First Mother's Day

Yesterday I wrote about the conflicting feelings I had about Mother’s Day.  Until I married my late first husband, Rich, I believed I would never marry and never have children.  Those feelings were rooted in my childhood, witnessing my parents’ troubled marriage and emotional/physical abuse from my mother.  Until I met Rich, I avoided any steady relationships with a guy.

To my complete surprise, I found myself falling in love with and marrying Rich.  After a few months, I started to feel my “biological clock ticking.”  I was almost 31 when we married in 1985.  Although I worried about what kind of mother I’d be, I wanted a child that would be a part of Rich and me.

I was so regular with my periods that I knew immediately that I was pregnant.  We were overjoyed when that was confirmed by the obstetrician.  I liked the practice we went to because they had a midwife as well as doctors.  My projected due date was May 1, 1987. 

The most difficult part was giving up caffeinated coffee and smoking.  To support me, Rich also gave up smoking and we went through withdrawal together.  Quitting cold turkey was tough and I’m sure we were pretty miserable until the physical effects wore off.

My parents were thrilled: two grandchildren on the way!  My sister-in-law, Barbara, was also expecting and her due date was for late April.  My brother Pete and I were very excited about the whole thing.  He hadn’t anticipated being a father either.

There was one scare when I was in my first trimester.  I began bleeding and we were afraid I was having a miscarriage.  We were reassured by midwife Ellen.  Ellen performed the ultrasound on me and said the baby looked fine.  I looked at the screen to where she was pointing and saw a tiny blob.  The blob seemed to swell and then become small again.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Ellen replied, “That’s your baby’s heart beating.”

We were amazed and awed.  I am prochoice but at that moment I knew abortion would never be an option for me.

The next moment we anticipated was feeling the baby move.  As a first-time mom-to-be, I wasn’t sure the fluttering I felt from time to time was movement.  I wasn’t sure until the first time I could feel a definite kick with my hand.  Toward the last trimester, Rich enjoyed putting his hand on my belly to feel the kicks.  Once there was a definite foot pushing up.  It was awesome.

Our practice offered child birth classes.  They were so much fun!  We learned breathing and relaxation techniques as well as the birthing process.  Some women needed medication to help them through the contractions.  Medication did have an effect on the newborn, and we didn’t want that for our baby.  I was determined I could get by without them.  We practiced breathing/relaxing daily at home

There were two falls that scared us a bit.  The first one was in the winter of ’86-’87.  We were working the night shift for a market research company and went out late one night to an icy parking lot.  I skidded, slipped and fell hard before Rich could catch me.  The baby had been actively moving but abruptly stopped.  After hours of non-movement, we went back to Ellen and had another ultrasound.  During the procedure, the baby began to kick.  Ellen asked, “Do you want to know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”

We didn’t.  We wanted to be surprised.

The second fall occurred a day or so before our baby was born.  I was already late, very uncomfortable and eager to have the baby.  I went on daily walks to encourage the process.  As I started my usual morning walk, I lost my balance and fell to my knees.  Our mailman was just delivering letters and bills.  Horrified, he rushed over to me and helped me get up.  He escorted me back to our apartment and kept asking if he should call for help.

I assured him I was OK and limped into our apartment, heading for the bathroom.  There were holes in my pants at the knee and I could feel blood running from my knees.  The knees were scraped and bleeding but the wounds weren’t too deep.  After washing and bandaging my knees, I went out again for my walk.

A few blocks over, the mailman saw me and called out, “Why aren’t you resting?”

“Because I want my baby to be born!”

There was a baby pool at work, formed in March.  Employees contributed with their guesses about my due date.  Rich selected Mother’s Day, May 10.  I was horrified.  That was long past my due date and Ellen even figured I might be early.  No such luck.

May 1 came and went.  Our instructor at childbirth class explained that if a pregnancy advanced too long past the due date, the mother would have to be “induced” which would produce longer, more intense contractions.  Most moms-to-be would need a spinal to help them through the very painful contractions.  That was the last thing I wanted.

On May 9, I knew I was going to be induced soon and was worried.  After my walk, though, my water broke.  Thank goodness, I thought.  I called Rich, who was at work, and told him what happened.  He didn’t need to leave yet, though, because contractions hadn’t started yet. 

Ellen said doctors would say I should go to the ER right away.  She added her own advice: walk around to encourage the start of contractions.  However, if they hadn’t started by late afternoon, I should go to the ER to be induced.  Oh no!  I walked around the apartment until I tired.  Nothing.

Nothing was still going on when Rich came home after his shift.  Ellen insisted I needed to go to the hospital so off we went.  I didn’t want to be induced.  Ellen understood and we all continued to walk up and down the labor & delivery corridors for another hour.  At that point, though, one of the doctors from the practice said to stop; I’d need to go on the Pitocin.

Well, that was an experience.  The child birth instructor was absolutely correct in her mini lecture about Pitocin.  It hits all at once with intense contractions and little time between to recover.  I surely understand why women would opt for a spinal to ease the pain.  Were it not for Rich’s calm, constant presence I would’ve been asking for it and at one point, I did.  By then, I was too advanced for it to have any effect.

Our baby boy was born after 4 a.m. on Mother’s Day, May 10, 1987.  There was the complete bliss of holding our son for the first time.  We’d immediately agreed on a boy’s name:  William Richard, for Rich’s beloved grandfather and for himself.

Another reason to celebrate Billy being born on Mother’s Day: a lovely rose with every hospital meal that day.  Yet another reason: Rich won the baby pool.

Some years, Bill and I celebrate Mother’s Day and his birthday on the same Sunday again.  I tell everyone he is the best Mother’s Day gift ever!