Oh Hey There

There it is. The announcement of the birth of my daughter.
The second one anyway.
M didn't have a birth announcement. Because we were poor. And we lived 3.5 seconds away from EVERYone in my family, so everyone knew and had met her within 4 seconds of her birth...

But this is Magdalena. Called Lena. Pronounced mag-duh-LAY-na and LAY-na. Lux is pronounced Lucks.
Apparently, no one in my family has ever heard of the name Magdalena, or they never realized how it was spelled because I have caught more flack for the pronunciation of her name than I caught with Marley's middle name (which is Lennon... in a 100% Texan, uber-Christian, pro-Republican family).
But the damage is done, the birth certificate is signed and if I wanted a leena I'd have named her Catalina...

Labor and delivery - not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. Never went into labor with M and just had myself a terrifying little c-section followed by a terrifying week of recovery. Which ended with my grandfather's death the night I came home from the hospital.

Lena's birth was pretty smooth sailing compared to the nightmare with M. Went into labor Wednesday night. Labored mildly until Friday morning. Friday morning contractions were suddenly 3 minutes apart. Headed to the hospital.

Labored there for a few more good hours. Went through three hours of harrowing back labor transition. Why did nobody sit me down and tell me that I would have back labor? Why was this never mentioned to me? Why did I never consider the possibility? My mom just laughed at me because I gave her hell with back labor apparently.

Let me tell you this - contractions weren't shit. I could deal with the contractions. I could NOT handle the shooting pain up my back that eventually shot up to my shoulder blades. It was ridiculous. And painful.

Pushing, no big deal. A few good pushes and she was OUT.

My first words upon seeing that head? "Oh my god! It's a baby!" I was genuinely surprised that I had actually birthed a baby. There would be no emergency c-section. I was a mother-fuckin' rock star! or at least I felt like one. But seriously, I was shocked when her head poked out.

And then she was on my chest and I was crying and Micah was looking a little misty eyed and the midwife said two words that should never be uttered in the same sentence... "labia" and "stitches" but surprisingly I was too distracted to feel any pain.

After birth pains? None.

Just one shitty reaction to lidocaine because I'm allergic. But there was absolutely no way that I was going to have stitches put in my lady garden without an anesthetic of some sort.

Recovery was pretty much a breeze.

And now I'm home, all better with a happy, healthy baby.

That eats all the time.

And poops a lot.

And hates dirty diapers.

With a fiery passion.


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