I’m not going to bury the lead. There’s a new baby, and she’s a cutie.
Ok, now that we’re straight on that, let’s talk about how and why last week’s hospital-grade bologna tasted so damned good. Was it only in relation to the “Veggy Nuggets” I’d had for lunch? No, even though anyone would be concerned when they see that name next to theirs on the plastic hospital catering tray, the “Veggy Nuggets” were drowned in mushroom sauce and somewhat flaccid but did not live up to the quotes, capitalization, or Americanization of their written billing. Phew.
Was the bologna delicious because it was attractively presented? No. I removed the cover of the dinner tray to find one slice of brown bread, one pat of butter (diet), and, all alone in the middle of the plate, one round of plasticky-looking bologna. I ate it as I waited for Herr R to get back from his excursion beyond-hospital in search of real food (Greek, which was not a terrific idea given that the living quarters and the dining quarters were one and the same, and heavily patrolled by staff who thought that the reek of stale garlic was much better for babies than a draft from an open window in January.) Surprisingly, the bologna was tender, flavorful, and pleasantly dense.
And speaking of surprises, did I mention I had a Kaiserschnitt? That’s C-Section in German. After (infinity-3) hours of labor, the baby’s heart rate was worryingly high. After (infinity-1) hours of labor and some pushing, her amniotic fluid was completely green and she needed to stop bathing in it like ASAP. My cervix, unfortunately, was only open to 8.5 centimeters and that’s just not enough for kids these days. So into the ER we went, and then out we came 30 minutes later not really all that much worse for the wear: Frida started nursing immediately, I have been recuperating nicely, and Frida’s dad is good about reminding us that we got to not only have a pretty full birthing experience, but also a real live healthy baby at the end, which is awesome. I’m trying not to be too mad at my uterus for accidentally trying to squeeze the baby into a diamond. The uterus’ instructions were to cramp down and produce something precious – we all get confused sometimes, right? Right?
ALSO, when the doctor came in for the final checkup before we were discharged, and she said, ‘Yes, the earlier high fetal heart rate that we saw when you checked in proved to be an indicator…[blah blah and maybe we should have taken her advice about starting labor early with misoprostol but oh well]… glad it turned out well in the end, sorry that things didn’t go according to your plan.’ I said, ‘Thanks. There’s always next time!’ AND SHE LAUGHED. Lifetime first for the Betster: making a German doctor laugh. Um, with me I mean.
Frida Rosenbaum, after her late grandfather Fritz Eifert, who died two weeks before she was born but who correctly predicted that she’d be born with dark hair.
This always seems weirdly competitive to me, so I’ll be stating this in calories.
16,800 if she were made entirely of sugar, 37,800 if she were made entirely of butter. We’re guessing she’s somewhere in between.
And now for the fun part – pictures!