A New Day

Eliza, unlike her mother, seems to be a morning person. Every day when I go to her crib to wish her good morning, she looks up at me and grins like a maniac. She seems so happy to be greeting a new dawn (and it's often dawn or before dawn), she smiles and her little legs and arms windmill in excitement. I always say to her, "Hi baby, it's a new day." Sometimes I'll chant "New day, new day, new day" as I bounce her on my lap and she smiles. She's almost laughing now, it sounds less like a momentary screech and more like a giggle.

It's funny I've called every boyfriend "my baby," my poor deceased cat "my baby," even a boyfriend's dog, yes dear little Pogo was "my baby" too. Now when I say the words "my baby," they actually apply to a real baby, this little being who came into the world after I grew her in my belly.

So a new thing I've noticed Eliza do on this new day is this weird flex and unflexing of her knee when I'm feeding her. I lie her down on her side on the boppy (nursing pillow) and she slowly bends and straightens whichever leg is on top. I kind of liken the motion to a dog raising it's leg when you scratch it in the right place. She's my little dog, flexing her leg to show me her appreciation.

To get to now we have to start at the beginning.

I didn't go into labor on my own. On my actual due date, which was November 14th, my obstetrician scheduled a date to induce me. November 14th was a Monday and he wanted to do it later that week amid concerns over my baby's size. I wanted to wait until the following Monday. So November 21st was penciled in. I hoped in the seven days that remained between the 14th and the 21st, I'd go into labor the old fashioned way.

I felt like a failure for having to be induced, like my body was incapable of delivering a baby. I got flamed in a nice way on Urban Baby when I used the word failure. I remember one woman wrote me to stop being so hard on myself and then said if I was this critical now, just imagine what I'd do to myself when the baby didn't go down for a nap. It wasn't just the failure though, I was terrified of labor. Naturally I was afraid of the pain but I was also afraid of the million and one things that could go wrong. My best friend, herself the mother of six kids, said "Remember your body was made to do this." Well by not going into labor naturally, I began to feel MY body wasn't made to do this. And if it wasn't, then what would happen?

The week went by. No braxton hicks, those mini-contractions I never really had, no water breaking, nothing. On Thursday I had an exam that revealed my cervix was still in exactly the same position as it had been for a month. When I went to the bathroom, I had some blood and called the doctor ecstatic. Perhaps this was the started, the eagerly anticipated bloody show. The doctor then shot me down, telling me it's common to bleed after an exam and he turned out to be correct. Friday rolled around and still nothing. My ob's office called to instruct me to check into the hospital Sunday night so they could start the prep for my induction. They also told me to eat a lot as I wouldn't be eating for a long time thereafter. C left work on Friday with everyone practically handing out cigars. My superstitious side was uncomfortable with people knowing the exact day of my delivery before it happened. I began to countdown the long list of stalled births, botched surgeries, blood clots, rushing into the OR with the ER theme music on full blast.

C made the weekend all about us. It was a really nice way to end our days as a childless couple. C actually has two kids from a prior relationship (notice I don't say marriage though they did eventually get married, C's first child came about the same way this one did. The title of his autobiography could be "The Impregnator."), but as a couple we had no children together, not yet. We didn't do much during the day on Saturday and did dinner and a movie Saturday night. "Walk the Line" was the last film I saw as a childless woman. I chose an aisle seat so I could be close to the bathroom and also to make everyone who came late feel uneasy. Each person who asked me to stand would then see my stomach and practically want to throw money at me or run to the concession stand to ask for boiling water. I certainly was causing a stir walking around New York City in my very pregnant state, only a few days before some man yelled out "I hope you is walking to the hospital" as I walked across 21st Street.

Sunday was a beautiful, sunny, unseasonably warm day.

"It's your day," C said as we sat up in bed. "You've had a great pregnancy, really," he said. "Congratulations, I'm proud of you."

C doesn't hand out a lot of compliments so these simple words will always reverberate in my head. We drove out to Brooklyn, to my old neighborhood to have brunch. Diner, in Williamsburg, has the best brunch in New York. It's a small restaurant so I was hardly inconspicuous as we made our way to our tiny table. I had the fritata and we clanked orange juice glasses and savored the hiptster, college rock station atmosphere. Everyone around us seemed impossibly young but I didn't mind feeling older, no I was bringing new life into the world and that made me feel like I was passing on the torch.

But enough recalling of that wonderful Sunday and the Monday that followed. My darling Eliza is asleep now and I should join her, of course not in her crib, but in sleep. She smiled so much today and I'm still unable to get a photo of that smile. Perhaps tomorrow, another new day with so many more possibilities.