The Day I Became a Mother FU

I woke with a slight start early in the morning on August 23, 1997. The little squeezes in my tummy were not uncomfortable, but they prevented me from falling back to sleep. It was a Saturday, and I was worried about getting busted.

I had been on maternity leave for almost a week. My mom had been enthusiastically awaiting the birth of her first grandchild and had cleared her schedule for the next few weeks. BUT she had an important job to wrap up on Saturday, so she had specifically requested that I NOT have the baby on a Saturday. She used to work as a midwife, so maybe this is how things work in that biz.

When Albert started to stir from sleep, I whispered, “I think the baby is coming today.” After some initial panic, we went about our Saturday morning business. Some eggs….probably a half dozen….not even exaggerating…and toast for breakfast with a big glass of orange juice. These are the things my little baby commanded from me: orange juice, eggs, kiwi, watermelon, tomatoes, toast, bagels and cream cheese. It is amazing that their taste is developed long before they arrive!

Shortly after breakfast, Albert was called away on an emergency. I assured him I’d be fine, and he called my sister, Lesley, and her girlfriend, Ona, to come and mama-sit me. My sister is eight years younger than I, so they were just about 21 at the time, about the same age as my kids are now.

The three of us watched the movie “Fly Away Home,” which had recently been released. It’s based on the true story of a young girl who finds an abandoned goose nest in a construction area. She sneaks the nest into her barn, where she incubates and raises the little guys. When Animal Regulation threatens to confiscate the geese, the girl and her dad teach the babies how to follow their ultralight aircraft to escort them to a bird sanctuary.

It was SUCH a sweet movie, only interrupted every 20 minutes or so by my gasps of deep breathing, followed by wide-eyed stares of concern from Ona.

Ona: Are you OK? Les, are you sure she’s OK?

Les: She’s OK.

Me: I’m OK.

Albert returned from work a couple of hours later. We had just bought our first house a few years ago, a cute 950 sqft, 2-bedroom home with no air conditioning, and it was a HOT August day in Southern California. We decided to take a walk to move the labor along, stopping at the store for a couple of lime popsicles. That little stroll and the frozen treats must have been the ticket, because contractions were stopping me in my tracks every half block or so on the way home.

I showered while Albert called the doctor and let the family know that we were on our way to the hospital. As I bent down to tie my shoe on our way out the door, my water broke. I believe that a lot of details about pregnancy and birth are withheld in order to prevent utter terror. My friends, what seemed like GALLONS of water burst forth from my body in our little entryway.

Upon arrival at the hospital, I hauled my tremendous belly and butt out of Albert’s new 2-door Acura Integra, noticing that the towel I was sitting on, as well as my shorts, were soaked. Soaked! It looked like I peed all over myself. A woman standing outside the Emergency Room cheerfully announced to her husband, “Oh, Look! She’s having a baby!”

This infuriated me. I was hot and uncomfortable. Contractions had markedly intensified after the Great Fu Flood of 1997. My pants were wet like the guy who’s about to get whacked in a mafia movie. The nerve of this woman being so chipper at a time like this!

The Labor and Delivery staff was calm as usual, checking me in, getting waivers signed, asking me what kind of dietary restrictions or food preferences I might have. Meanwhile, I was hyperventilating. My cheeks and fingertips were numb. I was so hot and uncomfortable. The nice nurses put me in bed, gave me oxygen, and put a cool washcloth on my forehead. It felt heavenly.

The doctor on call finally strolled in. “I’m John Keats, like the poet,” he said with a smooth smile. Ode to a Grecian Urn.

“Is this your first baby? It could be a while. Although you look pretty uncomfortable. I’m just going to check you.”

“She’s at 8 centimeters. I can feel the head.” Dr. Keats’s smiling face turned serious. Suddenly the composure of the room transformed to pandemonium: packages were torn open, metal trays and carts clanged, a light dropped down from the ceiling but the bulb was broken, so I heard stern shouts for a replacement.

Then came orders to push. “Push through your butt like you’re constipated.” Ummmmm….that’s a hard pass. No. I had heard stories of women pooping during labor, and that was not going to be me! Is there a reason I have to release my butthole? My baby is not coming out of my butthole. I learned this in school.

A Pharmacy School professor memorably declared the anal sphincter as the most “remarkable muscle in the body.” It knows to let out gas and/or liquid and/or solid. Whatever you choose! Think about that for a minute. It can even allow the gas to come out from around the solid. Perhaps this is what we call “passing gas.”

My butthole was shut tight. But it turns out that you can’t push out a baby unless you let it all hang loose. Motherhood has been a journey into vulnerability and humility, and this was my official welcome.

Abruptly, the baby’s heartrate decreased. There was no more time. The doctor sucked Alex out with a suction cup. Just pulled that kid right out of my body! OW! The NICU was called and a crowd of professionals surrounded the bassinette with my little purple baby. Albert and I looked on anxiously but couldn’t see anything until…a long stream of pee shot up like Old Faithful and the room filled with murmurs of surprise and amusement.

Just 45 minutes after my wet-pants arrival, Alex entered this world at 6:59 pm on August 23, 1997, weighing 7 pounds exactly and measuring an even 21 inches.

Part of our LaMaze class involved creating a Birth Plan, and mine was perfect and beautiful! My whole family would surround me! My bag was packed with books to read so I wouldn’t get bored as I passed time and calmly waited for labor to progress. Albert would cut the umbilical cord, and my hair would look fantastic as I lovingly held my new baby and cooed like we were in a Pampers commercial.

None of those things happened. By the time my contractions began, I didn’t want anyone around me except Albert. There was no time for any of the rest of it. And that’s been the Story of Parenting Alex Fu. Alex has provided me with so many opportunities to expand and learn, to shed outdated, boring expectations of How Life Should Be. The overarching theme has been that best-laid plans are limited to that which you already know. Letting loose my grasp on life and relaxing into the unknown has opened me to unimaginable peace and fulfillment. I am a million percent certain that Alex was sent to be my angel in this world, to add depth and breadth, challenges and so much joy. He’s the kid who made me a mom, and I can hardly wait to see what his future holds.

Happy birthday, Sweetheart.