When Daddy and I found about your existence, it was a very normal Monday. Except of course for the fact that we were very anxiously awaiting the results of a little test I'd purchased at Publix, like it was no big deal, like it was just another grocery item rather than what it really is--a potential indicator of a completely life-altering fact. It was early September, and we were so excited, we called every person we could think of and began blabbing the news. Unfortunately for us, pretty much everyone knew we were trying and, knowing our evidently fertile status, had already assumed they'd be getting that particular news real soon. So not a whole lotta shock. But so much love and excitement. No one could wait to meet the newest little one. And Owen? Well, he just knew right away that the baby in Mommy's belly was a girl and that her name was Ella. (And of course, you know how that prediction came out. Still waiting on Owen to pick those Lotto numbers...) Anyway, the point of all this rambling is to get to the next fact: two weeks later, give or take, we went to the doctor and based on measurements and calendar calculations, the midwife gave us your due date: June 3, 2008. As in, your baby will be here by June 3 of next year or he or she is late. Sorry, I just have to make a little fun of that term. Bills are due. Library books are due. Babies come when they are done cookin. But I guess you heard that date and it stuck in your head because just under nine months later, on June 3, you thought you'd come on out. And here is the story of that beautiful, perfect day. I hope you enjoy it. I think you'll see (assuming you don't completely change in the years leading up to the time that you might read this) that your birth is totally YOU.
I was attempting to sleep. The next morning was the LAST day of work for the year. Students had already gone home, I'd finished report cards and cum folders, I'd nearly finished packing up my room, and I was ready to check out! So I was trying to get some rest, hoping to finish up these last few things before the baby (that's you) made his or her grand entrance. I'd been at work the day before and all I heard was "Haven't you had that baby yet?" and "Man, it looks like that baby's gonna fall out any minute!" So, naturally, I was getting a little nervous that I wasn't going to get everything done before you arrived. All I needed was one more day to get it done. Just one more.
Instead, I woke up at 2 am. I was having a pretty mild contraction, but it felt like I'd peed in the bed a little bit. So I went to the bathroom and then came back to check it out. I decided it wasn't pee. But it also was not my water breaking. I'd heard that was like a flood, so I would've known if it'd been that. Right? So I piled up roughly eight towels (no lie) and slept on my side with my knees clamped together in case my water did break. Little did I know that the clamped knees would do nada and the towels may not protect the mattress entirely either. I continued to wake up each hour on the hour to go the bathroom, and each time there was a little more of the mystery fluid. And each time, slightly more uncomfortable contractions. And each time, I looked at your daddy, sleeping peacefully, and thought about kicking him so he could join me in wakefulness. But I didn't. See what a big person I am? Finally at 7 am, I got up with your big brother and got him dressed for the day. As I stood from his bed, I felt something happen, like an internal pop and gush, and I knew! I ran for the bathroom and made it just in time to experience the flood that I had been expecting. At that point, I realized that I wasn't going to be going in to work, so I took the time to email my principal and let her know. She later told me that she thought it hilarious that in the middle of labor I would email her a coherent and professional excuse email for missing the last day of post-planning. As if she may not have assumed I was off birthing you. But I digress. My water broke and the contractions began to get pretty darned uncomfortable. I really wanted to shower before I went to the hospital, but your Gaga (my mommy) became pretty nervous about how I had to pause and bend over the counter for each contraction, so she suggested I skip the shower and head for the hospital. On our way, I phoned Miss Brandi. If memory serves, she skipped out early on a meeting at work to meet us at the hospital with her Nikon in hand. In triage, the nurse took her time putting in an IV, watching contractions, and calling for the midwife. As time wore on, I was starting to get pretty uncomfortable and was very glad to see Jane, our midwife walk in. She determined I was dilated to four or five centimeters. Only halfway. Hoo-wee. With some encouraging words, she headed to the office and said she'd be back around lunchtime. I glanced at the clock and told your daddy I was pretty sure we weren't gonna make it until lunch time. Soon enough we were in labor and delivery room 213 with our fantastic nurse, Joann. Checking vitals, listening to the baby, monitoring contractions. By the time Miss Brandi showed up, my contractions were starting to H U R T. I remember telling your daddy that I didn't think they'd hurt so badly with Owen. I attributed it to the memory-loss-with-regards-to-labor-pains phenomenon. Scott and nurse Jo decided that laboring in the tub might help. As it filled up, I attempted to ease into the water, but it was too hot. As I stood waiting for it to cool down a bit, I started to get really uncomfortable. At that point I became a little fearful, looked at Brandi and said, "I think I maybe feel like I need to push?" After a few quick questions, she ascertained that I indeed was feeling the urge to push. We called up the nurse who checked me and decided that an emergency phone call to summon our midwife was in order. As she put it, "I've delivered babies before, but I prefer not to. Let's get Jane back here." This was two hours after arriving at the hospital.
The next minutes are a bit of a blur to me. Jane returned, I moved to the bed and managed a few more pretty intense contractions. At one point I whispered to your daddy that I wasn't sure I could do it. Luckily, Daddy was prepared and reminded me that that feeling just means the end is near. And he was right. A few minutes later, I was pushing. I remember Daddy, Miss Brandi, Jane, and Joann having quiet conversation, making jokes and laughing. I tried to pay attention to what they were talking about but found that I couldn't. Instead I talked to you. This sounds crazy, but I saw you, as plain as day. I saw you, all 21 inches of you, working so hard to make your way out to meet us. So we had a little talk, you and I, and about twenty minutes I heard the encouraging words I'd been waiting to hear. "We can see the head!" And little girl, I have to tell you, you scared everyone! Everyone but me. I was blissfully unaware that from the appearance of your head, Joann thought you were coming out breech, booty first. Poor Daddy thought your brain was somehow outside of your head. But neither of these things was true. After a few more pushes, you brought new life into room 213--six lives where there had been five. You slid right into Daddy's waiting hands and looked at me! You, my little stinker, were sunny-side up, looking right at your mama as you came into the world. No wonder you had caused me so much pain! But God, Ella, did we love you. The nurse may have said it first, but I only remember hearing the words first from one of my dearest friends and your biggest fans: It's a girl! And I cried with relief and looked at your daddy and said, "Thank God she's here. It's a girl!" And we both looked at you and said "Nice to meet you, Ella." Because your brother, after all, had told us all about you.
And that is the story of the day you were born. Right on time but certainly in your own little Ella way. You came backwards, brought a pretty good deal of discomfort with you, but it made your appearance all the sweeter. We loved you immediately. And we always will. You are our girl. Forever. Love you, Baby Girl.

