First, I waited while my friend checked in and paid (it seems surprisingly inexpensive to have a baby . . . ) Then, we got up to the room and cracked jokes with the nurses. My friend seemed a little nervous, but the nurses hooked the baby heart rate monitor up, and we could hear the heartbeat. It seemed fast, but they said that was normal.
Then they took my friend to the operating room. They told me they'd come get me soon and gave me a cool paper-like robe to put over my clothes, and plastic-like things to put over my shoes and hair, and a face mask so I didn't breathe death and destruction on the little one. I waited, and waited, and waited some more. Finally, after rereading page 2 of my book, Painless Project Management, 12 times, I was finally called into the operating room. It was big.
My friend was lying on a table with a large cloth draped from the ceiling, bisecting the upper half of her body from her lower half. The anesthesiologist was by her head and giving her some pretty good stuff. I sat down on a stool by her head, praying that the wheels wouldn't slide me into all the wires and machines right behind me (I'm not the most steady when nervous!!). My friend smiled and I held her hand and we talked about movies while the doctors talked about Hawaii and porn stars (I swear I heard them talking about porn stars! - nobody believes me!).
It seemed we waited for an eternity while I struggled to find something banal to talk about that would get my friend's mind off of what was going on on the other side of the curtain.
Finally, they said she was out, and then, we heard her cry. Boy was she angry! I looked at my friend and forgot that I was dressed up like a freak and that no one could see me smile through the mask. We both lost it and started crying.
What a magical moment - the moment that a new life enters the world and a beautiful, healthy little one is added to the family. I saw that the baby was finally real to my friend. Before, you can feel her moving and you can talk to her, but you can't see her, you can't bring her comfort, you can't hear her. I could see how beautiful it was for my friend just to hear her baby cry. Just to know that she was healthy. To know that she could finally see her, hold her, hear her.
A few minutes later, they said I could go over and take pictures. She was lying on the scale, just a tiny little thing. The nurse had to prompt me to take the pictures - the scale was cold. Once they put her back under the warmer, I got to take some more pictures and touch her. She was sticky from the white, waxy substance that covers newborns. The nurses moved her arms and legs, really pissing her off. She was shy in the womb and shy outside it! She was less comfortable being stretched out. But their goal was to make her cry, and they did a really good job.
Finally, they bundled her up and put a little hat on her. Is it wrong that I wanted to take the hat and see if I could sew them? Could be a good side business: sewing hats for newborns (newbie hats)
She loved being bundled; she quieted right down. The nurses finally let me bring her over to her momma, who started crying again, as did I. We sat there together, me holding the baby on her shoulder so she could see and feel her while the doctors sewed her back up. Finally, we all got to go back to the room.
And that is the story of little Elizabeth's beautiful birth. She's now 10 days old and still loves to be bundled. She's a sweet, quiet baby. Just lovely!
I'm probably lucky to have missed all the gore of regular births, but I absolutely loved being part of something so magical and beautiful. I'm forever thankful that my friend let me take part, and that I could be there to help support her and be there for her.
-Krista (baby birthing partner and hand-holder extraordinaire)
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