The Harpers

So I was throwing myself a little party entitled "Woe Is Me" when my husband got home from work. I was all, "Listen, I'm switching doctors next time I'm pregnant. Wanna know why? Cuz he FORGOT TO DELIVER THIS OTHER BABY." As I'm pointing to my lovely "baby bump". Still. I STILL look pregnant. It's almost been 5 months ya'll. Waaaaaaaaaah. Not only that, but my back keeps collecting fat. Like, it's gotten so bad that I'm thisclose to putting it into therapy for hoarding. I had Kevin take a picture of me so I could show you. Take a looksee.

Isn't that disgusting? Ok, I think I should tell you that that's not me. Seriously you guys, stop! It's really not me! Obviously, this picture is just the one that resembled me the most..... Ugh, that pesky skin folding over is soooooo annoying. Back fat is the WORST. (seriously, when I googled images of back fat, this picture came up. Whaaaa???)

So then, after my husband listens to my super important and tragic story, he proceeds to tell me he is craving Frogurt. Like on emergency levels. I am nothing if not supportive. I really had no choice but to be there for him in his time of need. To Frogurt we went.

Now, you may be thinking Frogurt is not that bad. Here's where I tell you about the new waffle cone bowls. And the MUDDY BUDDIES you can top your cheesecake yogurt with. And Reese's peanut butter cups. And graham cracker crust. Yeaaahhhhh. Maybe that's why my back actually looks like this.

You think I'm kidding...

Please, if any of you out there that have had kiddos (or even if you haven't) can gimme all your secrets as to how you got back into shape, my back would really appreciate it!

Is it a strict way of eating? Hard core exercise? A specific yoga class? All of the above? I wanna know what works for you (and if any of you say that simply "chasing your kid around all day" is what got you back into your size 4 jeans, I will cry, and then straight up punch your face) Thanks!

Crazy right? I mean I have a BABY. Like a real live human. That's mine! Woot! (Its still cool to raise the roof right?)

So. Labor.

All I can say is OUCH.

Well, that's not all I can say. Labor was......interesting for me. Just very different from how I envisioned it would all go down (ha). Very. Can't say it went as planned, cuz yikesabee (name that movie) it didn't. But I also can't sit here and paint it as the worst labor story you'll ever hear, cuz it wont be. Not even close. But, and there is a but (name that movie, just kidding it was an episode of SYTYCD) it wasn't a breeze, and I just really wanted breezy, guys.

Holy cow I'm gorgeous. I don't know how I did it guys, don't even bother flooding my comments with "how did you manage to look so AMAZING during labor??" I JUST DID.

Now, I knew going into it that labor isn't what you'd call delightful. It's hard work. But I know a lot of people that actually enjoy labor, and I honestly pictured myself being one of those people. Really I did...

It all started with my largeness. Remember how I was a house? Right. So my Dr was all, "You're a house. Let's induce." And I was all, "You're an a$$. But yes, let's." (You see what I did right there? I was swearing, but not really swearing. Dollar signs used as an S = cleverness) And Ok, I'm kidding, I love my doctor. And to be honest I was a little embarrassed to see him for my 6 week appointment cuz it got craaaazzzyyy up in that delivery room (think circus meets something equally circus-y).

Anyway...

So at my 38 wk appointment my doctor really just says "Well, your blood pressure is too high. How do you feel about having a baby tomorrow?" And I say, "So good. I feel SO GOOD about that". Meanwhile Kevin is in the corner rocking back and forth sucking his thumb. Ha! You guys! I'm kidding again. But the blood definitely drained from his face and I think maybe he aged 9 years. Why is it that here, in this moment, do men choose to panic? As if they are just now coming to terms with the fact that they really are going to have a baby?

Anyway...

So we were told to show up at JVH at dark thirty which normally I'd be all "you're kidding right?", but it turns out when you're ready to have a baby, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS TOO EARLY. We were also told that it was going to be a SUPER busy day, and that my doctor pretty much had to bump some other poor miserable soul just to get me in. Take THAT Other Pregnant Lady, I am WAY more important than you! But then, at 5 a.m., as I'm brushing my teeth, the hospital calls. They are too busy. Um. You do NOT tell a girl she gonna have a baby, then tell her she not. And they didn't. They just told me to wait for them to call back to let me know when they wanted me to come. Whew. So we waited, and they called. Come at nine, they said!

Kevin and I had a conversation in the car ride to the hospital that went something like this:

Me: "You nervous?"

Kevin: "Yeah. Are you?

Me: "Yeah, but don't worry, it's nothing like how the movies portray it.
If you get an epidural, its really almost boring. They always make the women drenched in sweat and screaming YOU DID THIS TO ME! Trust me, it's not that dramatic!"

Fast forward 12 hours to me, The Bloated Mess, drenched in sweat, wearing an oxygen mask, holding a barf bag, bawling my eyes out, breaking Kevin's fingers, while my nurse grabs my face and with all the force of a burly football coach yells, "Look at me Annie! Open your eyes! Look at me! Take a deep breath, you can DO this!!" As my best friend is crying in the background and my husband is trying his best to encourage me, and my Doctor is asking me if I'd like him to use forceps or not, all the while I'm still crying asking my anesthesiologist (who by the way is in the room along with EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD) "I don't understaaaaand, why is it not WORKING?"

Oh, yes. It was probably my best moment in time.

You see, I'd been pushing for the last three hours (&#$%#!). All with an epidural that decided to up and skip the party, even after more medication in the IV (x3), a shot in my thigh, and a local. Not that having a baby sans pain meds is the worst thing that could ever happen, even if mentally unprepared for, but that lil' lovemunch of a baby was stuck on my pelvic bone. So.....that no feel good. Major frowny face. And after those 3 hours of pushing I'd made-wait for it..... zero, ZERO! progress (even frownier face). My doctor had been thinking C-section about an hour and half before this point, but because the baby was in no distress, I begged him to let me keep trying. To me, having a C-section sounds about as awesome as the amputation of all my limbs. And taking into consideration that no one could get pain medicine to work on me, I was in no mood for anyone to be slicing my abdomen open and taking my insides, you know, OUT.

That old song and dance.

This picture is weird. I look dead, and they all look happy about it.

My fans. Or cheerleaders. My cheerleading fans, really.

I do have to say I really think I held it together pretty well up until the last little bit. Honestly we were all having us a good ol' time for the majority of it all. I was almost loony with exhaustion, meaning I was crackin some pretty pathetic (awesome!) jokes, teasing my doctor, and really just trying to find the humor in the situation.

That is NOT me giving a specific finger to the camera...but if it WAS, I'd have to laugh. Who flips people off anymore??? So 1998. Or something.

We laughed and poked at my hideous excuses for feet that more closely resembled loaves of bread with toenails.

Pregnant Talisia trying to massage the loaves...she's nice/weird like that.

My Dr would ask me to push just one more time, sometimes five or six consecutive pushes in a row, and I'd get done and try to contort my face into something resembling a smile and ask "How'd I do? Am I making any progress yet?" and without fail there would be a pause and he'd be all evasive with "You're doing really good!" which is obviously code for "You precious, precious soul. No.". And after so long of that; people trying their hardest to be encouraging even though we can all see this is going in the opposite direction than I wanted, I started to wear down. With each set of pushing my eyes would get more and more watery, my voice more and more shaky when I asked, "Any progress yet?", and I'm trying to be brave through the intense pain radiating through my body - pain that shouldn't be there according to the amount of medication running through my veins. And by the end of the third hour I was so overwhelmed with frustration, thinking that I'd wasted so much time and energy into this all to just to have a C-section anyway.

I have no shame. Or pride apparently, cuz check. me. out. My face is missing a little something I like to call "bone structure". You should probably feel sorry for me.

I could tell that my Dr. was all but humoring me with this whole "let's keep pushing" thing, and I was so disappointed and frustrated with my body I felt like I was going divorce myself after all this. For one, my EYEBALLS should be numb with the amount of medication I'd received, and STILL my body was giving that epidural the middle finger (so 1998!). And then to have the audacity to have a pelvis? And put it precisely in the way of my baby??? Well, that's just being cruel. So needless to say, the moment went from uneasy smiles and watery eyes to sobs and covering my face with my swollen sausage fingers as my shoulders shook and I turned in the general direction of my husband crying, "I'm just so frustrated". That was definitely the word of the night. That last half hour of labor lasted three times as long as the rest of the day. It was rough, and I was done. I finally made the decision for him to go ahead and use those damn forceps (you see what I did right there? I went ahead and swore), and he was able to shift him just enough to get him out with a few more good pushes.

And then, I swear to you, somewhere in the background a southern baptist choir broke out in song and doves were released, fireworks went off outside, and I think a flash mob may have started in the hallway. And in this moment I was all "I am superwoman!" having used all my focus and energy on this one act and feeling invincible once I could see the fruits of my literal labor. I had seen it in action in having the opportunity to be in the room, on numerous occasions, during someone else's delivery, but this was different. This victory was mine! In your FACE body.

And then it took my doctor 45 minutes to stitch me back together...

Your welcome for that.

So then they placed the cutest little Asian baby I'd ever seen on my chest.

And I was almost all "You've got some explaining to do Kevin!" But then that didn't quite make sense so I just went with it. And I had about one minute of pure bliss before they decided he wasn't really crying as much as they wanted and he didn't look as pink as he should. Boo :( So the nurse took him from me. And then I barfed for a couple hours. Then 14 hours later they let me see him again. In the NICU...

Just look at his lil' hand that looks like hamburger meat :( Not cool NICU, not cool.

So yeah, not really the labor and delivery experience I thought I'd be having. But all in all, everyone and everything turned out ok, so it was a complete success!

Well, except for the fact that now my stomach looks like an asiago cheese bagel. And really, out of all the bagels, the asiago is the one you wanna resemble the LEAST, am I right?

Good thing I love him!

Moral of the story: labor is a crazy, amazing, scary, miraculous, spiritual, exhausting, emotional, unpredictable bit of greatness. You know what I mean?

P.S. turns out my baby is not Asian. Whew, right?! But I'm torn, it could have been a helluva Maury episode. Who's with me?