Bright Lights, Sweaty Armpits: Giving birth in NYC

Well, that was sure exciting (and painful.) On May 24, I gave birth to a 9 lb, 5 oz hearty baby boy. Yep, apparently if a pregnant woman eats a cupcake (or 4), ice cream and Magnolia Bakery's banana pudding EVERY day of her pregnancy, her baby will be a little more on the husky side. Funny enough, the doctor estimated that his birth weight would be around 7.5 to 8 pounds, so as I tell people, thank goodness I didn't know I was in for something much heartier. (It also explains why I was SO uncomfortable a the end of my pregnancy and why I had cankles the size of a small country. Read that blog here.)

As I neared my May 23rd due date, things weren't looking good for an on-time delivery. That week, I was still only 1 cm dialted and hadn't made any progress from the week before. So that Friday night, I did the only logical thing you can do at 40 weeks preggo. I sent my husband to Penn Station to pick up Taco Bell in the hopes that spicy food would give the little guy a push. I mean, if it can cause explosive diaherrea, it's got to help push out a baby, right?

It worked.

That night around 2 a.m., I woke up to the feeling of my water breaking. And by breaking, I mean gushing. And it didn't stop for hours. In fact, it continued in the cab ride to the hospital at around 5 a.m., so I apologize to the next person getting in that cab who probably slid right across the seat and didn't know why it was wet. (This is also why you should always use Purell after a NYC cab ride.) Luckily our cabbie was super sweet too, and let me have another painful contraction in the back seat after we arrived at the hospital and told me to take my time (and the meter wasn't even running!) And as we walked inside he yelled, "God Bless You!" Isn't that sweet? He didn't even make us clean up my bodily fluids.

When we got inside, I realized Memorial Day weekend was a very popular weekend for babies in NYC. And specifically twins. The place was a downright zoo, and every nurse was fighting to help with my delivery since I just had one baby (which is much easier apparently). After several painful hours of contractions, and a few delays because of emergency C-sections they needed to attend to, I finally got an epidural and my life was much more enjoyable. As I laid there waiting for my 9+ pounder to arrive, I thought of what labor is like with and without and epidural and realized anyone who opts for a natural delivery surely must be a masochist. Here's how I would explain it:

Life WITHOUT an epidural is like a rainy Monday and you've forgotten your umbrella. You're running late so you miss the bus and must stand there getting soaked as you wait for the next one. As you wait, a little old lady "accidentally" runs over your foot with her wheelchair and doesn't apologize. When you finally get on the bus, it smells like someone pooped their pants and the man next to you is eating an onion sandwich. You get to work and realize your nemesis has lied to your boss about you and you're on the verge of getting fired. You later get a text message from your husband saying he'd like to take a break. Oh, and he's keeping your dog. You later stub the same toe the little old lady ran over with her wheelchair.

WITHOUT epidural

Life WITH an epidural is that trip to the Bahamas you've been saving up for and are finally enjoying. It's sitting on the beach under an umbrella enjoying a Pina Colada. It's the feeling of having a little bit of a rum buzz and hearing the waves crash against the boat you're going to take out later to do some dolphin watching. It's the smell of the saltwater mixed with Hawaiian Tropic sunscreen. It's looking over at your husband who smiles and says he's never loved you more. It's the realization that you still have 9 more days of this luxury, although you might opt to buy the island, because you just won the PowerBall.