Our night sky…

It seems only fitting that it took me over a month to do this post. But then again, those of you who read this blog already received the news via email (unless your spam filter rejected my message!) Has it really been five weeks? I have caught myself a few times saying, well, my daughter, and then rephrasing, well, my older daughter… or my other daughter. It’s a little odd still. Or maybe that’s just the lack of sleep talking.

Welcome to the blog, Louisa Luna.

You’re actually pretty lucky you have these pictures at all – so rushed into the world were you. It’s a good thing we never signed a contract with that TLC baby show – because “Louisa: A birth story” would never have been filmed in time – nor even filled a one hour show!

I guess, though, your birth story is a bit longer than 45 minutes. It’s actually 4 days. On Sunday, March 25, I made aloo gobi for dinner, an Indian dish that usually is just potatoes and cauliflower, but I added chick peas. Unfortunately, after soaking for 24 hours and cooking for 2, the darn chick peas were still pretty crunchy, and your father and I both remarked that we were destined for intestinal trouble. After dinner and Stella’s bedtime routine, your father climbed in his van, in the rain, and drove 2 1/2 hours to Long Beach, CA to go to a two day rigging workshop, the start of a weeklong conference devoted to technical theatre. He hadn’t been in almost 10 years, and was really excited to go. After reading, I finally went to bed around 11pm and lying there in the dark, experienced some serious intestinal distress, enough to make me writhe around in my bed. Wow, those chick peas, I thought. Little did I know chick peas had nothing to do with my pains.

Tuesday, March 27, I had my weekly doctor’s appointment, and had to take Stella with me as the whole week was “Spring break” at her preschool. I wasn’t seeing my usual midwife, but the older “grandpa” doctor, whom, although a bit quick during appointments, was one of the doctors I actually liked on the staff. Because it was approaching week 38, they checked for dilation, effacement, etc. (I never had these checkups with Stella, as the midwifery program didn’t do those). Stella lay with me on the table, snuggled in close, wondering what was going on. “Um, have you been having contractions?” the doctor asked. “Not that I know of” I responded, and told him about my “intestinal distress.” He then informed me I was over 5 cm dilated and 90% effaced and that he really wanted to admit me to the hospital. What? Seriously? My husband is at a conference in Long Beach, not to come home until late tonight and my daughter is sitting right here. I can’t go to the hospital. Nothing’s going on. He smiled at me and promptly scheduled an induction for the following Monday if I didn’t have the baby before then. Should I call my husband and have him come home early from the conference? He should be home by 10 tonight. “Um, maybe?” the doctor suggested.

Hm. So I took Stella out to lunch after the appointment, thinking that maybe that might be the last time we’d get to do just a mother-daughter special day for quite some time. Steve hopped in the van and headed back through LA traffic to get home by 5pm. However, nothing doing. We went out for Vietnamese food and came home and went to bed. That was the night that I posted my last blog post because I couldn’t sleep from 1am on. Preoccupied? Maybe. Thoughtful? Oh yes.

Wednesday, March 28 my mom arrived in town at 4pm. Knowing that we didn’t have much in the house, I whisked her and Stella to Trader Joes to stock the house for the weekend. We came home, made homemade pizza, and sat around after Stella went to bed, talking about how glad we were that she was here. I remember having a few general waves of pressure? stomach pain? but nothing that felt remotely like a contraction.

Sound asleep, 11:25pm I feel a pop, like a balloon bursting. I turn to Steve, shaking him awake. My water just broke. We need to go.

I methodically walk into the bathroom. Drain. Pee. Blindly find sweatpants in the closet and say, “I’m going to the van. Grab the bag.” I walked out to the van, had a contraction as I climbed in, and sat on the floor of the front seat, pressing my heel into my butt. I think I was trying not to let you come out, because somehow I had a feeling, if I sneezed wrong, you were going to come out on the floor of the van.

Your father arrived very quickly, all bags in tow, my mom notified that we were headed out. I think I had two more contractions on the way there, and we pulled into the main lobby of the hospital. I don’t think I can walk from the parking garage, I told Steve. Let’s just go inside. Hazard lights on, we walked to the front desk. “You’re supposed to go to the emergency room” the security guard told us. “But we were told at our maternity tour to go this way.” “Well, I’m going to have to call for an escort.” I crumple to the ground again, have another contraction in the lobby, and tell him, you know what? Let us go upstairs right now. Another contraction in the hallway to the birth center, one more once in the main center, and then guided to a room.

The nurse, a lovely lady named Michelle, asked me to walk into the bathroom, pee in a cup and put on a gown. Um, I told her, I don’t think we have time for that. Okay, she said, most likely dubious. Let me check you out. A second later – “oh, you’re fully dilated” and she calmly walks to the door of the room, “Um, she is complete. I could use some help.”

Swarm of nurses. Calls to the doctor on call. Steve wonders, should I move my van? Are they going to tow me? They respond, um, I don’t think you have time. (So that of course also means, no camera…)

The nurses prep things, I think I have one more contraction and then I ask if I can push.Sure! The doctor walks in – it’s the older doctor from Tuesday. We both laugh. “I told you I’d see you in here! Guess you got here from Long Beach in time, eh?” he says to Steve.

Three? Four? Pushes and you’re out. Up on my chest – wailing and then inquisitive. Your daddy cuts the cord (spraying blood on the doctor!) and they exclaim, wow, there is a knot in the cord. We both gasp. “It’s an old wives tale, but supposedly, it’s good luck” a seasoned, older nurse says. I am just thankful it wasn’t tight. So your sister was an ‘angel baby’ because she was face up and you should have good luck because of a knot in your cord. We don’t have normal births, do we?

”You’re meant to do this,” the nurse says to me. “Do what?” “Have babies. That was just beautiful to watch.”

I’m not sure if I’m “meant” to have babies, but to be able to lay and hold you, for as long as I wanted, to not have to have been whisked away to surgery (like the first time) was a precious thing. To hold your little squirmy body and feel you settle in, somehow knowing the breathing, the heartbeat, now from the outside as opposed to in, I could hardly keep from crying. Your father and I also both noticed how lovely your head shape was. No offense to your older sister, but she was a conehead… yours? pretty perfect.

What followed was probably pretty typical for hospital stays… a nice new room, nice new nurses, sleep, lots of sleep, and then, the special visit from Grammy and your big sister, who insisted that “dressing up” meant wearing one of her costume dresses. My mom actually called me on the phone before they left, saying, “I can’t get her to take it off. Is that ok? She is insisting on ‘dressing up.’” Of course, because she’s Stella. Of course.

 

There was, of course, lots of snuggle time with Daddy too. Just like your sister, you seem to respond to his slow and steady heartbeat and just fall asleep.

And then it was time. Time to take you home. Time to meet the dog. Time to greet the world.

And now you’ve already changed from those first few hours.

Those first few days.

You’ve already had your first birthday party outing (day 4), your first Easter hunt (you slept through it), your sister’s 3rd birthday (I guess you enjoyed the cake?), your first bath (in the roasting pan, at your sister’s request, because, of course, she was bathed in it too!), first restaurant trip (sushi! why not?), and your first banana bread baking experience (because cooking with Mommy is par for the course around here, isn’t it?)

It might have taken almost 24 hours for your parents to agree on your name… but it was because we wanted to make sure it would be fitting. In my searches, I found variants on what “Louisa” meant – fights with honor // famous warrior // graceful warrior. To me, the ‘warrior’ part seemed fitting. You kicked and pummeled me throughout the entire pregnancy, forcefully reminded us of your presence, even when your sister vied for center stage. And gracefully, you slipped into the world.

As for Luna? Well, we already had our star, so we needed a moon. Though as Juliet says, “O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon” and my dear, we do not swear by you, but yet relish in your grace, your beauty, and your young life ready to be lived.