Futures and Frosting (27 page)

“Don’t worry. It
will be fine,” Carter whispers back as he stands up and lets Gavin run around
the room with the dog playfully following behind him.

“The first time
he shits in my shoes I’m going to rub
your
nose in it,” I threaten.

“I have all of
the American Kennel Club paperwork for you out in the car as well as the
authenticity papers from the breeder,” Madelyn tells us.

Super.  Our
dog has more class than we do.

“What’s his
name?” Carter asks.

“Reginald
Phillip III,” Charles answers.

“Oh, that’s
getting changed immediately,” I mutter.

“I want to call
him Bud,” Gavin states as he runs around us in circles with the dog right on
his heels.

“That’s a good
name,” Carter tells him.

“I know.  I’m
naming him after the daddy juice you drink.”

“How about we
wait a little bit before deciding on a name,” Carter tells him.

“Reginald
Phillip, get down!” Madelyn scolds.

We turn around
to see the dog mounted up on Gavin’s back with his paws on his shoulders. 
Gavin just keeps moving and laughing.  It looks like a freaky version of the
locomotion dance.

“Ha ha. What’s
he doing?!  This is fun!” Gavin laughs.

“Oh my God, he’s
humping our kid,” I mutter, smacking Carter on the arm so he will do something.

Carter runs over
and pulls the dog off of Gavin by its collar.

“Heeeey, why’d
you do that?  We were having fun,” Gavin complains.

“Uh, he was
trying to pee on you,” Carter tells him.

I look at him
like he's insane and he just shrugs. “What?  I panicked.  I can’t tell him what
humping means,” he says quietly.

Gavin lets out
another excited yell and once again, we find the dog hugging onto his shoulders
and thrusting his hips behind him.

“Hump, hump,
hump. I’m gonna pee on you!  Hump, hump, hump!” Gavin chants as the two hop
around the room and Carter tries to separate them again.

“Obviously
you’ll want to have him neutered as soon as possible,” Madelyn states with a
straight face.

Gee, you
think?  The dog is trying to breed with my son.

“All aboard the
choo-choo train, all aboard the choo-choo train, WOOT WOOT!” Gavin sings with
the dog happily enjoying his caboose position.

“Carter, get me
the hose.”

Five months
later.

“Last chance to
change your mind.  You’re sure this is what you want to do,” Carter asks as he
starts the car and backs out of the driveway.

“I swear to God
if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to straight up murder your ass. 
It’s like you
want
me to wreck my vagina,” I tell him.

Today is the big
day.  The one I have been equally dreading and looking forward to:  my
scheduled c-section.  We are on our way to the hospital now so I can get
checked in.  Carter has been questioning my decision to have a repeat c-section
since the day the doctor asked me about it six months ago.

“It’s not that.
I just want to make sure you don’t regret never having the experience of actual
childbirth.  I’ve heard that some women who have c-sections get really
depressed because they didn’t get to know the joy of pushing their child out,”
Carter explains.

“I’m sorry, who
are these women you spoke to?  Did you make a trip to a mental hospital
recently?  What woman in her right mind would regret that her vagina didn’t
turn into a gaping, bloody wound with bodily fluids pouring out of it and a
baby clawing its way out, sometimes ripping and tearing until her vagina and
asshole are just one big disgusting abyss?” I ask.

“Forget I said
anything. I just want you to be happy,” Carter states diplomatically.

“Some women take
a dump on the birthing table when they are pushing their kid out.  Do you
really think that’s an experience
you
want to have?” I question.  “I’ve
heard the nurses make quick work of cleaning it up before anyone notices, but
you’ll notice.  Believe me.  How can you NOT notice the room suddenly smelling
of fecal matter?”

“Stop, please
stop,” Carter begs.

“I am very happy
with my decision.  And you should be happy that six weeks from now, banging me
won’t feel like waving a stick in a cave or dipping your pinkie into the Grand
Canyon.”

“Okay, I get
it,” Carter says as he pulls into the hospital parking lot.

“Thrusting a
pencil into a fireplace...shoving a piece of straw into a barn door,” I add.

“Why am I
getting turned on right now?” Carter asks as he finds a parking space and we
get out of the car.

“Are you into
scat play?  You’re not going to make me poop on you at some point are you? 
Tell me now so I can give you this ring back.”

Carter ignores
me as we get into the elevator and make our way up to Labor and Delivery.  But
I will not be ignored.  Oh no, I will not be ignored.

“Scittly
scat-scat, do bop dee scat!” I sing as we walk up to the nurse’s station and
hand them my admitting forms.

The nurse gives
me a funny look so I feel it's only right to explain to her my song choice.

“My fiancé wants
to me to poop on him,” I tell her.  “Scat-scat, dee didily bop!”

“Oh Jesus, I’m
sorry.  I don’t know what has gotten into her this morning,” he explains,
shooting me a dirty look.

“It’s perfectly
fine.” The nurse laughs.  “It’s just nerves.  Believe me, I’ve heard worse from
other women checking in.” she told us.

What nerves? 
I’m not nervous.  I’ve done this before.  Piece of cake.

“We’ll just get
you settled into a room down by the O.R., start an I.V. of fluids, and have you
fill out your registration forms.  The doctor will come in and talk to you as
well as the anesthesiologist.  I’ll stop by after that to give you a dose of
Bicitra to drink.  It’s a small little cup of liquid that will help if you
happen to get nauseous during the procedure.  After that, it’s go time!” she
says excitedly.

What the fuck
have I done?!  Turn back NOW!

“I changed my
mind.  Maybe I do want a black hole for a vagina.  How bad could it be?  I
wouldn’t need to carry a purse anymore.  I could just shove things up my twat. 
‘Oh, you need a pen?  Hold on, let me check in my vagina.  What’s that you say?
Do I have a flashlight?  Let me stick my hand up my vag and find out.’  Let’s
go home.  We could do a home birth in the bathtub.  It might be a tight squeeze
but I bet we could both fit in there,” I ramble to Carter.

“Can we get some
morphine to go?” I ask the nurse.

She just
chuckles as she shows us to the room and gets busy typing things into the
computer while Carter pushes on my shoulders to get me to sit on the bed.

“Everything is
going to be fine. Take a deep breath,” Carter tells me.

“They are going
to cut open my stomach and pull a human out, Carter,” I whine.

“I know, babe. 
I’m nervous too.  But you’ve done this before, and you know exactly what to
expect.  You know what it’s going to feel like, you know how long it’s going to
take, and you know what the end result will be...finally being able to see our
baby,” he says with a smile as he leans down and kisses the top of my  head. 
“At last we can find out if we’ll have a Carmela or a Tony.”

“Oh I don’t
think so.  We’ve already had this discussion and we are NOT naming this kid
after some ass munchers on the Sopranos.  Get that thought out of your head
right now,” I tell him.

“You are such a
killer of dreams, you know that?” he complains.

~

“Just remember,
Carter, when the baby is out, we’ll have you come down here to the foot of the
operating table so you can take pictures and watch your little one get cleaned
off, measured, and weighed.  But don’t forget, whatever you do, don’t look at
Claire,” the doctor warns.

“What the hell
is he talking about,” Carter whispers, leaning down by my ear.

I'm strapped to
the operating table with my arms stretched out in a T on either side of me.  A
huge, blue drape is attached to two I.V. poles on both sides of the table and
placed strategically so I can’t see past my boobs.  When I had my c-section
with Gavin, I wondered what the big deal was of putting this drape up.  Maybe I
wanted to see what was going on down there and make sure they didn’t screw up. 
Then a few months later, I had watched a c-section on the medical channel and I
almost threw up.  NOT something you ever want to see being done to yourself,
mark my words.

“I’m pretty sure
they just don’t want you to look over at me with my guts hanging out all over
the place and freak out,” I tell Carter.

“Okay, Claire,
you’re going to feel a lot of tugging now as we get the baby out,” the doctor
tells me.

I definitely
remember this part from the first time.  Not painful, but really fucking
weird.  Like someone is grabbing onto your stomach skin with both hands and
yanking it all over the place.  The fact that I know there's a doctor
shoulder-deep inside my stomach right now is what's more painful.

Carter sits on a
stool right by my head next to the anesthesiologist and keeps smoothing a few
stray pieces of hair out of my eyes that have escaped from my hospital cap.  He
continues to ask me how I'm doing and kisses my forehead every few seconds,
telling me how much he loves me and how proud he is of me.  He is so strong,
and I am once again reminded of how lucky I am to have this amazing man in my
life.

“Okay, Carter,
get your camera ready.  When I say the word, you can stand up and aim your
camera over the top of the sheet to take a picture,” the doctor says.

“Try not to get
my internal organs in the picture.  They don’t photograph well,” I tell Carter.

He fiddles with
the digital camera and gets it ready.  I look back at his upside down face and
see him smiling from ear to ear.  Everything about this past year from the good
and the bad to the ugly is all worth it because of this moment right here. 
Carter had missed out on seeing the birth of Gavin and that fact still makes me
sad.  But he is here now and I hope that seeing his next child born will ease a
little of that ache for him.

“The baby’s
out!  And it’s a girl!” the doctor exclaims.  “Get your picture, Dad!”

Carter jumps up
and holds the camera above his head, quickly snapping a picture before sitting
right back down and raining kisses all over my face while I cry.

“A girl?  Are
you sure?  Is she okay?” I ask through my tears.

The next sound
we hear is the wail of a healthy set of baby lungs.

Carter laughs
through his own tears and continues kissing away mine.

“Oh, baby, you
did it!  I’m so proud of you.  We have a girl!”

The
anesthesiologist makes some adjustments to my I.V. now that the baby is out,
and I momentarily wonder if would be okay for me to just start chanting
“Morphine, morphine, morphine!” really loudly.

“Come on back,
Dad, and see your little girl,” one of the nurses says.

Carter gives me
one more kiss on the cheek before he gets up and begins to walk around the I.V.
pole to make his way to the end of the operating table.

“Carter, don’t
forget, don’t look at my―”

“OH JESUS
CHRIST!  IS THAT HER INTESTINES??  WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?  OH MY GOD!”

I hear the
sounds of tennis shoes squeaking on the floor as nurses most likely race to
Carter’s side to get him away from the horror show.

“Oh fuck me, did
I just step over a tube of blood that is draining out of her and into a
bucket?  What the fuck is that for?”

When you have a
c-section, there’s not much you can do but lie there and listen to the
commotion going on around you.  It’s not like you could be all, “Hey, Doc, can
you give me a minute?  I need to get up and check on my fiancé and make sure he
doesn’t puke on our new baby.”  I had been given a spinal before this thing
which meant I was numb from the neck down.  I'm not any good to anyone right
now.

“They told you
not to look!” I shout to Carter.

“That is the
number one thing you should never say to anyone!  Of course if you tell me not
to look, I’m going to look,” Carter says as his voice gets closer and closer. 
Oh my God, Claire, I think I saw your spleen sitting on your chest.”

The next thing I
know, Carter is right next to me holding a tiny, perfectly wrapped bundle of
baby.  She looks like a little burrito wrapped tight in her white, blue, and
pink hospital blanket and pink baby hat on her head.

Carter brings
her right up to me and sets her down on the pillow next to my head so I can
kiss her cheek.

“Oh my God,
she’s perfect,” I cry as I stare at her sleeping face.

“Well, kind of
perfect.  I think she has Elephantitis of the vagina though,” Carter tells me
quietly.

I laugh and
reach an arm over to stroke her soft, pink cheek.

“That’s normal. 
All babies have enlarged genitalia when they’re born,” one of the nurses says
as she walks past us to get something from a drawer against the wall.

“Oh yeah, you
should have seen the size of Gavin’s balls when he was born.  Jesus.  He could
have fit a small country into those things,” I say.

“Hey, maybe
that’s just the way he was supposed to be born.  You know, taking after his
father and all,” Carter says as he leans down and kisses our little girl’s
cheek before kissing mine.

“Okay, Dad, if
you want to go with your little girl down the hall to the nursery you can help
give her her first bath and give the good news to your family members,” the
doctor says.  “We’ll have Claire down in recovery in about forty-five minutes. 
We just need to sew her up.”

A nurse comes
and scoops up our little girl and places her in the bassinet with a sign on the
end that reads “Sophia Elizabeth Ellis, 7lbs, 10oz.”