i hope to never forget: june 1st, that we were watching 'glee' when her water broke. that she walked in circles, sang in the shower and laughed and told jokes in between and sometimes during her early contractions. we rubbed her back while we watched 'blue planet'. the escalation of the contractions and when she finally broke down that she couldn't take it through her tears. it was hard to watch. her tears brought my tears. the waiting for the epidural. the waiting and waiting. the nap i got to take at the end of her bed. the shivering. the whole body shivering (as a reaction to the epidural?) the rawness of it. the primal nature of it...as primal as a hospital setting with an epidural can be. but it reminded me of watching my grandma die in that way. it was an ancient, human experience. what a warrior anne proved herself to be. she was amazing. and ryan, too. so devoted, so supportive, so loving and awesome. she couldn't have found a better husband to her, or father to their boys.
i woke up from my lovely nap to anne expressing discomfort and feeling pressure. the nurses assured her the doctor was on her way, but not to push. this went on for at least an hour. she said it felt like having the 'biggest dump of your life and being told not to push'. she breathed through it. the nurses were coming in and out. 'she's ready' they kept saying. 'i called the doctor again...she's on her way'. finally the doctor arrived. calm, lovely, funny, real. 'oh. you're pooing! that's good!' she said. apparently she hit every red light on the way there, and another hospital had no water yesterday. everything was so casual with them. she got settled and told anne to push.
first push: the top of his head. second push: his whole head, his little squished face. i gasped and gripped my scarf and some tears fell. it wasn't crying as much as just tears. tears of awe.
third push: screams! the doctor grabbed his head and neck, and in what i described as cold, clinical brutality, pulled him out with the last push. i was standing to anne's left, about even with where the action was, maybe a little lower. i didn't have to lean too much to see what was going on. and there he was, held in the air, little theo. with one great exhale, he spewed out the clear liquid of his own little sea as though he'd been rescued from drowning.
and was immediately placed on his life raft exhausted elated mother. ryan and i stood stunned and so happy for a moment and then 'hey mere...wanna see something crazy?' 'not really.' but i looked anyway, as the liver on a white rope that is the placenta was pulled out. at 7.45 am on june 2nd.
now we have theodore grey woodward. weighing in at 7lbs 7oz and 21 in. long fingers, long toes with a big toe that looks like a lemur thumb. he's handsome and perfect and the sweetest little pea. oh theo. you join your brother among 'cutest, loveliest kids ever'.
two babies! so crazy...
it's all happening.
this is when theo first met anne and ryan.
the application of his little hat.
safe and warm, together at last.
first bath.
all clean, cosy, warm, together.
auntie and theo meet.
together on the outside at last.
with dad.
a couple days later, awake and everything.
sully and i, early evening on the 1st. before it all went down, in a rare cuddle moment.
intense! your description brought tears to my eyes. thank you for telling it!
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