A special thanks to all the sweet congratulatory notes I’ve received about Bode’s arrival! I’ve had several inquiries re: the pronunciation (“Bow-dee”) and inspiration for his name. Back in February when we were watching the Olympics whilst holed up in a gorgeous condo in the mountains, the U.S.’s top alpine skier, Bode Miller, flashed across the screen. It was Jamie who suggested the name and it immediately clicked for both of us. Never mind that the guy ended up bombing all his races; here’s to hoping it’s not all downhill for us as well. OK, that was bad. Sleep deprivation, y’know.
I’m actually feeling pretty well, post-labor pains, exhaustion and pathetic pun attempts notwithstanding. It’s Jamie who’s in rough shape. Unbelievably sick. You know: the I can’t-get-out-of bed kind of sick. In addition to all the joys of bronchitis, he has a killer ear infection that is causing nausea, vertigo and migraines. His mom just ran him to the doc for the second time in two days. He didn’t even laugh when I mocked him about going to the doctor with his “mommy;” his misery takes the fun right out of it.
As you know, we went in bright and early on Tuesday to be induced. Amazingly enough, Bode finally got his act together and I actually went into labor at the hospital. Nice. Couldn’t he have done that, say, two frickin’ weeks ago?
To speed things up, they still hooked me up to Pitocin. Just as the contractions were getting rough, I asked for an epidural and had a flashback to Haddie’s birth. Y’see with Haddie, the nurse left…and didn’t come back. For a very long time. For an excruciating amount of time. She claimed she got pulled into an “emergency situation.” Whatever. What could be more urgent than doping me up?
So this time when the nurse said they were going to do another epidural before mine, welp, it wasn’t pretty. Admittedly, there were threats: “Now listen Mrs. Nice Nurse Lady. You go over and tell that other birthin’ mama to just tough it out and stop being a wimp.” Obviously, I have no problems with harboring such a label.
Undaunted, she came to my rescue: “Sorry, I can’t do it but do you want something now to tide you over?” Are you kidding me? Within minutes, they’d doped me up. I don’t know what the wonder drug was but it took effect. Immediately. And thems were goooooooood drugs. I didn’t have a care in the world by the time the anesthesiologist finally came in. I think I even made out with him. It was the least I could do.
The rest of my labor went quickly and I delivered within a couple of hours. I dilated from a 6 to a 10 in a 15-minute period. For the grand finale, I only pushed a few times and he was out. Beautiful, crying and a bit purple from his last-ditch effort to stay inside my womb forever by wrapping himself up in my umbilical cord. But he turned out to be just perfect. And once again, I pondered WHY THE CRAP women choose to submit themselves to suffering in labor. To each their own, I guess.
And he’s the prettiest little old man baby ever. So far, he’s also a stellar sleeper and eater, the complete opposite of his sister (more on that later). His funniest feature is his chin. Initial impressions were that it was rather recessed. But after further inspection, I am more prone to believe this is an illusion due to more than mere chubby cheeks but actual jowls that protrude from his face. I could be wrong, though.
And if the poor kid does end up with a recessive chin? He can always grow a goatee to hide it. It may not be much of a hit in first grade but someday it’ll drive the women wild….
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 