Congratulations! It’s a baby…stroganoff…
The birth of my son, Julian, had its amusing moments (although I seem to find the amusing in most situations).
I went into labor on a Saturday morning (thank you raw jalapenos at breakfast). In what to Expect When You’re Expecting, they tell you to eat very lightly when labor begins. I now know that it really is What Not To Do When You’re Expecting.
As I began the labor of labor, we got a call from our realtor (the house was on the market) that someone wanted to come see it.
I quickly got out the white paint to repaint the stair risers. Not so easy with a scarily big belly (I was told that I had the biggest belly people had ever seen. Hmmm, coulda joined the circus. Actually, having a 2 yr old at home, and one on the way was enough of a circus.)
When the people came to look at the house, we had to vacate. So, I walked around our street (always good for labor except on a cold Jan. 22rd..), patiently waiting for them to leave. Little did they know what was going on in their possibly new neighborhood.
It was finally time to go to the hospital and meet up with my midwife. We had had a girl’s name picked out, but were still undecided on the boy’s name. While in agonizing labor, with my feet up on the dashboard, I thought that I’d use the sympathy card to pick the name, which I did!
Upon being taken into the birthing room, they checked all the usual vital signs and said that I definitely was too dehydrated and had not eaten enough to have a successful birth. The plan was to feed me, give me morphine to sleep through the night and have the baby in the morning.
Here’s the best part: I LOVE hospital food. Always have from the time I was a candy striper in high school. Big faves are the grilled cheese and tomato soup, but any overcooked, salty veggies will suffice too. They brought me a heaping plate of hospital mushroom stroganoff. It was DELICIOUS!! I couldn’t believe that amidst the pain I was so lucky.
Then they put the morphine into my IV and …..i woke up more. Then more morphine (should really call it more-phine) and my labor started to increase and I started to get really chatty. Then more, etc until they said that was the legal limit they could give me. They named me the “morphine queen.” I was speedy and that little (or big) baby came out the next morning, to a well fed, happy (albeit in intense pain) mom.
I owe it all to the stroganoff. (And yeah, the morphine).
-by Gail Erdos