Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!

Dramatic stories are supposed to start with It was a dark and stormy night, but this one starts out It was hot as hell and I was crabby.

I was five days overdue with our second child.  I’d been sent home from the hospital three times in false labor, the last time late on July 1.  I swore an oath to myself I was not going back to the hospital to be humiliated in such a way again.

So when the contractions started at 3 a.m. on July 2, I kept my mouth shut and didn’t say a word to Captain.  He got up as usual to go and milk, and I didn’t say a word.

Unlike the other times, these contractions didn’t stop, but even when Captain came home from  milking, I didn’t say a word.  I walked with him...okay waddled...while he carried grain to the cattle.  

I thought about saying something because the contractions were now coming two at the same time, but I kept silent.  

By this time, Young Man was up and about and busy as all 3-year old boys are.  When his aunt called me and asked if she could pick him up, spur of the moment, and take him to watch his uncle in a tractor pull, it was a relief to have him out of the way while I was fighting what I refused to believe were labor pains.  

After he’d gone with his aunt, I finally called the labor and delivery area to explain my situation and why I was loathe to come back to the hospital.  I wanted assurances that I was not going to be sent home again.

When I told the nurse the contractions had been going on for about 8 hours and were now coming two at a time, she very firmly told me, “Mrs. Brogan, you need to come in and I mean right NOW!”

Oh crap.

Captain wasn’t close by in the yard; he was out in the hayfield behind the barn.  I could see him, but I couldn’t yell loud enough to make him understand.  Remember, this was before cell phones.

I did the only thing I knew to get his attention.  I went out and blew my car horn loud and long until he looked my way, and then I pointed to my belly and pointed toward Rochester.  

Captain isn’t one to do a lot of running, but he hot-footed it to the house and got cleaned up faster than I have seen him before or since.

We raced to Methodist Hospital receiving unit where Captain dropped me off and went to park the truck (free, as it was a weekend).  As I walked into the receiving unit--that place where they make you sit down and do all the paperwork--I had a monster contraction.

The nurses took one look at me, said “Mrs. Brogan?”  When I nodded, they skipped the paperwork step completely, shoved me into a wheelchair, and ran down the long, long hallway of the hospital to the elevators at the other end.

When we came out of the elevators on the delivery floor, they wheeled me into a room, stood me up...and then my water broke.  

From that point on it is all a bit of a blur, but I remember nurses pulling clothes off, pushing a hospital gown on, and getting me in bed.  

“Mrs. Brogan, you are going to need to push in a minute.”  

Where was Captain...I couldn’t do this without him.  

He came flying into the room, and within minutes, our baby girl made her entrance.  One scary moment when everything paused because the cord was wrapped around her little neck, and then all was well in our world.  

From that day to this, Molly has had a flair for the dramatic, the entertaining, and the surprise.

Happy, happy, happy birthday baby girl.  Keep being unique, wonderful, and amazing.  

Love,

Mom and Dad