicinity of Hamburg, I was overwhelmed by a familiar smell as I crossed a wooden bridge. It was the exact same scent as my grandparents' chalet in the Alps. And completely unexpected too. If I closed my eyes, I was transported instantly to their home, that atmosphere, the memories associated with it.

And so it is now, except that the smell is of blood and milk.

After several days of fearing an induction far more than I was fearing labor, of drinking cumin teas to gently encourage her to come greet us, of hiking up and down snowy slopes next to A & P sledding, and finally of splurging on a delicious Indian meal where each dish was carefully selected for its high cumin content, mini-E came a few minutes past her expected due date.

00:24 on Monday, January 28th to be precise.

It is tough writing about labor, especially to the ether.
I am incredibly proud that I was able to mostly labor on my own at home, relaxing, listening to my music selections, letting go (not watching the clock, not thinking ahead, not letting my mind interfere). This gave us time for my aunt-in-law to take the ferry and make the 2 hour journey, time for P to feed lil A and put her down for the night; I even had enough senses about me at the beginning to explain to lil A in between contractions the overview of what was going on (mom in labor, mom and dad going over to the hospital later tonight, baby coming soon, you'll meet her tomorrow at the hospital).

I labored for about 6 hours at home. Mini E was born 2 hours after we got to the hospital.

This was an all-natural birth as I had hoped but honestly didn't fully believe I could pull off. And with back labor too. About 2 minutes before her birth I asked my husband, incredulous, so you think we'll go natural all the way?

Other earth-shattering things I uttered that night include, "This is not really fun anymore" (referring to labor. I also thought, but refrained from voicing, that I did not want any more children so I'd never have to go through this again. Somehow pain has a short memory; just two weeks later, this strikes me as utter nonsense.)

It wasn't pleasant. But it was also soon completely overshadowed by the miracle that is a birth. The moment when I hopped (sort of) out of the tub, jumped (not really) onto the bed, and quickly uttered, "she's coming out". Indeed.

The nurse was washing up, the OB hadn't arrived yet, and so it was P who caught her. I hope he never recovers from the magic of it. (My dad also delivered me, and I was also born on a snow storm night; somehow that makes me feel like she is more my daughter!).

Her nickname is "creme deub" for "creme de bebe" as she is a particularly gentle, calm, and easy-going baby so far. She has darling sideburns, a healthy appetite, an unfortunate cold, which I passed onto her, and expressive hand gestures - her signature pose is to rest her chin on her two hands one on top the other. Tres Audrey Hepburn.

And so we are all well.

My parents have provided much needed help 'round the house, and a much needed distraction for lil A. Unfortunately they leave on Friday. Then the real fun begins.