My nightly routine is the same without fail, seven days a week (Except today, I’m beat). I write or edit until 6 am, watch TV or read and lights out at 630am. Baby Frank usually gets me up a few hours later, He and I share my third floor. I’m good with that. Last night, I should have known. I crawled into bed at 615am. BF is in my bed. “Hey Nena,” he says.
“Hey, baby, scoot over so Nana can get in bed, okay?”
I get in … UG! The entire bed is wet. What the heck, he never wets the bed. Here, he brought his drink into my bed, fell asleep and it spilled. No problem, I change the sheets, change his jammies, put on cartoons, we cuddle, it’s 7am, he passes out. Ah …. Sleep.
“Jack,” My daughter in law calls my name, she’s never in my room so this startles me. “Roni is in pain. She’s crying and needs to go to the hospital.”
I look at the time it isn’t even 830. I get out of bed, stumble down two flights, Roni is crying. I’m thinking she still has over 3 weeks, Has to be a false alarm, but let’s check it out.
I get dressed and get Roni in the car. She’s really crying in pain. Her hospital is 17 miles away. I’m preparing for a long day. We take off. I’m half awake.
“So, do you think we have time to stop at Starbucks,” I asked.
Her reply … a huge screa of pain as she grips on to the dashboard and the ‘oh shit’ bar.
Hnmmm. Before I rule out Starbucks, I suggested we time the contractions. Honestly, I am thinking we have time.
She gets one, I time it. It goes on and on and on and no sooner does it end, another begins. Starbucks is out.
About 5 miles into our hospital trip she cries out. “Oh God, Mommy, I have to push.”
“What! No. Wait. Hold it in.” I instructed. At that point I decided the nearest hospital was my best option. So I headed there.
She reiterates the pressure and me, I’m calling my mom to see what I should do. My mother in all her wisdom instructs me to drive faster. Gees thanks. I’m thinking about the water in the trunk, the sanitizer, paper towels, can opener, I’m good, I can deliver this thing. My mind is reeling on where to pull over and how to get my daughter to scoot to the edge of the seat so as not to get my car messed up.
Thankfully, we arrive at the nearest hospital, Roni is crying and screaming, they bring a wheel chair to her, it’s rush, rush rush to the birthing room. It’s all happening so fast, the only ones aside from nurses in the delivery room, are me, Roni and my second ex husband.
Surprising me, she’s fully dilated and ready to go. They break her water.
Second husband is freaking out, “She’s in pain. She’s in pain. Can’t you do something?”
She’s having a baby for crying out loud.
Too close for pain meds, Roni is really losing it, crying to me, “Mommy, it hurts, it hurts. They want me to go without it. What am I gonna do.”
Keep in mind, my head is still spinning and without thinking I told her, “Nothing. You’re gonna have to suck it up.”
Silence. The nurses, the doctor, the IV lady and second ex husband all look at me.
“It’s true,” I said. “This baby is gonna come medication or not. Be Pocahontas, She was the queen of natural birth, they said she’d go into the field. Pop a squat, drop the kid, stick it to her breast, leave the aftermath for the animals and go back to work.”
They all looked at Veronica, I supposed waiting for her to freak out and she didn’t. She pouted and said. “You’re not being very compassionate right now.”
I gave an apologetic look, But really I’m on less than an hour and a half sleep, no coffee, no Starbucks, Roni didn’t tell me she was pregnant until she was 20 weeks and now she’s birthing early? I wasn’t ready.
But she was.
With a loud scream and groan that she had to push, second ex husband, panics, hands waving in the air, runs out screaming and ten minutes later I have a granddaughter.
I guess my Pocahontas story really motivated her.