(no subject)
On Friday, June 20th, I was sitting on the couch next to my loving husband, Allen, and he was rubbing my feet. It was about 9pm, I had just finished a nice lobster dinner, and I felt a little cramping in my abdomen. It was no big deal, but I felt it again about three minutes later. I looked Allen in the eyes and said, softly and calmly, "baby, it's time. Let's go to the doctor."
He smiled and gave me a kiss softly on the forehead. "I'm so proud of you, let's go."
Allen, of course, was wearing a tank top and a pair of jean shorts (hello biceps!). He lifted up my pre-packed bags in one arm and carried me in the other. We walked out to the car and a cool breeze blew through my hair.
We arrived at the hospital, checked in, and they walked me to my suite. It had a beautiful view of the trees and hills, as well as a king-sized, tempurpedic hospital bed. Allen curled up beside me and I decided to take a bath in the jacuzzi tub.
Allen sat in it behind me for a painless 30 minutes, rubbing my shoulders and back and listening to some John Mayer softly in the background. I felt the urge to push. Allen lifted me out of the tub and led me to my bed.
The nurses and my doctor rushed in and checked my cervix. I was 10cm dilated and ready to push. I sneezed and heard crying. I looked down and Alana was in the doctor's hands. They handed her to me and she was the most beautiful baby in the whole world. We had a great family moment.
She immediately started breast-feeding and was done and full in about five minutes. The caterer knocked and entered with my crab dinner, which I ate while holding Alana, who was cooing softly.
We went home the next day, after a restful night of sleep, and Alana lived happily ever after, feeding on a perfect schedule and waking only once throughout the night.
The end.
Love,
Catherine.