It was the first day of first semester finals. I had been sleeping upstairs on the couch because my bed was way too soft and hurt my back with the enormous bulge of a very-close-to-due baby.
My mom came out of her room and walked by the living room. On her way out to the garage for her morning cigarette I hear, "6:15, Brit, time to wake up!"
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and sit up. Did I just pee? I have never peed myself. No. That's what I spent all day yesterday bouncing on the exercise ball trying to do. My water broke. Of course, instead of doing the normal thing and going to the bathroom, I ran to the garage.
"Mom, you're not going to work today!"
"And, why not?"
"GUSH!"
I turned and ran for the bathroom.
My little sister came from her room to see what all the excitement was about to realize she was going to be an aunt for the first time today.
I could hear my mom on the phone with the hospital in the kitchen telling them my membranes had ruptured and shortly we would be making the short 15-mile trip into the hospital. (The same hospital I worked at, but in dietary.)
I remember I kept telling her we needed to go, we needed to go, and she kept telling me we had plenty of time. I had never done this before, I didn't know what to expect. All I knew was Friday at my appointment he had said I was dilated to three centimeters and my water was bulging. Obviously now, Monday, my water was broken so there had to be more progress, right?
We headed into the hospital while I was writing my contractions down for timing.
Upon arrival, we got checked in. I went into the labor room and got into my gown, got all my cords hooked up, got my first dose of pain meds, and got comfy. I had to text my best friends and let them know why I wouldn't be waddling down the hallways that morning. Then in came Tim, and let me tell you Tim is a Godsend. He gave me my epidural and that was the last of the pain I had. Thank goodness, because hearing the sound of the episiotomy was enough I don't think I could have handled feeling it, too.
My labor really isn't very exciting, I apologize. I wish I could say we had a lot going on, but really in truth I laid in the hospital bed texting friends and family and watching movies on TV. Around three in the afternoon they came in to check me again, and said it was time to push. Then, at 3:22 in the afternoon, my beautiful, perfect little girl was born. Seven pounds, three ounces. Twenty inches long. Gorgeous.
Kiannah Elsamarie.
I wish I could say that I did all this extensive research into her name and had all these beautiful deep meanings behind why I picked it, but the honest truth is I just thought the name was pretty. I had a list of around five girl names and five boy names (I wanted to be surprised when my little love was born.) I honestly was planning on Shiloh for a girl, but I let her father choose off my list, and Kiannah was the name that was chosen.
The Elsamarie is after my grandmother, although we didn't find out until Kia was around two years old that we had spelled her name wrong. My grandma always signs "Helga E," to the point to where she didn't even remember how to spell her name when asked. As it turns out, it was supposed to be Elsemarie.
That little girl came into my life, flipped it upside down, and changed me for the better. I went from being a sixteen year old sophomore in high school, to a mother. I now had a little life that completely depended on me for every bit of her existence. I had a new purpose.
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