Paris' birthing story

I'm doing the birth stories of the kids this year for their birthdays, so here is Paris'.

Paris' birth started out innocuous enough. We had moved to Torrence, CA just outside of LA exactly 9 months earlier. Back then, in September, we were excited and scared. We had just moved into a tiny courtyard apartment, white and blue, all the units surrounding a lovely blue pool that almost none of the tenants ever used. We were sure one tenant was a 'lady for hire' and it was sad, since her 5 year old daughter played on the steps while she entertained her guests. Another tenet had a big van that was full of odds and ends that they would repeatedly and surreptitiously pack and unpack Friday before the flea market on Saturday.

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I found out I was pregnant while Brian was overseas for close to a month. He left for Malaysia after we had been in Torrence for a whole 3 weeks. Being directionally challenged, I was terrified of leaving the apartment, mainly because I wasn't sure I could find my way back home. We were almost out of food before I realized our apartment was within walking distance of a mall, a grocery store, and a park.

Although we talked frequently, I decided to break the news to Brian after he came home. When he came home he brought me beautiful Malaysian dresses and skirts. I think he was surprised when I was less than enthusiastic--I knew I wouldn't be able to fit into them for long. We took a walk that night--I loved Torrence because we walked everywhere--and he told me he had some good news. So do I, I said. I got a promotion! he said. So did I! I said. He looked at me, wondering if I was mocking him. I just got promoted from a mother of 2 to a mother of 3!

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Finding an OB was a pain. I'd already had such a great dr. in AZ I knew I wouldn't be able to find one here that I liked as well, so I picked the first name on my insurance list that was close by. He turned out to be from the Middle East and most of the women in the waiting room wore hijabs. It didn't bother me much--I tend not to care about much when I'm pregnant aside from when my next nap or meal will be.

The dr. was a short, tan man, with a graying beard and dark glasses. Brian waited outside with Athena and Tritan. It was a small room, with older furnishings and a free-standing metal sink of milky liquid that had utensils in it. I'm not sure what it was, or what was in there, but as soon as I saw that I knew I should have just left. But I stayed, got undressed, and endured his (too through) examination. When he checked my breasts for lumps and then laid his head on my chest to check my heart, I knew this was NOT the dr. for me. I dressed and left as quickly as I could.

My next dr. was a soft-spoken Latino. He was better. He was fine. This was my 3rd baby in 3 years and I was trying hard to eat ice instead of sand, so a modern office with a stethoscope was good enough for me. But he wouldn't induce me. Let's see how things go naturally, he always said when I asked. Which would have been fine when it was my first and I WANTED to go naturally. But now that I had 2 babies induced I could see the wisdom of it all. I could schedule someone to take care of the other 2 kids. I would know what was going to happen. I could get pain meds. All good things.

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I started labor on the 16th. For half of Snow Falling on Cedars, I had regular contractions. But after the movie ended, I took a shower and the contractions stopped. The next night I woke up with contractions. They didn't hurt hardly at all. In fact, I almost welcomed them. At last, we would get our baby. I took my time taking a shower and then waking up Brian--I didn't want to go to the hospital unless this was really the real thing--especially since it was the middle of the night and we had to call my friend Diane to watch our kids.

By the time we dropped off the kids and drove to the hospital, the contractions were pretty much a minute or so apart. But aside from finding potholes extremely annoying and accusing Brian of trying to find every one of them, they still didn't hurt that bad. I was surprised when the nurse checked me and declared it too late for drugs--in fact, it was too late for paperwork, too. She whisked us from the check-in room to the labor and delivery room pretty fast.

A half hour later, the dr. made it to break my water, and still my contractions were just annoying. I thought this natural birth was going to be a piece of cake. Only I hadn't counted on how to get the baby OUT. Once it was time to push, I hadn't accounted for how big a baby actually is--and how much it burns. Oh it burns. And it hurts, big time. I yelled and probably swore. The nurse told me to calm down. Which made me want to go all WWF on her, maybe hit her with the iv pole or something. And poor Brian, who sat through 2 relatively pleasant epidural births, didn't know what to do. He tried to soothe me too, blowing on my face to remind me to breathe or something. Do you know how annoying someone breathing on you is? Especially in excruciating pain? So I hit him. I did. A full on slap as hard as I could. (When he suggested a day later maybe I should take some anger management classes, I told him to get out of my room.) And when he finally came out--"It's a boy!" (we hadn't found out the sex before)--I thought of course he is, I knew it all along (only boys could make me crave dirt and sand, right?). I was exhausted, and my body went into shock. I was shaking so much I couldn't even hold him very long.

My recovery room was a shared room, and though they offered to keep baby boy Wortham in the nursery I insisted he be by my side. Between sharing the room, the construction going on in the hospital, and all those cheery nurses that kept waking me up to feel my stomach I was so anxious to go home. But we had to name him before we left, it was part of the paperwork. Brian wanted Olin (a Greek poet's name), and though I was pretty out of it I knew that was NOT his name. Can you imagine Paris being an Ollie or Lenny? I was adamant that his name was Paris--he could go by Perry if he hated Paris, right? Maybe Brian was afraid I'd hit him again, but he gave in and I can't imagine him with any other name.