This Time Last Year...

...I was sitting in Dr. Amy's office, trying to come to grips with the sudden reality that I would be admitted to a hospital (in suburban Robbinsdale, no less) and induced to labor that afternoon. Granted, this was not how I imagined my daughter's birth would pan out, but she was a stubborn little gal even in utero. Mama and I dined on a "last supper" of black bean nachos from the Good Earth (with a complimentary dessert from our kind, mother-of-three waitress), bid the dogs a fond farewell (warning them that their furry domestic lives would be momentarily imploding), and began the long trek to North Memorial. Highlights (and lowlights) of the next 24+ hours included:

• Peanut butter toast before bed, lightly toasted and evenly spread by the world's nicest nurse. The evening shift change would bring a series of Nurse Ratcheds, women intent on pushing pain meds and regaling me with stories of the laboring mother down the hall who had opted for an epidural and was currently "playing cards, watching T.V., and hanging out with her family."
  
• An Eleanor Roosevelt special on PBS, followed by a 3-hour Golden Girl marathon. Mama and I had the television on for the better part of our time in the hospital, primarily for the distraction component, but these are the only shows I even kind of recall. Probably because, even through the violent cramping and inability to breathe, I was irritated they were airing the Golden Girls Christmas soup kitchen episode in mid-May.
  
• The labor tub. Thank Pnlp I was not hooked up to any IVs or machines, because the bath tub in my adjoining hospital bathroom pretty much saved my sanity. Warm water and jet streams are the ultimate salve to natural labor.
• Mama's hand, which I held and held and held, even as we both faded in and out of consciousness. No more than a dozen words were exchanged between us for approximately 18 hours, but Mama held my hand through each and every painful contraction, and only complained about the finger cramping and numbness post-delivery.
• "I think I need to poop." 20 hours post-labor, and adding the ultimate insult to injury, I noticed blood drops on the floor as I braced myself against the rocking chair next to my bed and felt an overwhelming, terribly timed urged to go to the bathroom. It was only after Mama hesitantly said "Um...I don't think that's poop" that I shook off the labor haze and barely made it in to bed before completing a record 4 1/2 minute delivery.
  
• The immediate recognition of my girl after she was born, and holding her sweet, slippery little self against my chest as the delivery nurse christened her "a real spitfire". You have no idea Nurse Ratched. No. Idea.