We had the weekend all planned; a typical family night on Friday, a day of fun playing tennis with Uncle Brad on Saturday, Church and the Saints game on Sunday (complete with face paint and lots of cheering).
Then, we didn't do our family walk in the park on Friday...
then Uncle Brad flaked on us...
then I got a call that my SIL was in labor...
then I got pulled over by the police and almost arrested because my registration AND drivers license was expired...
then, I died...
then, he let me go...
then, I got better...
then the labor stopped and I went home...
then the phone rang at 5:30am on Sunday morning...
then, me and my illegal self drove to the hospital...
in my Saints shirt.
When I arrived at the hospital, my mom and oldest niece were in the room with my SIL. She was excited and happy...the contractions hadn't gotten mean yet. My niece was playing on her DS and SpongeBob was on the TV.
Soon, the room got really full. My brother and their oldest son came back after getting breakfast at IHOP (they'd been there since 4am), my dad arrived with my youngest niece who was not too happy about any of this foolishness, and my oldest brother, his girlfriend and her daughter arrived, wearing Saints jerseys...they had tickets to the game and were stopping by before driving to the Dome.
Finally, Uncle Brad showed up, also in his Saints gear, determined that the baby would arrive well before kick-off so he could make it home to his "lucky" chair in time.
The maternity floor, which had been very quiet up until that point, suddenly got very loud...but not nearly as loud as it would later on.
For the first few hours, we took turns rotating between the delivery room and the waiting room. At one point, it dawned on me that I hadn't put any make up on and must surely be a frightening sight to everyone, so I sat in my SIL's delivery room to put my face on. She looked over at me and said "You're going to stay, right?" I said, "Well, I'll stay for a while. I'm sure other folks will want to come in before you deliver." She replied, "No, I mean, you're going to stay for the birth, right?." I just started crying.
I'm tearing up just typing that.
I stood up, tears streaming down my face, and went over to hug her and thank her for asking me to stay.
Truth be told, I'd thought about being part of the delivery for quite some time. I knew I wasn't going to be asked to be the godmother...I'd already had my turn...so being in the delivery room would be such a special moment to share with the new baby and my SIL. But, also, since I may never have the opportunity to experience a birth of my own, sharing in it with my SIL would be the next best thing.
After the tears subsided, I finished my make up and the Saints game started, the contractions starting coming hard and fast...and my SIL started getting loud.
She yelled. She writhed. She smacked herself in the head. She squeezed our hands. She fussed at us when we told her she could do it. She begged for drugs. She growled at my brother.
We laughed. Lots.
Finally, it was time. I got pushed out of the way by the team of nurses who arrived to help get that baby out. There were no fewer than 5 nurses and the doctor, a tall, calm woman who was not my SIL's regular doctor. My SIL was good to go. She knew all she had to do was bear down and Pookie was going to be here, but the team needed to get ready. They needed to get her in position, break down the bed, set up the plastic bags to catch the grossness, and put protective gear on themselves. My poor SIL had to just sit there, being pushed and lifted and scooted all while trying to keep a person inside of her. But, finally, after lots of hurried maneuvering and some calming words from the doctor and a nurse, it was time.
"Ok, I want you took take a deep breath and push gently." the doctor said.
My SIL complied, quietly and calmly pushing.
I was focused on her, praying for her, but then my brother tapped me on the shoulder and said "There's the head."
I looked "down there" and sure enough, a tiny head was about half way out.
I began to cry. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen. For months, I could only imagine that there was a person in my SILs belly, could only love on him or tell him I loved him through her belly. Now, he was almost here. He was real. And he was going to be with us.
One more push and he was out and I was sobbing.
This little boy I knew was in there, I knew I'd love 'a million, trillion, billion" was real and was here...finally.
And I didn't care one bit that he looked kinda gross.
As soon as the baby was delivered, my poor SIL was back to her pre-hard labor self. Smiling, joking, cheerful, and apologizing to everyone for being so loud.
While Pookie and Mommy got cleaned up, we just stood there, in awe of what just happened and this new little person who was suddenly part of our lives and our hearts.
What happened next, was some of the sweetest moments our family has experience in a while...
I think they like him. :)
The rest of us think he's pretty ok, too.
Can you blame us? Clearly, he has looks AND intelligence.