Baby!

It could have been Key Biscayne.
For Noemie's birthday present, we had decided we were going to take the family to the Miami Seaquarium. For weeks we were going back and forth about it. Would they go without me? I was nervous about being in Miami less than a week before my due date. And then there were a few days there where my hip bones hurt so much I could barely walk. But when I woke up on March 23, I felt pretty good, and it broke my heart to think I'd have to miss her birthday present. Despite the danger, we loaded the van and headed south.

The kids got splashed by Lolita, enjoyed some snowcones, and ogled some water-mammals. Prima Meli went with us; a great time was had by all. We arrived home safely. And... no baby. Phew!

It could have been in a college auditorium.

Saturday was the Ars Flores Symphony performance for children at Nova University. Again, I didn't feel particularly birthy so I figured I'd go as well. I'd forgotten how much I loved listening to live music. In particular, live orchestral music. After the performance, one of the musicians asked Dominic what his favorite instrument is. He responded, "hip-hop drums." She looked thoughtfully at him and replied that, while she didn't have any hip-hop drums for him, she could give him a tour of the percussion section. He seemed to be "down" with that, so he climbed on stage and tried his hand at the marimba and a kettle drum.

Afterwards, the kids ran around a nearby field on campus. Dominic flew a kite; Toby threw tantrums. The weather was nice. And... no baby.

It could have been in a pew!

Sunday morning came along. No baby. But... every now and then a contraction. They were light, few and far between. Duds. I started having contractions like these a month before Cristovan was born. Could it be I was still a month out??? Danny did some math and decided that it was in fact possible. In defiance, I marched off to church. During Sunday School and then during service, I made little signals to Danny with every contraction so he could mark the time. Church got out, and we headed home. No baby.

The week before, plans had kept falling apart for the abuelas to take the kids to the Youth Fair. We were going to give it one last shot this Monday, so we arranged to take Dominic and Noemie down to Miami Sunday night and celebrate Noemie's birthday with a small family get-together while we were there. We packed their bags after church and set off down I-75.

As we drove along, past Miramar, past Hialeah, I couldn't help feeling that with every mile we drove, I was getting further and further away from a safe delivery. This was a monstrously bad idea. I called my midwife that evening and gave her the heads up about the contractions. But I would not dare tell her where we were.

Cousins, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, grandparents, and even my abuela Angela's brother Gonzalo showed up to sing Happy Birthday and eat cake. Noemie was over-joyed. She gave a genuine, beaming smile and thank you to each person before opening her presents. Family members were visibly nervous. I was starting to get nervous too as my contractions started to settle into a pattern, one every 10 minutes. I was starting to think this baby might be arriving that night (though I was praying that Noemie wouldn't have to share her birthday.)

We wrested ourselves from the festivities while family was still there, and high-tailed it for home. It could've happened at my mom's house...but it didn't. Naturally, as we were arriving, the contractions started to subside. And then... the womb became silent. Dang it. No baby.

Danny and I seized the opportunity to do some much needed cleaning. The nesting instinct hit me a little late in the game. And it manifested itself in obsessing about how desperately my dining chairs needed to be reupholstered. There I was at 11 pm, texting furiously, in search of a staple gun. Danny meanwhile,rearranged the furniture in our bedroom, cleared the bedroom and bathroom counter spaces, and put away the kids winter clothes bin. He probably did some other important things too but I was too concerned about the disorganization in my shoe organizer. My priorities were, admittedly, a little off. We went to bed sometime after 2 am. I woke up without contractions.

I spoke with my midwife in the morning and she said that, if I wanted to, we could bump up my weekly appointment to that afternoon. I was frustrated, and knew that the numbers wouldn't indicate anything regarding my progress, but Danny thought it might be helpful so I acquiesced and we found ourselves in Hollywood at 3 in the afternoon. My check up revealed that I was 90% effaced and 5 cm dilated, which is where I stood 2 weeks before Toby was born. The baby, she estimated, was about 6 lb. The midwife shrugged her shoulders. Could be tomorrow. Could be 2 weeks. But I had a feeling this baby might come sooner than later so, as we drove home, I texted friends, "I expect the baby will come on Wednesday or Thursday."

It could have happened in the produce aisle. How embarrassing would that have been?

We stopped at Publix on our way into our neighborhood. Picked up food to last us until the kids got back on Tuesday... I considered getting one of those automatic carts as I usually do in the last couple of weeks of pregnancy but I didn't feel I needed one. The baby hadn't dropped that low yet. As I waddled towards my car door, a man approached me. He had a graying beard; he was carrying work boots. He appeared to be in his mid-60's. He was the kind of person whose personal space needs were a hair shy of the norm. But he reminded me of a friend of mine's dad, and he didn't really scare me. I counted on my observant, police-man-husband's watchful eye. The man said, "Oh. Looks like that baby is coming soon. I give you one to two hours." I smiled and nodded. "How many kids do you have?" he asked. "This will be my fourth," I answered. He smiled kindly and said, "You better hurry and get where you're going." As I got in the car I replayed the conversation to Danny. Danny had not seen the man at all.

When we got home, I helped Danny put the groceries away and then went to lie down per my midwife's suggestion. It was 6 pm and the afternoon sun was streaming into our bedroom window and inviting me to take a nap. I laid across the bed on my side... praying for the Supreme Court healthcare hearings or internally debating the sociological implications of the Trayvon Martin fall-out or something equally overwhelming when I head a soft "pop." Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh... "Danny! Dannydannydannymywaterbrokedanny!!!" Danny, who was in the office coordinating a guys-night-out, came in looking startled.

"Danny I think my water broke!"

"I don't know! You're wearing a black skirt!"

"Danny, I know my water broke! Get my phone!" I was frozen in fear... though laughing. Because this was kind of funny. I had never imagined my water would break. It had never broken on its own before...

I called my midwife (who answered the phone for the first time ever) and relayed the news. She said she was coming right over. "Wait...I haven't had any contractions... should we wait till I do?" "NO!" She sounded alarmed. Uh oh. In the fuss, I had missed a text message that had come in. I took this awkward time of being "frozen" to check my missed messages. It was Colleen from the homeschool moms playgroup. At the moment my water broke, she had woken up from her nap abruptly and felt the need to pray for me. She sent out a mass text to the mom's group mentioning that I had had contractions the night before, and calling on the group to pray that, when the time came, the midwife would make it on time as she knew my labors were quick. That was pretty surreal. Then again... it was rush hour. On I-95 and 595... it might take a miracle. I laid there as still as possible. If my body didn't know my water had broken, I didn't want it to find out. But my body figured it out within about 10 minutes. With my first contraction, I got off the bed so Danny could prep the sheets. I got back on the bed on my side, as the midwife had instructed weeks ago, and endured the four excruciating contractions. That's all I got. Just four. They were killer- as if all the pain of a standard-length childbirth was concentrated into those four contractions. Danny, who began frantically putting the bassinet together, out of nervousness I think, was quickly called off his project as I told him he might have to catch the baby himself. He grabbed a towel and stood in position. As the baby crowned, we could hear the midwife pounding down the hallway and Danny ran to receive her. Toby, meanwhile, was blissfully napping.

Five minutes later, a wiggly baby, with its gimpy little 16" umbilical cord, was laid on my tummy. Well, almost. You can't go very far with a little cord like that. The time was 6:45. The midwife waited till the cord stopped pumping (as all good midwives do) and then Danny "cut the cord" for the fourth time in his life. After a few minutes it occurred to me to ask, "So is it a girl or a boy?"

And there she was. A shock to me, a little girl. A little 6 lb 1 oz girl.
It had been about an hour and a half from my chance meeting with the mystery-man at Publix. And my midwife who never answers her phone? She made it from Hollywood to Davie, in rush hour, in 32 minutes. A miracle? I think so! And just in case there was any doubt, a downstairs neighbor handed Danny a cigar that evening. He said a client had given it to him that afternoon for no reason. "I guess it was for you!" he said.

People would ask us why we planned a home-birth. I think I knew I'd be having one whether I planned it or not. And there you have it. Danny gave her the name Giannina Espinosa. (A small Jeanine... a Jeanine-a. And I don't know why he chose the Italian spelling over the French we'd planned on.) Her name means "God is gracious," and there is no doubt that He was. Wishing us a Happy Easter a week later, a friend thoughtfully remarked that we would be experiencing "joyful contemplation of new life for many reasons." So true.

It's been two weeks since Giannina was born. We almost lost our minds the first week. But every day things get better. It was nice to be able to walk outside and breathe fresh air 6 hours after she was born. It was glorious to not have to be poked, prodded, and monitored for three days. Giannina was visibly disappointed in her new world at the start. But she has since come to accept it. Sure, there are children screaming, laughing, singing, or kazoo-ing from sun up to sun down. And I don't let them drink soda. But I think eventually, she'll come to the realization that her family, while not perfect, is pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.