One Pink Line (21 page)

“I’ll see what I can do,” Peyton told me. “Is there anything I can get you in the meantime? Water? Ice?”

“Are those my only choices?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Water please.”

“I’ll be right back with some water.” She jiggled something on monitor number three before heading out and quietly closing the door behind her.

Kendra’s chair cushion whistled as she stood up. “Well, it’s finally happening. She’s on her way sister, ain’t no turning back,” she said and brushed some hairs out of my face. “I’m going to call Mom and let her know it’s official, okay?” she looked at me for permission. “You’re obviously not going anywhere in that outfit, so hold tight. I’ll be back in five.” She squeezed my hand and left the room.

I folded my hands over my belly and let the rhythmic beeping noises from the monitors occupy my focus. Even though I was only days away from my due date, and basically pissing myself at Walgreens, Kendra was right. I was in denial. lt’d been a pretty easy ride up until then. No morning sickness, no stretch marks. Just a few sleepless nights and killer leg cramps, but most of the horrible things people warned me about (cankles, acne, spotting) never happened. It was a long, hard haul, though, nearly forty weeks. And while I had absolutely no clue as to how much my life would change, I was eager to meet my daughter.

Lindsay Carlin, a neighborhood girl who used to babysit Kendra and I when we were little, had warned me about a couple of things. And keeping my baby name choices to myself was one of them.

“Sydney!” she exclaimed, as I bumped into her coming out of my daughter’s future pediatrician’s office. “Look at you.”

“Look at us,” I responded, gesturing to her double stroller.

“Wow, the little girl I used to babysit for is having a baby.” She exposed a toothy grin any orthodontist would be proud of. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks, Lindsay,” I smiled. “And I’m guessing these two gorgeous, bald men are yours,” I said.

“They are. This is Braden and Jameson,” she said and bent forward. “Can you wave ‘Hi’ to Sydney?”

Braden looked at his animal cracker, and Jameson buried his face in the side of the stroller.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Just had their one year check up today. Will this be your pediatrician?”

“I think so. I’m meeting with Dr. Weinstein today to see if he’s a good fit.”

“Well, I happen to love all of the physicians in the practice here. Just don’t be put off by their frankness. They’re not hand-holders; they’ve been doing this for a long time. Very seasoned, very ‘been there-seen that’, but they’re great doctors.”

“Good to know.”

“So, do you know what you’re having?”

“A girl.”

She put her hand to her heart. “Oh, Sydney, that’s wonderful, a little girl. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, I don’t have a name yet,” I said. Past conversations with nearly every person I encountered led me to assume that’d be her next question.

She waved her hands in the air as if being attacked by bees, then covered her ears like I was going to reveal the ending of a great book. “Oh no, I never ask if people have names picked out. It’s a horrible question! And trust me. Don’t reveal your choices to anyone,” she warned me in a deep and frightening tone. “As soon as I had names picked out for the twins, my mother-in-law told me how horrible they were,” she said. “I cried for two days, my husband got in a fight with her, and then my own mother admitted she wasn’t fond of the names I’d picked out either.”

“Did you change their names?”

“I sure did.” She stood upright like a soldier. “Because they had tainted them for me, ruined my beautiful choices. And in addition to being bloated and exhausted, I was bitter and angry at the two people who were most likely to relieve me so I could sleep,” she laughed.

“Well, they’re healthy and gorgeous, and you look amazing, and I love their names.”

“You look wonderful yourself, and your boobs look great in that v-neck,” she said. “I’m jealous!”

“Thanks.” I looked down, admiring my temporarily voluptuous figure.

“Which reminds me of one more thing.” She waved her index finger in the air. “Do not breastfeed either.”

“Oh, okay, why not?”

“Because, seriously, my cleavage is a thing of the past. A distant memory, gone with my flat stomach and good metabolism. All these woman harping about the glory of breast feeding, and how it helps you lose weight.” She pointed to her chest. “The only weight you will lose is in your boobs, see, mine are an empty shell of their former glorious selves.”

“Good to know,” I nodded, dizzy.

“Good luck with everything, Syd, and I guess I’ll be seeing you around here during flu season,” she said and gave me an extra tight squeeze. As she strolled away, it occurred to me that she never asked about my non-existent husband.

After about five minutes, Kendra walked back into the room and informed me that she’d called our mom with the news. I was dying to talk with her myself. There are times in life, that no matter the circumstances, a girl needs her mom.

“She’s on her way,” Kendra told me. “Of course she had to be all the way up in Lake Forest at an early dinner, and wanted to stop at home and change her outfit before heading downtown. But she’ll be here as soon as she can. Is there anything I can bring you?”

“Cheese fries?” my voice cracked as I tried to muster up a joke.

Kendra knew me all too well, and sensed my nervousness. “Don’t get upset, Syd, everything is going to be fine.”

I closed my eyes and wiped a tear from my cheek. “Okay.”

“I mean it, now, don’t you worry about a thing. You’re in good hands, and this is a wonderful, joyous day. I love you, and everything is good, okay?” she placed her hand on my leg. “You alright?”

“Just nervous.”

“Well I can’t say I blame you, but they seriously look like they know what they’re doing around here, so try and relax and think about meeting little Cinnamon.”

I’d spent so many days and nights imagining what my daughter might look like, and what kind of person she would be, that it was hard to grasp that I was only a few hours from finding out. Maybe not what kind of person she would be, but certainly what she would look like.

More importantly, I’d worried about what kind of mother I would be, and really, what kind of life I could provide for her. It was no secret that providing for Cinnamon was everyone’s biggest concern, including mine. My mom and I had talked the subject to death, and usually the conversation would end where it started. With me having no real grasp of the situation whatsoever.

My father, against my mother’s wishes, had generously agreed to help me financially while I was on unpaid maternity leave, but that’s pretty much all I had mapped out at that point. Whether you’re married or not, young or old, until you’ve experienced having a child there isn’t a person in the world who could properly prepare you for it. That didn’t stop people from trying, of course, but no one could answer my questions except for me…or Cinnamon.

Would we be more like friends than mother-daughter?

Would she think I was annoying?

What insecurities would she have?

Would she hate me for not being married?

There was no going back now because she was on her way and I had to be ready or not. A corner of my bedroom and every square inch of my life had been cleared out to accommodate my daughter and all her needs. And my mother repeatedly told me that no matter what age she is; I would never stop worrying about her.

“She could be forty years old, married with kids, and you’ll still be worried about her life, her bills, her husband’s job, your grandkid’s fever,” she’d tell me. “One day you’ll understand why I pester you about everything.”

So at that moment, lying there in my wanna-be-sage green caftan, I did try and relax. I rubbed my stomach, sipped my water and concentrated on the task at hand, because in addition to turning my life upside down, I had to first conquer my fear of childbirth. Another ominous event that, try as some did, no one could accurately describe the pain and effect that childbirth has on the body. The problem was that everybody is different, and everyone has her own opinion and story to tell. Never for one second did I consider not taking any and all painkillers that would be available to me. I let my doctor know early on that he could go ahead and mark all my charts in thick, red pen: SHE WANTS THE DRUGS.

After about an hour in the examination room, and about three diaper changes, Peyton and another nurse took me up to Labor & Delivery while Kendra followed with my bag and my glass of water. The room was about four times larger than the one I’d just left, and with even more monitors. They immediately hooked me up and I watched as a ticker tape quickly began printing out Cinnamon’s stats.

“Everything looks good so far. You’re only about two centimeters dilated though, so it could be a while.” Peyton addressed both my sister and I.

I glanced at the clock on the wall across from my hospital bed, and it was seven-thirty in the evening. “How long do you think?”

“It’s hard to say,” she said, looking at the ticker tape. “We never know when our guest of honor will appear.”

“Doctor Pearl?” I asked hopefully, and saw Kendra roll her eyes.

“No,” Peyton smiled. “Your baby.”

“Gotcha.”

She let the ticker tape fall gently against the wall of monitors and grabbed a clipboard before saying she’d be back to check on me soon. Kendra sat on the edge of the bed and rested one hand on the thin sheet covering my legs.

“That must be the receipt for all this special attention, spilling out of that machine,” she joked. “Mom should be here in about forty minutes.”

“Thanks Kendra. You know there is no way I could’ve done any of this without you.”

“Stop it, and don’t you dare make me cry.” She squeezed my hand. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“I mean it, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now how about some television,” she said and flipped through the channels until she landed on Wheel of Fortune.

My mom arrived, out of breath, and wearing an enormous grin. “My little grand baby isn’t here yet, is she?” she flew into the room and asked.

My mother had taken on two personalities since I became pregnant. The first personality consisted of her putting on a proud, brave face for friends and neighbors, where she’d delight in the thought of becoming a grandmother in her late forties. The second personality was a version of her pre-pregnancy self, in which she was more knowledgeable, more prone to lectures and more of an expert than before. Personality number two had told me on more than one occasion that I would need her more than ever, and I should heed every bit of advice being offered to me by her. She’d raised two daughters, and knew all there was to know about childrearing. She had yet to lend me any of the books on her nightstand. Thankfully personality number one arrived at the hospital that day.

“She’s still cooking in there,” I said.

Mom placed a brown grocery bag on the floor and put her keys on the table next to me. “Well, Kendra told me the nurse said it might be a bit longer, so I picked up some magazines and a few sandwiches for us.”

Kendra dashed over to the bag. “Sydney is fasting, so I will have hers.”

Mom looked at me. “Oh honey, I’m sorry, you’re not allowed to eat anything?”

“It’s okay, I’m not remotely hungry.”

At about nine o’clock the pain started to get really bad. I guess it had been building slowly, but the worst of it came over me very quickly. I went from chatting with my family, to being unable to open my eyes, move my legs, or speak. The nurses had said to let them know when my pain was at a ten, and I couldn’t conceive of it getting any worse than it was at that moment. It felt like there was a car parked on my lower back…or on my butt, I wasn’t exactly sure. Either way, the car was blowing blazing hot exhaust fumes through my lower torso, and preventing me from doing just about anything. It wasn’t a pain that I would’ve normally cried from had I been injured. It was more of a paralyzing, pressure-filled heat in an unexpected location. A few women had likened the pain to horrible menstrual cramps, so I had assumed I would be doubled over, clutching my side. Instead I was lying on my side, clutching the handrails wishing this person would move their damn car! I whacked my mom’s arm as she tried to rub my forehead, and thankfully she was unfazed by the assault.

“Just try and breathe, sweetie,” she said calmly. “The nurse is on her way.”

“I can’t move, I can’t move any part of my lower body.” I strained to get those few words out and began sweating profusely.

“I know, honey, just hang in there.”

Peyton came in, walked around to the side of the bed to where my forehead was pressed against the metal railing and gave me a questionable look.

“Ten!” I agonized with wide eyes.

“I’ll get the epidural,” she informed me, and I heard Kendra thank her on my behalf.

Dr. Pearl finally arrived with the anesthesiologist, and I grumbled some crack about how smart he was to have kept his distance until then.

The one good thing about getting an epidural, besides the obvious, is that because my labor pains were so bad, I hardly felt the large needle being sunk into my spinal cord. Within what seemed like seconds, the car drove off my butt, the fumes withdrew and my entire body enjoyed instant relief. It was like walking into a steam room and inhaling that warm, jasmine-scented air, causing my limbs to relax and move freely again.