When a Perfectionist Makes a Baby

I was a relatively young mother by choice. Not a teen mom – but still in college. Dee and I married when I was 19, and he was 21. My parents were not thrilled with our decision to marry so young. I think their greatest concern was that I might drop out of college to start having babies. They were partially right, but we were smart and strategic with our plans.

I had heavy course loads as a freshman and sophomore in college; my schedule for my junior year was just as full. I never thought, “Let’s push my brain to the limit, so I can ‘relax’ and have a baby my senior year” – it just happened that way. I was on track to be able to take just 12 credit hours each semester of my final year, which worked out great.

We were married just over a year when the reproduction festivities began. We planned the conception of our first child in hope of my delivering a few weeks after my junior year of undergraduate school. We discovered we were both fertile and fortunate when it came to making babies. Our only error was in our calculation. The real due date of my firstborn was May 25. That was close to the end of my semester.

I remember feeling guilty when the nurse who tended to me in my first prenatal visit told me she tried to conceive for seven years before finally having a child. Like I said, we were fortunate.

When Dee and I had discussed when to have a baby, I insisted I have my own vehicle before it could happen. He had recently paid off his car, and he was eager to be a daddy, so he agreed we could expand our fleet.

Having my own transportation also allowed me to work part-time at McDonald’s to start saving for our growing family. I was the opening grill cook, which required early-morning starts and many hours on my feet. I quickly mastered cracking four eggs at a time to fill the blender, over and over. But the kitchen work was exhausting. My lucky break came one day when the chairman and a couple of others from the journalism department were eating lunch while I was slinging burgers. I walked out to the dining room looking fat and pathetic and begged them to give me a job. Soon after, I was in a new role as assistant to the secretary of the journalism school.

While I enjoyed having the choice to drive, I typically walked to the campus, since it was just three-quarters of a mile from our home. The library was on my route, which was convenient for my obsession with reading books and watching videos to ensure I was well prepared for the birth of our child. I funneled through all the information and shared the highlights with Dee. I also made him watch a video of a childbirth. We felt smart by the time we took our prep classes at the hospital.

I was lucky to have an easy pregnancy with no morning sickness or back pain, once I was off my feet and not working in a hot kitchen. I remember several times in my third trimester when I experienced a sharp pain as if someone jabbed a dagger into my cervix. I cannot recall whether that was anything mentioned in the abundance of books I had read. I just remember the shock as the pain lifted me from my seat.

I finished my last final exam eight days before the baby’s due date. Then I was ready. I had read all the tricks to induce labor, and I was willing to try some, but not all. I had taken castor oil as a young child when my doctor prescribed it; there was no freakin’ way I would do that again. Spicy foods, “special” activities, and walking were my strategic combination. One day I pushed myself too hard walking briskly through the city park. I ended up lying flat atop a picnic table, which worried some passersby, but I quickly recovered.

All week, I made sure my legs were shaved and my makeup and hair were in place, so I would be ready to greet our child. I decided to forgo grooming on the due date. What were the odds? Well, damn good for a perfectionist. I worked that morning and had occasional Braxton Hicks contractions. I went home for lunch, but before I could go back to the campus, those pains were real. Dee worked about 20 minutes away, so I convinced him to come home.

First, he took me to the doctor’s office, because we were not yet certain that I was in labor – I had a false alarm the week before. I was pacing and crying in the lobby when the doctor came out and said I had good reason to be pacing and crying; it was go time. We were glad the hospital was just down the street.

My mom was in labor more than 30 hours with me, so I expected a long wait. The nurse assured Dee he had plenty of time to grab some dinner and run home to tidy before our parents arrived. I felt a lot closer to delivery time than what the nurse believed, but who was I to argue? As it turned out, I was right. I thought, “Ha! I’ll tell you when I’m ready, Miss Nursey Poo.” Dee made it back to the hospital just in time to throw on a gown for the big event.

My “extra” experiences were brutal back pain, because my baby was in a posterior position, and a minor struggle, which the doctor revealed as he removed the umbilical cord wrapped not once, but twice, around my baby’s neck. I had one big surprise … something I did not recall from any of the books, videos, or childbirth classes: delivering the placenta. What the holy hell?! That sucker was bigger than my baby.

Whether it was a result of my own perfectionism or that of my daughter, besides being born on her due date, Denise was 6 pounds even and 19 inches on the nose. And, despite my parents’ quick action in driving home from work, packing a bag, and hitting the highway, my precious girl was not only born but also cleaned and bundled upon their arrival. She came so quickly, I never lost sleep, but I was eager to have dinner. My parents were happy to make a quick trip to McDonald’s to make their big baby happy. My reward, besides my beautiful blue-eyed, strawberry-blond baby girl, was a Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries, and a Coke, treats of which I deprived myself during my pregnancy.

Much to my parents’ surprise, I continued with my classes and graduated on Denise’s first birthday. I found myself reminiscing these sweet memories as I realized her 35^th birthday is days away. Time flies, indeed.