Laura Peterson

Dear Laura, our darling daughter,

You were very much a wanted and planned baby. I read books on how to get pregnant and how to choose the sex of your child. By taking my basal temperature every morning before getting out of bed, I calculated that I ovulated on the fourteenth day of my cycle. (The first day of the cycle is the first day of the period.) After six months of trying to get pregnant, on the fourteenth day, I became discouraged and decided just to let nature take its course. Glory be, you were conceived on the Sunday after Thanksgiving 1984 on the fifteenth day of my cycle!

Your father noticed the first sign of the pregnancy, although we didn't know it was a sign at the time. I got into bed one night, and he said, "You're burning up." I said, "No, I'm not." He took my hand and touched my breast. I didn't feel hot, but my breasts felt red-hot. He asked what it meant. I said I didn't know, but my heart was pounding as I wondered if it meant, "I'm pregnant!"

On the morning that my period was to start, I awoke with stomach pain. I told your father that I had cramps, and I started to cry because that meant I wasn't pregnant again. He held me and consoled me. Later, as I realized that my period had not really started, my hopes soared. Every time I went to the bathroom that day, I'd jump for joy - maybe I was pregnant. By the third day, I was sure, but didn't tell your father because I didn't think he'd be sure until I'd seen a doctor. I was waking at 4:00 AM with stomach pain, which continued through the pregnancy.

I bought an in-home pregnancy test, but according to the directions, I had to wait until the ninth day to take it. The waiting was hard.

You consumed my mind. The ninth day was a Sunday, and your father slept late. It was easy to do the test while he slept. Oh, happy day, the test results were positive! That evening, we went to hear your Aunt Susan and Uncle.

Nathan sings in the Christmas cantata at church. I sat as close to your father as I could; he just thought I was being lovey-dovey. Actually, I was freezing. I remember a lovely lullaby about singing the baby to sleep; my eyes misted.

As we walked outside, I began shivering. Your father rubbed my arms and back and said, "You must be sick." I just smiled.

The next day, I called the nearest hospital and asked for a referral to an OB. I was given the name of the hospital's chief of OB. I made an appointment. That same day, I had girlfriends over for Christmas brunch.

I was dying to tell them my wonderful news, but I couldn't; I hadn't even told my husband yet! The day of the appointment came. I stood outside the doctor's door. My heart was beating so loudly I could hear it. Up until now, it was like a wonderful "too good to be true" fantasy. I hadn't even told my own mother that we were trying to get pregnant. I had this crazy feeling that if I told people that we really wanted a baby, then it would jinx it, and it wouldn't happen. I knew that once I opened the door, it would be positively true. I also knew that I was too excited and my blood pressure would be high - it was.

My first thought when I saw my doctor was, "Oh no, he's younger than me." My second thought was, "Oh well, he'll be up on all of the latest medical techniques." The young doctor looked over my medical history and asked, "You're thirty-two and have never been pregnant?" "That's right," I said, and I showed him my basal chart and the exact date of conception. He was surprised I knew how to do the chart and said to the nurse, "She knows what day she got pregnant."

Now I could tell your father. He came home. How could I tell him this special news? He quickly changed clothes and, within ten minutes, was out the door to play basketball. Well, if I could make it through this evening without telling him, then I might as well wait until our anniversary, which was only a few days away. I sat down and wrote him a love letter explaining that he would be a wonderful father. I wrapped it as his anniversary present.

I also wrote individual letters to each of your grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and wrapped them as Christmas presents. Your grandma (your father's mother) never missed a chance to hint that she wanted a grandchild. My goodness, she was seventy-two years old and still not a grandma. The previous summer, I had given a baby shower for my friend Debbie. Your grandma attended and said, "If I were going to be a grandma, I'd sew for nine months." So the letter I wrote to her began "Start sewing, grandma," and I included material for the Rainbow Brite characters I wanted for the nursery.

Christmas Eve came. As soon as your father awoke, I excitedly took him by the hand and led him to the couch. I gave him the very special present on this special day - our thirteenth anniversary. His first words were, "Are you sure?" I responded, "Yes, I've even been to the doctor!" He started laughing and hugging me, and tears of joy streamed down my face.

We were so happy. It was wonderful.

Christmas morning, I heard a car outside. I stood at the door anxiously awaiting the arrival of our families. In all my joy, I said to your father, "In just a few minutes, everyone will know!" I couldn't wait to pass out the special presents; the other presents had already been exchanged. Your Aunt Susan was the first to realize the importance of the letter, and she squealed, jumped up, and hugged me. I looked at my mother, and she sat there in stunned silence. My brother hugged me. My father said, "We'd given up hope."

Your father's mother was so happy she was too teary to speak. We concluded all the hugging and sat down to a lovely Christmas brunch.

We had one more special letter to give. Just after Christmas, the previous year, our friends Debbie and David had told us that they were expecting. Their daughter, Kara, was born that August. The letter was addressed to Kara and told her that her "proper Peterson playmate would be arriving in August." I have never seen Debbie so excited, not even when she told us she was expecting.

They took us to the airport that Christmas day, and we, your father, and I, and you in utero, boarded the plane for Las Vegas.

It was like a honeymoon. It was Christmas, the lights of Las Vegas, we were pregnant - life was beautiful! Oh, but you made me pay for all the fun. I was so nauseated on the return flight to DFW, and I had morning sickness all day long for a couple of days.
Christmas vacation was over. It was time to return to work. I taught at Browning Heights and Mullendore that year. I was looking forward to telling my kindergarten students and co-workers my news, and I had a fun way to tell them. Mother had given me a darling Baby Sprout doll for Christmas. I named the puppet doll Laura Lee. My students told me about their Christmas, then moved close to me for a story. I pulled Laura Lee from her hiding place and said, "Look what Santa brought me!" The students were captivated by the baby doll, and I said, "My real baby will be here in August. I'm pregnant!" Their big eyes looked up at me, and silence ensued. I especially remember Roxanna's look of amazement. Then I realized that they were too young to know what to do or say on such an occasion. I was their teacher, so I taught them. I said, "When somebody tells you they're pregnant, you are supposed to say, 'Congratulations, how wonderful! and give them a hug." So, all my students congratulated and hugged me.
Later that month, I was teaching the letter S to my students. We had the alphabet song on the record player and were dancing like Mr. S, the "supersonic streak in the sky." I nearly fell on one of my students, and in avoiding falling on him, I injured my hip.

The next day was a stock show holiday, and I accompanied your father on a business trip to New Orleans. It's a beautiful city. I wanted to see as much as possible, even though my hip hurt. We walked all over. I was especially fascinated by the French Quarter. Your father bought me the lovely Gambina doll there. The food was fantastic. I did get morning sickness several times due to irregular meal times. We even went to the zoo. By the time we returned home, I could hardly walk.

My hip hurts so much. Fortunately, I had a check-up with my doctor the next day. He said that I had sprained my hip and would have to stay in bed for a week. He also recommended Tylenol. I was reluctant to take anything, but the doctor said that my pain could be causing stress on the baby. The Tylenol did help. I later read that pregnant women are at high risk for joint injury due to hormonal changes in the joints.

My energy held up fine at work, but I'd collapse when I got home. I'd fix supper, but I'd be too tired to do the dishes or other housework. By 8:00 PM, I'd be in bed, but I always awoke at 4:00 AM with stomach pain. The pain would subside as soon as I ate, and I had enough energy in those early morning hours to get the dishes done.
During spring break, the extra room, the study, was transformed into a bright, cheery nursery. First, your grandmother gave us a Rainbow Brite wall hanging.

I made curtains from matching rainbow-striped material. Your grandma made a Rainbow Brite quilt and pillow. Your Tyler grandparents gave us money for a rainbow crib, and your Peterson grandparents gave us a rocking chair. Your Aunt Susan came over and helped me pack up my wall of books. Your father rented a public storage space for the books, desk, exercise equipment, and personal teaching files. We bought a brightly colored changing table, and the transformation was complete. It was adorable.
Also, during spring break, Debbie took me to my first La Leche League meeting. I was fascinated by the support group for nursing mothers. They could teach me so much. It was fun to see the babies, and it wasn't at all embarrassing to see the nursing mothers - it was all very natural. I loved it. On the way out, I remarked to Debbie, "The babies never cried." Debbie said, Yes, breastfed babies are happy babies." I wanted to have my own nursing baby.

The next day, your father and I went to have your first picture made. In the doctor's office, we saw you through the sonogram. You wiggled and squirmed so much that the doctor called you hyper. I was four months along, and although I could see you moving on the monitor, I still couldn't feel movement. It was such a relief to know that you had all your body parts in the right places. The doctor said that you had long legs, but he couldn't tell if you were a boy or a girl.

A blistered rash developed on my face. I had had it in the same spot when I was 22 and 12. The dermatologist said that it was a dormant virus that erupted under stress. I said, "This is a happy pregnancy, but any pregnancy is stressful." He gave me a lotion and said to keep the rash covered. I called it my ten-year eruption.

We had friends over for a card party that evening, and I wore a rainbow Band-Aid on my cheek. We showed the friends our rainbow nursery, and in the bassinet, the sonogram picture of you. According to what I'd read and my calculations, it was time for me to feel you move. I tried all day, that Sunday, to concentrate and feel you move - nothing, but that night, wonder of wonders, I felt a very gentle touch. You would kick me much more forcefully later on.

Some women resent the special treatment accorded to pregnant women, but not me. I ate it up. Even strangers gave me special treatment during the pregnancy. I remember a road worker who held the door for me at a 7-11 and said, "There you go, pretty lady." He made my day. I just beamed when strangers would ask when my baby was due. Even my kindergarten students gave me special treatment. I was constantly thirsty, and some students formed the habit of bringing me a glass of water whenever they went to the water fountain. Every day at 9:30 AM, I would have morning sickness, but if I ate quickly enough, then I wouldn't throw up. One student, Philip, learned my schedule and figured out that when it was time for him to go to the art center, it was also time for the teacher's snack. So, he would bring my 7-Up and crackers, and Lisa and I would say, "Time to feed the baby." When I taught the students about measurement, I showed them how many inches my baby was. After that, Lisa, with her beautiful brown eyes and big grin, would come in, give me a big hug, and ask, "How big is the baby today?" and I would pull out my ruler and show her. The students couldn't seem to understand that I didn't know if the baby was a boy or a girl. One day, my delightful little Cory, dear (I called him Cory, dear because he called me teacher, dear), decided to take a vote. "Everybody who thinks the teacher's baby is a boy, raise your hand. Everybody who thinks it's a girl, raise your hand." Cory clapped his hands together and said, "Well, that's that, it's a girl!" He had voted for a girl, too. When you were born, he came to the hospital and brought you the little pink duck.

Friends and co-workers would always ask how I felt and tell me things like, "You look great. Your complexion is glowing." It really helped, and oh, your father was so sweet. Of course, if you ask him, I'm sure he'll deny it and say, "I was just as nice as I always am," but oh, he was so sweet. He actually baby-talked me: "How's my little babykins today?" I loved it. Every night, he would rub my tummy, and he'd talk to you through my belly button. He even read stories to you. He'd gently help push me up from the couch every time I had to get up to go to the bathroom, which was very often. It was a very special time, and he was wonderful. Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the special treatment from everyone.

Easter dawned sunny and bright. All your aunts, uncles, and grandparents came over for a picnic on the patio. Your Aunt Karen brought you that cute rainbow Easter bunny, and I remember your grandma commenting on my swollen ankles. Later in the week, the doctor noticed my swollen ankles, too, and told me to get more rest.
The end of the school year was approaching, and the Browning Heights teachers gave me a baby shower at one of the teachers' homes. One of the gifts was a really nice baby swing, and one of the teachers joked that she had used her baby swing so much that her baby's feet didn't touch the ground until he was old enough to walk. The Mullendore teachers gave a shower after school one day, and among the presents was six weeks' worth of Huggies!

With three more weeks of school, the doctor was concerned about my swollen ankles and blood pressure. He said that I needed to lie down more. We discussed my work schedule, and he wrote a note to my employer requesting that I be relieved of my teaching duties at 2:30 PM daily when my students were dismissed. I was so pleased to have completed the school year. I don't believe I could have worked one day longer.
Your father and I went to an end-of-school picnic with his co-workers. Your father had me sit down and brought another chair for my feet. I was a little embarrassed because everyone else was standing. Still, your father said, "That's alright, you're the only one who's pregnant." We were served barbecue beef. I hadn't eaten beef the entire pregnancy because the smell made me feel sick, but I thought that at seven months along, it would be alright for me to eat beef - I was wrong. Fortunately, we made it home before the beef came up.

During my check-up, I complained to the doctor about lower abdominal pain on the left side. He shrugged it off as just uterine stretching. It concerned me that it was only on the left side, but from seeing the sonogram, I knew that the placenta was on the left side, where the pain was located. After a couple of weeks, the pain was equal on both sides. The only place where I was completely comfortable was in the pool. You enjoyed being in the pool, too.

Your Aunt Susan took pity on my elephant ankles and gave me the best gift of all. She did all my grocery shopping for the entire summer. She surprised us with a housecleaning while we were in the hospital, too!

During my June check-up, I told the doctor that my hands would fall asleep during the night. He said, "There's not really anything you can do about that." I was given a fasting blood test. I was not allowed to eat breakfast. This was very difficult because I awoke at my usual 4:00 AM with stomach pain, and the blood test wasn't until 10:00 AM, and I couldn't eat until after it. I remember the nurse asking very seriously, "Are you alright?" I told her that I just needed to eat. My blood sugar was a little high, and I was given the diabetic diet.

Debbie gave us a Rainbow Brite baby shower. Your grandma and grandmother were there. You received so many lovely presents. One of which was the Kanga-rocka-roo, your baby chair that you used so much. You would sit on. The table in your kanga-rocka-roo will be our beautiful centerpiece while we eat.

Your father and I attended childbirth classes at the hospital. Our instructor was my doctor's nurse, Brownie. I remember the film showing a woman having a natural childbirth. She made it look so easy. That was the biggest piece of propaganda I've ever seen in my life. One evening on the way to class, I unfolded myself from the corvette and thought, "I can't believe the other pregnant women feel like this and still come to class." The pressure on my pelvic bone was tremendous. I told your father, "I feel like I'm carrying a bowling ball inside."

In July, Debbie took me to another La Leche League meeting. I remember this darling, curly-haired 1½-year-old girl who came and sat in my lap. She was precious, oh, but how she cried and squirmed when her mother changed her diaper - just like you would do. After the meeting, I had Debbie, Kara, Jennifer, Kathy, and your Aunt Susan over for lunch and a swim. While they were here, my doctor's office called. I was told that the results of my most recent fasting blood test were in, and my blood sugar was too high. I would have to be hospitalized immediately because I had gestational diabetes. I hung up the phone. Debbie said, "What's wrong?" I sobbed, "I have to go to the hospital." I was scared. Debbie hugged me and said, "Don't worry, your baby will be alright."
From my reading, I remembered that diabetes could cause the baby to be big and maybe have to be born early, and the baby's lungs might not be mature. My parents' medical dictionary said that diabetes mellitus can be a dangerous condition for a pregnant woman. Three to five per cent of all babies carried by women with the disorder die before or shortly after birth, despite every precaution. The risk to the mother's life during pregnancy is also higher than average.

The danger to both mother and child is greater if the mother's diabetes is not carefully controlled. It is believed that diabetes hurts both the blood and the blood vessels of the mother, which in turn affects the baby's supply of nourishment and oxygen.

For every woman known to have diabetes before pregnancy, there are several who are found to be diabetic during pregnancy.

In the hospital, I had blood tests around the clock. After I'd eaten, my blood sugar was fine. It was only the fasting blood sugar that was too high. The diabetic diet was plenty of food and snacks, but I wasn't allowed to eat at my regular 4:00 AM. I was convinced that my body was trying to take care of the blood sugar problem by telling me to eat at 4:00 AM. I didn't feel any different once I was diagnosed as diabetic. Still, after being on insulin for four days, I didn't wake at 4:00 AM with stomach pain anymore.

The nurses were in and out of my room, taking blood tests, urine tests, blood pressure, and monitoring me. They told my doctor that I was never asleep. He prescribed sedatives, which I continued to take until you were born.

On the fourth day of my hospital stay, the doctor was very upset about my blood pressure being too high. He said that he might have to induce labor, or I might have to stay in the hospital until the birth. My due date was a month away. He left the room, and I cried; he had really given me a scare. The next day, my blood pressure was better, and he said that I could go home.

My homebound instructions were to follow the diabetic diet, give myself insulin injections, and adhere to complete bed rest. I could get up to go to the bathroom, but that was it. I had two requests: "May I swim and " May I go to my baby shower?" The doctor said I could float on a raft in the pool and lie down at the baby shower. I think friends and family probably felt sorry for me having to stay in bed, but actually, it was a relief. The pressure in the pelvic area was so great that it was difficult to walk. I have enjoyed reading so much, but while on the sedatives, I couldn't keep my mind on a book. I left the T.V. on and drifted in and out of soap land. I joked that your father finally learned to cook. He would microwave Lean Cuisine frozen dinners for me. Your Aunt Susan gave us a lovely baby shower that Sunday. She had made the cutest Cabbage Patch-type baby dolls, Nancy Sue and Ross. Your grandma gave us a bonnet that she had made and a little white dress trimmed in lavender. You wore that dress and bonnet home from the hospital.

During my check-up a week later, the doctor said, "You're doing so much better than I thought you could.'' He said that if I began having contractions, I could walk around to help induce labor. At 10:00 PM on a Friday, I was having contractions. I walked in the pool while your father timed the contractions. The Braxton Hicks contractions ceased when we went to bed.

The next day, we were scheduled to have a stress test on the baby at the hospital. My bags were packed, just in case I would be staying. As we walked out of the house that sunny morning, I said to your father, "It would be a great day to have a baby. August 10 would be a good birthday." The doctor had explained that the test might induce labor.

An IV was inserted in my wrist to pump Pictocin into me to create contractions, and a strap was placed across my belly to monitor my stress. Your father left to get something to eat. While he was gone, I said to the nurse, "I leaked, I didn't even feel like I needed to go to the bathroom." It wasn't a gush of water like I thought water breaking would be. She said, "We have a test to determine whether it is amniotic fluid or not." She placed a small strip of paper on my vagina and said, "Yes, your water broke. We're going to have a baby today!" Another nurse came in to see if I was dilated. She inserted her hand up me as far as she could. It hurt a lot. I never knew that was how they checked for dilation. Just as she was doing this procedure, your father started to come in, she said, "Just a minute." He said, "Have we had the baby yet?" We all laughed.

An internal fetal monitor was inserted. I asked how it was attached to the baby, and the nurse said, "It's a small screw in the baby's head, but it doesn't hurt. It's like a small splinter." Do you believe that?

The contractions were rather like cramps at this point, and the anesthesiologist entered to apply the epidural. He had me get into a ball position on my side and told me not to move. It was very uncomfortable, and I felt like I was going to be sick. I said so, and the nurse said, "We don't allow that." I knew it was very important for me to hold still while the needle was being placed in my back. I was afraid that if I vomited, I'd never walk again. So, you can imagine how hard I tried to be still and not vomit. I vomited.
Shortly after that, my left leg briefly shook uncontrollably. The nurse said that it was just from the epidural. The contractions continued to worsen. Your father helped me with the breathing exercises. At one point, I thought, "Natural childbirth couldn't hurt any more than this." The epidural was not working. The anesthesiologist tried again by pumping more "medicine" down the same shaft. The contractions were so great, they would take my breath away, and I would look into your father's eyes, and he would breathe - he, he, he, ao. It was almost like being blind, and he led me. I would have fallen apart without him. His help meant so much to me. I later told friends that he helped me more than the doctors. He would tell me that a contraction was ending even before I realized it. At the time, I was too weak to ask how he knew. He was watching the monitor over my head. Between contractions, I said to him, "I can't do it." He smiled so lovingly and said, "But you're doing it."

I didn't think that my doctor understood the severity of my pain. He checked the internal fetal monitor. He told the nurse it was askew and had not been applied correctly, so my contractions were stronger than the machine had been registering. I was given Demerol and was finally able to relax and even sleep between contractions.
The doctor checked me again. I wasn't dilating. I think it was around 4:00 PM when I said to the doctor, "Please just knock me out and take it." He laughed and said, "You mean you want a C-section?" He continued to watch the monitor. A couple of hours later, the monitor indicated that you were in distress. The doctor said, "We're going to have to do a C-section -Let's try the epidural again."

I said, "No, it won't work."

The nurse said, "Linda, you want to see your baby born."

I responded by saying, "I just want to stop hurting." I was moved to the delivery room, and against my wishes, they tried another epidural. The anesthesiologist began touching me with long needles on my mountain of a belly. I felt every touch. I was right. The epidural did not work for the third time. I would have to have general anesthesia. A mask was placed over my face, and I was told it was only oxygen. That is the last I remember until I awoke in recovery.

"Linda, you had a baby girl." I heard the nurse say.

"How wonderful." I thought, and then I wondered how she knew I was awake; my eyes were still closed. I was having trouble breathing. I couldn't catch my breath. I think it was like an asthma attack. (I never had asthma, just allergies.) I looked at the clock. It was 10:30 PM. You were born at 6:00 PM. Your father was hungry and wanted to go eat. I said, "No, wait until I can breathe." I tried very hard to control my breathing, and then your grandma and grandpa came in to see me. Of course, they were thrilled and had been at the hospital all evening. When they left, the nurse said, "We'll wheel you by to see your baby on the way to your room." I told your father that I needed my purse. "Why?" he asked.

"I need my glasses to see the baby." So the first time I saw you was through the glass in the hospital nursery. I saw your rosy cheeks and red lips and dark hair and said, "Oh, she's beautiful, but I guess all new mothers say that."

The pregnant nurse sweetly said, "You have a right to say it, she is beautiful."
In my hospital room, your father and I said our goodnights, and he left too soon. I was excited and wanted to talk, but I was also exhausted and soon fell asleep on my back, a position I had not been able to lie in for five months.

Your father saw your birth and gave you your first bottle. Later, he told me that it was just as well that I was asleep because you didn't look so good when you were born. He said, "Her skin was kinda grayish, and she was having trouble breathing. She'd swallowed her own BM, and the doctor had to put an instrument down her throat to suck it out, and her APGAR score wasn't good." You were in the incubator for three days. Since my blood sugar had been too high, yours had compensated and was too low. You cried and cried when they would prick your heel to test your blood. It was very important for you to eat to keep your blood sugar up, but you kept spitting up the formula. Your formula had to be changed several times to find one you could tolerate.
Only one day's rest, and then the nurse pulled the catheter and said that I could get out of bed. "Use your hands to push yourself up, don't try to use your stomach muscles." I felt like I'd been cut in half. I couldn't believe the pain. I had no idea that a C-section would hurt so much. While using my hands to push myself up, I bent the IV in my wrist. My entire forearm swelled and wasn't back to normal for two weeks.

The biggest disappointment about having a C-section was that, because of the general anesthesia, I was not allowed to nurse you for three days. I used the hospital breast pump and had to dump down the drain the honey colored colstrum. That was sad.
When we finally were able to nurse, you didn't know what to do. The bottle had been so easy for you. The doctor told me to only give you three minutes on each side, so as not to wear you out. I complained to the nurse that three minutes wasn't even long enough for the letdown. She said, "Oh, doctors don't know; they never nursed." Ideally, I should have kept you in bed with me and let you nurse as long as you wanted, but I was so tired.

I think I would have gotten more rest if you had been with me, though, because nursing you was so relaxing. My La Leche League leader said that nursing actually triggers a hormone that relaxes the mother. She called it the "Mothering hormone." I remember telling a pregnant friend about the relaxing feeling, "It's like an envelope from heaven falls and surrounds us. It's so peaceful and calm. The outside world can't come in and bother us."

Anyway, by the next day, you learned how to nurse. Your blood sugar was regulated, and our doctors said we could go home. Your doctor wanted me to supplement with the formula for a week. I assumed it was to keep your blood sugar up. Why didn't I ask? Why did I listen to him? I didn't want to use a bottle, and it wasn't easy, especially in the middle of the night - to have to get up and fix a bottle was a real pain. Did the women of the past have bottles? No. They did what was natural. They would lie down with the nursing baby. It was best for the baby and best for the mother to get some rest. It is really a very harmonious plan.

Your father had recently been promoted to principal at Carter Riverside High School. He had a meeting with the parents that night, so we would have to wait until after his meeting for him to take us home from the hospital.

He came to the hospital for an early dinner before his meeting. The hospital provided a lovely steak and wine dinner for two. I wore a pretty pink negligee and had washed and rolled my hair. I wore it down with a pink flower. Your father didn’t notice; all he saw was you. OK, I'll admit it, I was a little jealous. Come on now, I was the one who had done all the hard work. After a while, your father decided that you were too cold in my well-air-conditioned private room, so he had a nurse take you back to the nursery. We sat down to our romantic dinner and toasted to our "happy baby."

Later that evening, your excited Aunt Susan and Uncle Nathan came to help take us home. They loaded their car with beautiful flowers, plants, and presents from so many well-wishers for you. At 10:00 PM, your father paid the bill and checked us out. We had been in the hospital for four days. The hospital had given us a car seat. You were buckled into it, and your father carried you. In the elevator, your Aunt Susan chattered away to you about taking you to Six Flags someday, and you smiled. You made her day! Your grandma helped out by bringing us dinners, and your grandmother took off work for a week to help out. She would stay with us from 9:00 - 5:00 daily, do laundry and household chores, and help with you. I'm afraid I wasn't very good company for her; all I wanted to do was sleep. One day, we sat down to lunch, and you started crying in your crib. I was so tired and out of it, I just sat there. Your grandmother went and got you. What she must have thought of me. I wanted to really talk with her about the bad birth experience, but I knew I'd cry if I did, so I didn't. Now, I don't think that would have been wrong to cry in front of my own mother. It was a traumatic experience for me, and I needed to talk it out.

The pain in my back was excruciating. I was angry. I expected to have back pain during the pregnancy. (That had been my mother's biggest problem during her pregnancy.) But I didn't. I didn't have back labor either. The pain in my back was located exactly where the epidural had been inserted. The doctors not only did not help me with my pain, but they also added to it. The doctor said, "All I can tell you is to lie down more." The pain was constant and severe for six weeks and intermittent for six months. I guess I complained too much because your father finally said, "If you want to sue, OK, we'll sue; if not, then just forget it."

"Just forget about it. "- I tried, but my emotions were running high, and the tears flowed so readily. I could just look at you and cry with happiness because I finally had this beautiful baby. We were so blessed. One evening, I dropped an ice cube on the floor, bent to pick it up, and started bawling like a baby.

The incision hurt so much. Your father ran to me, stood on his knees, and held me. I sobbed, "My guts are falling out. I don't have any muscles to hold them in." Your father had taken pictures of me in the delivery room. As I was taking a shower one evening, my mind's eye saw those pictures, and the memories flooded back to me in pain. I cried uncontrollably. Your father came to me. "It was horrible," I sobbed. "What made you think of it now?" he asked. "The pictures," I explained. He said he was sorry, tore up the pictures, and threw them away. I continued crying. "It was humiliating, degrading, torture, pain. I'm even having nightmares about it. I dreamed that my doctor was really Josef Mengele (the Nazi Angel of Death) and that he had made my incision in the shape of a swastika." I couldn't stop crying. Your father held me and tried his best to console me. He was very concerned and said, "Maybe you need to see a psychologist." "It's too soon," I said, "give me some time." It had only been a week since the birth.

A few months later, I told my La Leche League leader that I had been on an emotional roller coaster for a couple of weeks after the birth. She asked how long I had been on pain pills. "Two weeks," I answered. Another friend of mine told me that she was "an emotional wreck and cried at the drop of a hat" for two weeks after her baby boy was born.

In an article I read about the correlation between crying and prolactin, the hormone associated with breast milk production, the study found no difference in crying patterns between boys and girls throughout puberty. "Then between the ages of twelve and eighteen," says William H. Frey, "women develop sixty-percent higher levels of prolactin than men do, and they start crying nearly four times more often." So then wouldn't it follow that when a woman begins nursing, her prolactin level increases, and so does crying.

Your grandmother, my mother, always spoke so sweetly about my birth. She said that she was put to sleep before it became painful. I wish I could say something as nice.

I've wondered if I should let you know what a hard time I had. I certainly wouldn't want you to feel guilty, because of course, you are more than worth it, and I'd do it again in a minute to get you. I've decided that I want you armed with the facts so that if and when you decide to have a baby, you'll be aware of the possibilities. Every pregnancy is different, and yours will probably be completely different from mine. I do want you to know that if you do become a happy new mother, you're not going crazy if you cry a lot - it's normal, and it does help to talk it out. I'll be here for you; don't be afraid to talk to me.

I love you, Laura. Thank you for being our darling daughter.

Love,
Mother

1 Reader's Digest Feb. '87 Why Do We Cry by Schreiner pg 141