Skin’s story is an entertaining one.  Perhaps you may want to pause here and get a glass of wine.  Scratch that.  Go for the hard stuff.

Yes.  I was dumb enough to get pregnant when I had a one-year old.  I know.  I’m going back to the Catholic Priest who told us to use Natural Family Planning.  Doesn’t work buddy.  Meet Skin.

I knew Bones was born quickly, so I was little worried about where, and how fast Skin would be born.  Interestingly enough, my mother in law (Puerto Rican ball of fire) knew what we were having even though we didn’t.  And I don’t know HOW she kept that secret for 20 weeks.

One November night, I finished my LAST online grad class for the semester.  I was so proud of myself that I let myself have another glass of Apple Cider (because I could drank GALLONS of that while pregnant).  I went to the kitchen sink to rinse my glass and felt it.  I peed myself.  Oh K. You’re such an embarrassment to us all.  I wanted to be the woman who could hold her bladder at least until she was 70!


Not so much.  I went to the bathroom, tried to pee, and nada.  Oh well.  I’d take care of those undies when  I went up to bed.  I went back to the kitchen to finish up.  AGAIN.  Are you kidding me?  And then it hit me… did my water break?  I immediately called my sister and asked.  She was no help as both of her kids were induced and very Vogue birth story-ish.  I reminded her not to call Mom (who I’m sure was already on the other line already) while I figured out what was going on.  I called my other friend, and asked her.  She told me to lay down and see if the water kept flowing.  I did.  More like Niagra Falls.  I was sure what was happening now.  It was GO time baby.  Except Baby Daddy was at hockey.  Oh Lordy.  My little Abuelita (our little Pet Name for my mother-in-law) was up in the guest room sleeping.  She spends the night at our house once a week for babysitting duties.  It was time to let the cat out of the bag.

I went upstairs and called her name.  She came out of her room and I told her that my water broke.  She immediately started saying every prayer known to every good Catholic.  IN SPANISH.  She insisted on driving me to the hospital that very minute.  Oh no way.  I’m waiting for GP to get home, sister. I decided it was time to get GP home from hockey.  I called the rink and some annoying high school girl answered.  She sounded annoyed that someone would call the hockey rink at 10:30 at night.  Well, listen here, bitch.  I need my husband, NOW.  My water just broke and I need to go to the hospital.  Suddenly, her whole demeanor changed.  Hubs answered the phone and said he’d be home as soon as possible.  As soon as I hung up the phone, my mom called.  Funny how she found out that something was going on.  Damnit, sister!  So, I informed EVERYONE that I would NOT be leaving for the hospital until GP arrived home.

Upon his arrival Abuelita was shoving pads in my underwear and trying to re-dress me.  She would have duck taped towels around my lower half if I had let her.  He asked if he could take a shower.  Are you KIDDING me?!  Get in the car.

We got in the car and started signing.  Everything I could find on the radio.  The streets were quiet and we needed some entertainment.  After the second or third song, the pain started.  The contractions hurt, but were bearable.  I could breathe through.  We made it to the hospital.

I went back to the waiting room and informed the nurse that my water broke.  She told me to have a seat.  Another nurse came in:

Bitchy Nurse: “I heard you think your water broke.”

Me: “Yes, I’m sure it did.”

Bitchy Nurse: “Well, you’re only 37 weeks, but we can check.”

Me:  “Yes, please let’s check,” (because I may kill you when this baby is born in my pants.)

Bitchy Nurse (with her head between my legs: “Ma’am, have you had intercourse in the last 24 hours?”

GP (while playing angry birds on his phone):  “No, she hasn’t.”

Bitchy Nurse: “Ma’am?”

Me:  “Um, who else would I be having sex with?!”

Bitchy Nurse: “Well in that case, I think your water is broken.”

No shit Sherlock.  I was very well aware of the fact that I was repeatedly “peeing myself” over and over again.  Finally, as the contractions got more intense, they agreed to move me upstairs to labor and delivery.

And then I made the most stupid decision of my life.  I decided NOT to get an epidural.  Please remember that with Bones, my birth story was short, and the pain was temporary, and she was tiny.  I am woman.  Hear me roar.  And scream.  And cry.  And curse.  A LOT.

We settled into our room around 11:00pm and the nurse introduced herself.  She was a VERY large lady (about 6’2″) and announced her delight at me wanting an unmedicated birth.  She reminded me that she had three children, all breech, over 10lbs, without drugs.  And if she could do it, so could I.  Thanks Lady.  VERY comforting.  She also announced that I had two visitors waiting downstairs.  I immediately knew that Sister and Mimi (my mom) we waiting for us.  Come on up.  Join the pee party.  I met my resident (Jody) and her student (George).  George was clearly gay and so pretty.  He had perfect blonde locks and blue eyes that were either those of a Swedish model or color contact lenses.  George informed me that he was just on his first shift here at the hospital, so he wasn’t totally sure what to do.  He would watch and learn.  Jody took charge and told me that when the time got close, we would call Dr. Calm to deliver.

Contractions suck.  Over the next hour, my sister tried to crack jokes.  GP continued to play Angry Birds.  Mimi felt bad for herself that she was going to be tired tomorrow at work.  I wanted to commit suicide.  I moaned.  I screamed.  I cried. Sister asked the nurse if she could have the epidural since I had skipped my dose.

And then I begged.  “Please, Scary Nurse Lady, PLEASE give me an epidural.”  She said that I could have one, but that I needed IV fluids first.  Okay, but find a way to get those fluids in STAT.  The IV went in, and she cranked the dial.  I needed two full bags of fluid.  The fastest that could happen was about 30 minutes.  That was about 29 1/2 minutes too long.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  I felt like I was going to puke.  Thankfully Sister came to my rescue with a barf bucket.  GP was too busy completing Level 1537 of Angry Birds.  I puked some more.  Drip. Drip.  Now, I had to poop.  The nurse reminded me that I was experiencing pressure and that I was probably going through transition.  I looked at her like she was crazy since I was only 6 cm the last time someone checked me.  I informed her that I would be going to the bathroom as soon as humanly possible.  As I sat up, my IV ripped out of my hand.  It sounds painful, but I don’t remember that pain at all.  What I do remember was blood and saline solution EVERYWHERE.  My bed looked like a murder scene.  I could have cared less, because I needed to get my ass on that toilet.  I ripped off my soaking wet hospital gown and proceeded to the bathroom.  Now, as a rule to the hospital, you can not be alone in the bathroom.  GP followed me in, facing the wall and continuing his Angry Birds play.  I screamed when I pushed and he looked down and screamed too.  He yelled to the nurse that the head was in the toilet. I was rushed back to the bed and told to stay put.  Gee thanks.  Can’t ANYONE go to the bathroom anymore?  My sister draped her cashmere pashmina over my National Geographic-looking chest for my modesty.  Sister, thank you, but I lost that a LONG time ago.

I asked for Dr. Calm and the nurse informed me that he didn’t answer his page.  Seriously?  Who would deliver my baby?  Jody came in to save the day.  George, her student, was right beside her.  George noticed my new clothing selection (i.e. pashmina boobs) and asked ,”Isn’t that cashmere?  That’s going to get ruined.”  My sister chuckled as she knew how much she loved George and told him not to worry, everything could be dry cleaned.  George moved along the back wall of the room just soaking it all in.  He held his clipboard tightly to his chest.  Standing in that corner, George appeared to be about 12 years old.  I screamed at the top of my lungs, “You READY, George?”  I’m pretty sure George’s knuckles were white as he shook his head N-O and held on to that damn clipboard tighter.  He probably wrote himself a note:  Psycho stationed in Room 6.  I’m pretty sure I scarred George for life.  I’m almost certain he will never be an Ob/Gyn.

I pushed for about 5 minutes.  The biggest newborn I’ve ever seen came flying out and my little man, Skin, was born at 3:43am on 11/11/11.



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