Read Online Off Balance: A Memoir by Dominique Moceanu - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dominique Moceanu
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miracle was going to be a Christmas baby, and the sporadic contractions I’d had over the prior two days fueled my certainty. As I tossed from side to side trying to find a comfortable spot, there it was. A strong contraction followed by another and another. I just lay there, listening to my body. I wanted to make sure it was the real deal and dreaded the thought of being that first-time mom who rushes to the hospital only to be sent home with “false labor.” My overnight bag was packed and I was ready to go, but I had to be sure it was the right time. When a contraction would start, I’d freeze and wait out the pain in silence, counting the seconds until it started to fade. I stayed calm between contractions, which is typical of how I’ve always dealt with physical pain in the gym or anywhere else. I go inward and just try to work through it myself. I didn’t want to disrupt anyone’s sleep until it was absolutely necessary, so I tried hard not to make any noise at all.
By the time the contractions were coming every five minutes or so, I was doubled over in pain in our bed. Mike was trying to comfort me and waited calmly for me to give the signal that I was ready to get into the car to go to the hospital. He granted my wish for one last call to the doctor to make sure this was really it, then he, Christina, and I were off, driving through Cleveland’s early-morning darkness on Christmas Day. I remember seeing the patches of snow on the road outside the window between contractions.
It gave me the extra strength I needed to have Mike and Christina beside me for the delivery, and I was grateful to share the beautiful moments of Carmen’s birth with them. Mike has been my partner, my motivator, and the most loving and supportive husband I could have asked for, and he didn’t disappoint when I needed him most that day.
My sweet sister Christina was almost silent during the entire labor and delivery. I am pretty certain it scared her to death. Her eyes were wide, mouth agape, and she said she’d “never seen anythinglike it.” I really don’t think she knew what to expect next, but she stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand, and even my leg, when I needed her. I fed off of her love and encouragement.
Carmen made her debut on December 25, 2007, around 3:06 p.m. After the final push, a silence gripped the room, which made me nervous. I realized I hadn’t heard her cry. Mike rubbed my arm and said everything was okay, but it was in his doctor voice, which made me worry more. I could see my doctor looking and assessing the situation, and I held my breath until I finally saw a smile spread across her face. Only later did I learn that Carmen had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and there was some concern, but it was fleeting. I was so relieved once I heard her cry a minute later. It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
We were blessed with this little miracle. She truly was a marvel. I was in awe and felt so fortunate, so happy. She was the most beautiful and precious being I’d ever seen—with a full head of jet-black hair, dark brown eyes, and a cherub round face with Mike’s Filipino button nose. I was at such peace holding her in my arms tightly swaddled with her pink-and-blue-striped hospital beanie on her head. I kissed her and held her to my chest. It was the absolute best feeling in the world.
It was January 14, 2008, a good five weeks after I had received Jennifer’s package, when I finally picked up the phone to call her. My stomach was a bundle of nerves, but I sat at the desk in my office and promised myself that I wouldn’t get up until I had completed my mission. It was around 9:00 a.m. and Carmen was down for her morning nap, so I knew I had to take advantage of the quiet while it lasted. I took one last sip from my coffee mug, drew a deep breath, and dialed. Once the line started to ring on the other end, Ifelt less nervous and actually got more excited with each ring,
By the time the contractions were coming every five minutes or so, I was doubled over in pain in our bed. Mike was trying to comfort me and waited calmly for me to give the signal that I was ready to get into the car to go to the hospital. He granted my wish for one last call to the doctor to make sure this was really it, then he, Christina, and I were off, driving through Cleveland’s early-morning darkness on Christmas Day. I remember seeing the patches of snow on the road outside the window between contractions.
It gave me the extra strength I needed to have Mike and Christina beside me for the delivery, and I was grateful to share the beautiful moments of Carmen’s birth with them. Mike has been my partner, my motivator, and the most loving and supportive husband I could have asked for, and he didn’t disappoint when I needed him most that day.
My sweet sister Christina was almost silent during the entire labor and delivery. I am pretty certain it scared her to death. Her eyes were wide, mouth agape, and she said she’d “never seen anythinglike it.” I really don’t think she knew what to expect next, but she stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand, and even my leg, when I needed her. I fed off of her love and encouragement.
Carmen made her debut on December 25, 2007, around 3:06 p.m. After the final push, a silence gripped the room, which made me nervous. I realized I hadn’t heard her cry. Mike rubbed my arm and said everything was okay, but it was in his doctor voice, which made me worry more. I could see my doctor looking and assessing the situation, and I held my breath until I finally saw a smile spread across her face. Only later did I learn that Carmen had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and there was some concern, but it was fleeting. I was so relieved once I heard her cry a minute later. It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
We were blessed with this little miracle. She truly was a marvel. I was in awe and felt so fortunate, so happy. She was the most beautiful and precious being I’d ever seen—with a full head of jet-black hair, dark brown eyes, and a cherub round face with Mike’s Filipino button nose. I was at such peace holding her in my arms tightly swaddled with her pink-and-blue-striped hospital beanie on her head. I kissed her and held her to my chest. It was the absolute best feeling in the world.
It was January 14, 2008, a good five weeks after I had received Jennifer’s package, when I finally picked up the phone to call her. My stomach was a bundle of nerves, but I sat at the desk in my office and promised myself that I wouldn’t get up until I had completed my mission. It was around 9:00 a.m. and Carmen was down for her morning nap, so I knew I had to take advantage of the quiet while it lasted. I took one last sip from my coffee mug, drew a deep breath, and dialed. Once the line started to ring on the other end, Ifelt less nervous and actually got more excited with each ring,
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