here she goes again.
Sunday, June 14th (38 weeks + 1 day pregnant)
Simon woke up early to go to work for his very last day on Labor + Delivery (but not last day of residency - his call shifts were always on L & D and this was his last call shift, so many party + alcoholic beverage emojis) and the plan was to take the kids to visit him for lunch later that day. I had had no signs of labor prior to that morning other than loads of Braxton Hicks which is pretty standard for 20+ weeks for me. And a terrible mood which roll your eyes but when I start Googling, "bad mood - impending labor?" ... I know bebe day is on her pretty little way. I swear it. Anyway, about an hour after he left I noticed that I was contracting regularly and sort of painfully but not anything even remotely "get thee to the hospital" worthy. But after an hour of contracting every 4-5 minutes - I let Simon know via text because we're modern like that. He's seen enough precipitous deliveries to know that a fifth baby could come rather quickly but I was 100% positive that I wasn't even close to delivery but he told me to bring my hospital bag when I visited him for lunch anyway just in case. There was a Cardinals game going on down the street and you never know what kind of traffic cluster you might run into on game days.
So! I got my bag packed (gobs of hair bows and head bands because of course! it was most definitely a little lady baby) ... with zero distractions slowing me down ...
... snapped one of these for the sake of posterity ...
... and enlisted the help of my child-army to help me carry everything downstairs.
Theo was the most helpful with an empty bottle and a travel-sized bottle of un hair product extraordinaire.
Of course! As SOON as we got in the car ... the contractions slowed WAY down. Hate that. I'd been down that road before. But as soon as we got to the hospital and walked around ... they picked right back up.
Simon was super opposed to me going back to the apartment with the kids for the rest of his shift but I absolutely refused to be the 5th time laborer hitting up triage "with painful contractions" and being a mortifying 1cm ... the exact same measly cm that I was a week prior at my appointment.
So! Back to the apartment we trotted for naps. The contractions never FULLY stopped but they slowed to about 8-10 minutes apart and I kept expecting them to completely peter out but they kept on keeping. Simon came home and I decided to take the elevator down to the parking garage and climb the stairs up to our apartment on the 20th floor. I cranked some beats and climbed.
It took me a song and half to make the climb and Simon accused me of just taking the elevator up and SAYING I made the trek. Funny. And not the case.
I had a few hard contractions while climbing and by the time I got back up to our apartment they were back to 3-4 minutes apart and started to really hurt. Grimace, stop to breathe through them, and ALL. I texted our sitter (again with the modern relationship) and asked her to come over. We told the kids we were going to get the baby out which prompted Sebastian to repeatedly lift my shirt and inspect my belly button asking how the belly button gets big enough to let the baby out? I let Simon handle that while I tried to get Phoebe to give me even one little hug or kiss (no and NO) between contractions that were now causing me to sit and wall stare while ignoring everyone. Our wonderful sitter showed up an hour later and we were off.
In the car we discussed boy names because we weren't 100% decided because I was 99% positive it was a girl. We'd tentatively decided on Ignatius James but didn't know if "Iggy" fit with Theo and Bash (who cares? I did!) even though I love that name and nickname so we decided to run with Bosco even though we knew we'd get squinty eyes and head cocks every time we had to tell people his name. C'est la vie. Why not ruin your child's childhood with a weird name? JK. Mostly.
The contractions slowed down a bit in the car and didn't pick up full steam as we walked into the hospital and doubt started to creep in loud and proud that I'd be sent home not sweet home. We checked in around 8pm where I was weighed (first time that's ever happened at the hospital, seems cruel and unnecessary but! maybe that's just me and every other gestator likes stepping on a scale at that point in her pregnancy! Pork can sprout wings, I'm sure) and given a bracelet and eventually whisked up to L and D which made me feel better that I wouldn't have to kick it in triage for an hour to see if I was in true labor.
Moment of checking truth. My nice nurse declared that I was 4cm. Whompity whomp whomp. Nothing crazy but enough to stay because the monitor was picking up my contractions and I think she could see the crazy glint in my eyes that might come out to tangible play if she told me to leave. One of the residents came in and did another checkity check and may or may not have done a slight membrane strip to get things moving even faster without the help of pitocin and ... it worked. Contractions. Contractions. Contractions. Painful contractions to the tune of, "no fun." So I pulled out my typed and laminated birth plan that I'd spent countless hours perfecting that went a little something like this:
The IV is always the worst part of the entire birthing process for me but it isn't ever THAT bad. And this time was no different despite making the mistake at glancing at the needle and wondering if they've accidentally grabbed a knitting needle because holy fat needle but ... it's always fine. No crafting in sight, ever.
epidural was got. uneventful. worked beautifully. I could move my legs but no pain in sight.
The resident (female, thank you Jesus) came and broke my water and declared that I was 5cm.
So we settled in for our wait.
Serenity, thy name is Grace.
Simon filling out the cord blood donation paperwork and um, watching TV.
My biggest fear throughout the pregnancy was that this baby would be our third little OP presentation and I would have to hurdle another 2-3 hours of pushing while everyone watched and chewed on their thumb nails in an effort not to start twiddling. My doctor even asked the resident via phone call to check and see if this baby was face up because fool me thrice. But as far as she could tell ... the baby was NOT. AS FAR AS SHE COULD TELL ....
... to be continued. SOON.
part II here!