Happy Birthday Elliott

Andy Engen, please. . .
Could you locate him please? It’s his wife . . .
Andy? IT’S TIME.

Seven years ago today I made this very call. This one little call that changed the whole meaning of the word ‘motherhood’ for me. No more the glorified bulging belly treatment; no more the lazy mornings of sipping orange juice and reading the paper. Boy was I in for a surprise.

Good morning, could you transfer me to the maternity ward please?
Hello, my name is Felecia Engen and my water just broke.
Yes, Felecia E-n-g-e-n.
. . . yes, I went to White Bear . . .
Oh hi Mrs. Holman, how are you?
and how is Jenny?
That’s great to hear.
SO AS I MAY HAVE MENTIONED . . . I’m in labor here. . .

The maternity ward seemed very mellow; no rushing around, no crying babies. I was shown to my room, given a gown and gently told about the first of my procedures I would be undergoing. I’m going to be a mom today.

I’m fine thank you!
. . . yes, I could go for a walk.
Oooh – give me just a moment. Okay, all better!
. . . Petocin? Sure, if you think it’ll help move things along. . .
I’m going to be a mom today.

I remember seeing the faces of my loved ones who came to the hospital when they heard today was the day. All of them with the same curious grin on their faces trying to ascertain what kind of a laboring mother I might be. I watched as the cup of ice chips began to melt. I remember smiling for the camera. I remember a nurse hooking me up to the Petocin drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

. . . Two more precious minutes. Only two. How do I spend only two excruciating pain free minutes. I should stop thinking about what’s to come. I should try to rest and rela. . .a. . .a. . .XXX! I’m (heh heh heh) going to be (hoo hoo hoo) a mom (heh heh heh) today!

I remember seeing their faces still. They patiently asked if I needed anything. I refrained from answering. I succumbed to chewing the ice chips. I sat in the rocking chair. I leaned on the bed. I cursed at the Petocin drip. I remember biting my lip and smiling as I caught Alyssa’s knowing smile as she sat through a few contractions. I remember wanting to hit somebody. I remember seeing the sun set as they administered something called Nubane.

Vision blurred. Don’t want to talk. Feels like a few too many glasses of wine. . .

I remember a man with a very thick Chinese accent suggest I should stay very still as he stuck the very long needle into my spine.

Aaaaaah.

I remember a rush of equipment and a frenzy of people wearing paper clothing. I remember seeing half of my bed fall off the face of the Earth. I remember seeing my mother’s shadow just outside of the curtain; trying and trying to poke her head around. I remember the dark of night outside of my window.

Push!

I remember the expression on Andy’s face as he saw what I didn’t want to look at.

Push!

I remember feeding off of his enthusiasm, gaining a newfound strength from his impassioned smile.

Push!

I remember them asking me to look up. I remember telling them no. I didn’t want to be deterred. I didn’t want to loose focus.

I remember hearing a baby’s cry. I remember seeing Andy cry.

I remember wondering if babies are suppose to be that big.

I remember sobbing as I held my new son named Elliott.

I’m a mom.