Aspen Princess: Let motherhood commence |

Aspen Princess: Let motherhood commence

Ali Margo
Aspen Princess

Hopefully by the time y’all read this, I’ll be a mom.

How crazy is that? I’m writing now from my birthing suite at Valley View Hospital in Glenwood Springs and I gotta tell you, this place is total swank. We’re talking hardwood floors, wood-paneled walls and a Jacuzzi tub inside my room, though I doubt I’ll have time to use it. I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting here in my bikini under a sun lamp getting a pedicure. It’s go time for baby, baby.

Yes, I’m a little sad his birth certificate won’t have “Aspen” on it, but between the lower elevation, the easier drive and that this place happens to resemble the Ritz-Carlton, we made the call to go downvalley instead of up.

They wanted to induce labor a few days before my due date because of my “advanced maternal age.” That basically translates to, “What the hell were you thinking, getting yourself knocked up when your life is already halfway over?”

So I’m hooked up to a monitor where I can hear my baby’s heartbeat, a galloping horse hurtling itself from some other dimension ever closer to this world. It’s a crazy sound that will probably be forever ingrained into my mind and my memory like a song that gets stuck in your head.

I honestly am starting to think that postpartum depression must come on account of no longer being treated like you are the most important person in the world. As you can imagine, I have enjoyed being fussed over tremendously. And as much as I might have dreaded coming to the hospital, I love it here. You literally have a team of nice ladies who tend to your every need. They even offer aromatherapy and massage, and you can bet I’m going to take advantage of that.

We already had some room service. Ryan got a cheeseburger, and I got yogurt and fresh fruit since I’m a little nervous about eating too much just in case I’m a puker and start upchucking during childbirth. I’ve never been one to get sick much, but you just never know. They bring it right to your room on a nice little tray just like they would at a hotel. The only thing that’s missing is the wine, and it would be nice not to have an IV stuck in my arm.

Aside from being a little scared about the intense pain I’ve been told (over and over and over again) is associated with birthing a child, I am feeling pretty good about this. I mean, I’ve had years and years to think about it.

People are always like, “Have you come up with a name?”

And we’re sitting here going, “Are you kidding me? We’ve been fantasizing about what to name our kid since the day we met,” and I’m really not exaggerating when I say that.

Yes, we have picked out a name. We’ve actually picked out two names, but we’re going to wait until we meet the kid first to see which one sticks. And no, I’m not going to tell you what it is because I guarantee that you will ruin it for me even if you swear up, down and backward that you won’t.

“I knew a really stupid yellow Lab with that name. He was so dumb, he used to eat tennis balls whole and had to be rushed to the vet for emergency surgery like four times,” you’ll say.

Or, “My cousin’s ex-husband had that name, but he’s in prison now, so I haven’t seen him in a while.”

We aren’t sure which name we like better and have agreed to meet our little man first to see if one or the other sort of sticks. I do feel like I know him already after growing him from this little seed into a small human. He kicks me like crazy, sometimes on both sides of my belly at the same time like he’s doing a spread eagle or jumping jacks or making snow angels in my womb. My mom said I will totally recognize him when he finally comes out, and I believe her.

One day, when he was kicking a lot and making monitoring difficult, one of the nurses said, “How they are in there is kind of how they are when they come out.” She said this apologetically since a routine procedure that was supposed to take 20 minutes ended up taking more than an hour and a half, and that’s when I realized I’m in for it. My first thought was, “Welcome to the rest of your life.”

It’s crazy to think that by this weekend I’ll be taking home my very own little baby boy and that in all likelihood he is going to be just like Ryan: loud, spastic, silly, funny and overflowing with love. Or maybe that’s just what I’m hoping for. I should only be so fortunate.

I gotta be honest: Being pregnant has brought out my spiritual side. I’m starting to believe that we might have more than one go-around on this thing called life. How else do you explain the phenomenon of child prodigies, kids who are masterfully talented at music or sport or art without ever having been taught? Kids who open their mouths and can sing like Sawyer Fredericks, the 16-year-old from Vermont who won “The Voice” last season, or that 5-year-old golf master Kyle Lograsso who was featured on HBO’s “Real Sports” and can golf like Tiger Woods — with one eye. I mean, why?

So I imagine my baby, his soul, on some epic journey from some other place in ways and forms we can never truly understand. And the one belief I’ve had all along is that, for one reason or another, he was meant to be with me.

The Princess is literally going into labor as she writes this. Is that dedication or what? Email your love to