Eleven years ago today, I went to the hospital in hopes we could convince Indigo to be born.

Let me explain.  For several months, I had been having false labor.  Go to a concert, feel contractions.  Drive into work, feel contractions.  Make dinner, feel contractions.  They were all over the place, so I knew from labor #1 that these were not real signs of impending labor.  However, two weeks before the day she was born, the doctor announced during the checkup that I had progressed pass early labor.  If I felt contractions, I was to go to the hospital immediately.  There would be no messing around.

While some women would freak out about this news, I celebrated. At 30 weeks, I had an ultrasound that resulted in the doctor announcing this baby could be 10+ lbs if she hit 40 weeks.  Just what I wanted. Ouch.

So I worked for a week, got my second warning a week later, and was told by my management team and cohorts to go home and stay home.  No having a baby at work.

I was admitted into the hospital at 6am.  They determined that the baby had shifted sideways instead of the perfect position, pushed her back into position, then broke my water.

“Uh oh” was the comment the doctor made after my water broke.

Meconium, in utero, is a very serious thing.  Meconium during childbirth is a fast track to the NICU and lots of specialists ensuring she would recover.  Meconium it was.  My baby girl went from being on a fast track to being born, to moving herself sideways, to now this.

I have to give it to my OB, she had tricks up her sleeve – and she used them.  Using a catheter and the saline they use for hydration, she basically created a shower in utero – flushing out all of the meconium in hopes of preventing any delivery issues.  So my hopes of not being hooked up to things during this labor and delivery went out the window.

But by 8:30am, I was in full blown labor. I have a high pain threshold.  However, contractions with no breaks between them?  Fuck high pain threshold.  I finally called uncle at 9am.  And this time, I had a fabulous anesthesiologist who gave me an epidural that took the edge off – and that was it.  No crazy side effects.  No numbness.  It was good.  And perfect.  The nurse had me shift into a position.  Then she had me move into a different on about 10 minutes later.  She left the room, and about 5 min later, I told G to get the nurse in there now. This baby was being born as I was talking.

They rushed into the room, she called the doctor and all of the NICU staff (protocol), and told me to hold on.  At this point, I’m like “uhm, there is no holding on”.  Yeah, it’s not how it works.  By 10am, Indigo made her way into the world.

She cried. The specialists swept her away, and my OB and I had a great talk about her fixing my last tear from delivery #1.  What a funny conversation in hindsight.

When Indigo finally came back to me, she was perfect.  My perfect little chubby almost 9lb baby.  She was quiet but alert and wanted to nurse right away.  It was amazing.  She was amazing.

She was my little curly girlie.  She had amazing curls.  She was happy – content – curious.  She was eager to do things – learn to crawl, learn to walk.  She was incredible at figuring it all out.  And her curiosity – and loving nature is something she has never lost despite how the world tries to take it out of her.

And as she turns 11, to watch her try on her new self – her evolving self – just makes my heart warm and grow.

She is awesome.

She is amazing.

And I cannot wait to see how things continue now that she’s 11.

Happy birthday, Indigo.