When ava was born
Charlotte is a mama to two sweet and perfect little girls, wife to Matt, and lives in CO. I met Charlotte through my college a cappella group, Into Hymn…y’all when I tell you she has the voice of an angel! She is a teacher, and a darned good one! (She’s how I learned about The Whole Brained Child!) Among many other things, Charlotte is a writer. I’ve enjoyed following along and loving when she shares her heart and art in the form of poetry and prose. I’m so thankful Charlotte was willing to share the birth of her first daughter, Ava with us!
The morning of March 11, 2020 I woke up excited more than anything that this would be my final day of a long and uncomfortable pregnancy. There was a buzz in the air. The kind that happens when company comes in from out of town. The kind of comforting energy mom and dad brought. I know how that was intentional for them. They tried so very hard to put their most comforting foot forward. When dad burst into my hospital room on the last day of our stay and said “the only way out of here is through the ER!” He saw the way my face turned at that. Mom gave him a firm admonishment: you can’t say stuff like that to her. My warrior husband found a different way out. He managed to get a team of nurses to essentially smuggle us out. But I am jumping forward here.
There is so much to be said about the night before March 11th. We all went out to dinner. We didn’t know it would be our last time out for a very long time. I think we’ve been out to eat a grand total of three times in the one year that has passed between today and this day a year ago. We went to Cherry Creek Grill and I listened to my dad tell some colorful stories, at which we chuckled. I always have to smile at the calibration my dad provides to our sometimes stiff world. My mom and her old fashioned, her nervous laughter at dad, head turned to the side, with a dutiful smile. But God bless her, there are some things she can’t hide and one thing is her love for me. And her loyalty to me.
I convinced everyone for ice cream afterwards. The nice thing about being pregnant is that I have pretty good swaying powers. Everyone feels sorry for a pregnant woman. Especially one of my size at that point. I got a waffle cone with a scoop of strawberry and I still remember how every bite of that ice cream was delightful.
On the way back to our apartment, looking out of the front windshield, the moon took up the whole window. It was 5 times it’s normal size. It looked heavy and yellow. It looked how I felt. Low, and heavy, and like it had something to birth. Something was about to happen. This moon was an appropriate preface. I remember the sun was shining bright that day into the nursery and I organized the last of Ava’s baby clothes into the rubbermaid drawers that mom and dad ran out to grab from Target.
The previous week I had spent setting up the nursery, folding clothes and doing laundry. I did everything except figure out the breast pump. It was too daunting. I packed my hospital bag that week as well. Putting comfy pajamas and nursing bras inside. And a little pink and white striped nightgown for Ava. The kind where the sleeves fold over at the end and act like little mittens. The sun would shine into the nursery every day so bright and I would sit in the rocker by myself wondering about who Ava would be. Whenever I got winded, or the heartburn got too much, I would sit there with my ice water and wonder about her and check off my to do lists.
I went to Target that week and got a floor lamp and a nightstand. A nice man helped me lift the boxes into the trunk of my car. I also got a little pillow with a bear on it. I remember texting my sister in Target and she told me what kind of snacks to get: twizzlers and boom chicka pop. Our old staples, plus a little something new. Every target run, the register person would talk to me about boy or girl, when was I due and I remember thinking I have never been so fucking proud of anything in my entire life. My baby bump was something I had accomplished. It was also a miracle that I was still trying to wrap my head around. I still try. I’m not sure I’ll ever quite realize the entirety of God’s smile and magic that is the cause of Ava.
It was so quiet when me and my mom were up there in the nursery organizing. Moments of quiet. Me and my mom organizing, the yellow heavy moon, the strawberry ice cream. I experienced these things as a knowing and grateful recipient. I slept that night. Not sure how or why. But I really did sleep. I packed my bags and the car that morning. I showered, put on makeup, put on a real outfit. I think yoga pants and a maternity top. I washed and dried my hair, assuming it’d probably be the last time for a while. I read Psalm 23 a few times. I sat down in the living room and Dan chatted with me for a few minutes. Matt and I drove to the hospital and I left my bible in the car door. He dropped me off and while he parked I got past the obstacles of hospital staff asking if I had been to asia in the last 14 days or if I was experiencing a fever or coughing. I remember so impatiently answering their questions. I saw a couple walking down the hallway with masks on and casually wondered if I should also be wearing a mask. I also had this small feeling of I wonder if they’ll let me in. I wonder if my doctor is actually here. I wonder if I can actually have a baby today. Am I really having a baby? Or should I just leave and carry on with my life? As if it was a choice.
But no, in the next few moments I was reminded that I was actually going to have a baby today because as so many ultrasounds told me, Ava was head up and wasn’t going to flip and we had scheduled a c-section delivery for wednesday march 11th because my friend Faith had said “wednesday is the best OR day. Do Wednesday.” I pulled up some worship music in my pre-op room. I think I listened to the reckless love of God. I changed into a gown and a nurse started an IV on me. I curled my toes and twisted my legs as it took her a few minutes to find a good vein. I looked at Ava one last time on the grainy ultrasound screen. I listened to her heartbeat - that under water fuzzy sound in the background. Dr.Pitotti came in to quickly walk me through what we would do today. She smiled reassuringly. I really liked her. She was chill. Someone I’d be comfortable around at a big fancy party.
Dan and Sylvia came in both wearing matching pink. Dressed up for Sunday church it seemed. Sylvia wouldn’t miss this day without a planned outfit, a full face of make-up and hair curled. Brimming with excitement, they gave their comforting, Tennessee twangy “we love you!” As they walked out the door, I remember the nurse said “Are those really your in-laws?” “yes, that is really them,” I thought proudly. Proud to have people in my life who loved me an embarrassing amount. Mom and Dad came in and I couldn’t help but notice how proud my dad seemed of me.
Lots of people came in during a very short window of time. Doctors, nurses, anesthesia people. All working out our plan. Matt and I had a moment alone together and we were just so excited. We went into the OR and it was very bright. Things happened really fast and I’m glad for that. I got a pinch of a needle in my spine and then the numbness came to my lower half. I had to stretch my arms out in a “T” position although now I can’t recall why. They put a catheter in, which I felt, which I hated. They said, you’ll be numb but you will feel tugging. I felt my blood pressure drop. I felt when they made the incision that all the pressure and heartburn left my body finally. I looked at the monitor screen and watched it beep and watched the lines of my heart rate. They dimmed the lights and I remember focusing on some sign on the door. They played music. A song came on about rainbows. I forget now. Somewhere over the rainbow I think. Something maybe Jason Mraz. I forget now.
They pulled her out of me and Dr. Pitotti said “little peanut!” I listened for Ava’s cry and heard it. Matthew held my face and recited Psalm 23 for me throughout the short surgery. He told me Ava was great, she was perfect. He was crying. With his scrub hat on, he just really couldn’t hold himself together. I still think that’s cute. Ava really does just wreck him. It’s lovely. They washed her off and weighed her and then placed her in my little cotton tube top that they gave me to wear. I didn’t realize it would be the most precious article of clothing I would ever own. My shoulder and neck were sore for some reason, so I felt like I couldn’t look down at her. I would look down at her for a second and then look back up because my neck hurt so bad. I remember looking at her and thinking “gosh, I don’t even know her.” There was this feeling that this person who was in my shirt against my skin was a stranger, but someone who I had a distinct intense urge to care for. I remember she immediately went to sleep. A nurse said “she likes that.”
I got wheeled to a back room where a nurse helped Ava to latch and feed. She was so sleepy. My feet were still unable to move. I remember being warm and quiet and content. Mom came back to meet Ava and she held her and it was so sweet. Just the four of us there. Then we went to our permanent room- more of a hotel room. I’ll always remember that view out the window looking over to another building on the hospital campus. From that point on, it’s a little fuzzy. Not sure if I slept or just held her, or what. I know Sylvia and Dan and my dad came in to meet her. I know that night Matthew went to take Ava to get her first bath. I remember my shoulder hurt so bad that I had to take a middle of the night walk with a nurse.
I remember learning to breastfeed. That was the main thing. Learning to breastfeed. God it was so hard. I remember hearing her cry in the night and Matthew getting her and bringing her to me. I remember never complaining. Just doing it. I remember not sleeping and not caring that I didn’t sleep. I just watched her. I watched her and Matthew sleep. It was magical. We were in this new rhythm of feed and sleep, feed and sleep. I would push the button on my bed for it to sit me up and I would take Ava every time she got up and I would feed her. Without complaint. Without a word. It was something that my body was doing and I was paying attention. Nurses helped me so much. There was one in particular who I really felt like was an actual angel. She helped so much. Those days blur together a little. I remember nipple gel and cooling pads. Mesh underwear. Incision bandages. Gas pain, shoulder pain. Nursing tank tops. Burning nipples.
It would snow one day and the next be sunny. I watched it all out the window. We ate chick-fil-a and I learned to use the breast pump. I would talk to Sylvia or my dad who came to sit with me, bring sandwiches or whatever. Only one visitor was allowed at a time. One night, Matt came to lay with me in my bed and we talked about Covid-19 and what was actually happening and it hit us finally. On March 11th, the WHO had declared a global pandemic. The NCAA tournament was cancelled. It was real. We whisked our precious baby home and it was a series at home of the same, sleep and feed, sleep and feed. I would put her in the solly wrap, or in the baby swing and I would use the boppy pillow when I fed her and everyone was busy around me, making meals and grocery shopping and doing laundry. And it was just the best time. Ava was magic to me. The way she smelled. I’ll never forget the days of breastfeeding and pumping and watching The Newsroom in our old apartment with Matthew. She really was our rainbow over head, saying over and over to us: I am here. And I am real.
