The specialist’s eyes widened. “That’s a big baby!”
Not the words you want to hear when it’s your job to push that baby out in a month.
“With the way he’s measuring, I think it would be wise to induce labor two weeks early.”
“Induce?” I gulped, touching my swollen belly. I closed my eyes and tried to block the rising panic. We weren’t ready for this baby. We were living in a construction zone, our remodel delayed by the Bluebird Canyon landslides. The baby wasn’t due until Jan. 9, over four weeks away!
“Do I have to?” I managed weakly. I left the office in denial. Maybe I just wouldn’t call the hospital to schedule the birth.
My family was arriving the following week to celebrate Christmas. “We’ll just stay in Laguna until the baby is born!” my mom encouraged.
Now, adding to lingering construction and impending baby, we had house guests for an extended stay.
My OB called the next morning. “I hear we need to schedule the birth for the week of Dec. 26.”
Apparently, I couldn’t avoid this whole induction thing.
“Unfortunately, I’ll be out of town and there are not enough doctors working to deliver at South Coast Hospital. You’ll need to go to Mission Hospital.” She continued brightly, as if her tone would help her cranky, 8-months-pregnant patient embrace this news. “It will be fine. The on-call doctor will be there. And you get to pick the baby’s birthday!”
I made the call.
“What day would you like to induce?” asked the scheduler.
“Dec. 28. At least then my baby can share a birthday with my sister.” I was well aware that Dec. 28 was a lousy birthday. To this day, my sister has specific rules about no birthday gifts in Christmas wrapping. At least this baby would be able to celebrate (and commiserate) with his aunt.
“I’m sorry, we don’t do inductions on Wednesdays. I’ll put you down for the 29th.”
So much for picking the birthday.
Luckily, this was my second baby. With the first, I would have induced my own labor out of sheer panic. Perfectly planned baby #1 was delivered in Santa Monica, where I had completed every checklist in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” Baby #2 would be born at a hospital I’d never set foot in and start his life in a house with a temporary ramp up to the front door, a refrigerator on the back deck, and painters spraying cabinets around him.
My husband, the steady life partner that he is, took the news in stride. He found the boxes of tiny baby clothes, put the house guests to work washing and folding, and set up the co-sleeper in our freshly painted master bedroom. Late on Christmas Eve, he drove to Dana Point to procure our Christmas tree.
After Christmas, surrounded by piles of new Thomas trains and an overexcited 2-year-old, I found myself warming up to the idea of having a scheduled baby, perhaps this time with an easier labor.
The phone rang. It was the Mission Hospital scheduler.
“We don’t have any rooms available tomorrow,” she said. “I’m moving you to Dec. 30.”
Now I’d get to celebrate New Year’s in the hospital. I sighed. “We’ll be there. Fasting. At 7 a.m.”
Our son arrived on Dec. 30, as planned (sort of), weighing 8 pounds, 15.7 ounces. His hospital-issued newborn hat, red-and-white striped for the holidays, kept slipping off his large head and his thighs were too chunky for newborn diapers. In hindsight, I conceded that the specialist was correct to recommend we induce.
On New Year’s Eve, it poured with rain and Laguna Canyon Road flooded, making it difficult for the family to visit. I huddled in the warm hospital bed, snuggling my newborn, while the nurses rung in the New Year with plastic cups of cider. On Jan. 1, we’d bring the baby home to our (almost) reconstructed Laguna house, held firmly into the hillside with new 18-foot caissons.
Sarah Durand writes fiction when she can, but enjoys her day job as Executive Director of SchoolPower, Laguna Beach Education Foundation. This year on Dec. 30, her baby boy turns 14.
