Hmmm. Where to begin? Well, I think the best place to begin would be what got me started on this blogging journey-becoming a parent. Okay, well we all know how that whole process really got started so I'll omit those intimate details. You all know the story-lack of birth control yadda, yadda, yadda. I will note that we did plan this pregnancy.
Where I really want to begin is my son's birth. I'll likely talk about my pregnancy later, but for now his actual birth story seems to be most fitting as a start. I will say that his birth story did NOT go as planned. So, here we go:
I was down to my weekly appointments and I was within two weeks to my due date, feeling really, really uncomfortable when I asked my doctor what her policy was on going over the due date. I had this deep fear that the baby would be like two weeks late and I would end up with this county fair award-winning watermelon being forced out of my vagina. Shiver. The thought is still terrifying! My sweet husband had attended this appointment with me and was also curious about how this baby birthing process was really going to go down now that we were down to the nitty-gritty. My doctor informed me that she was actually going to be out of town on my due date and would be happy to schedule an induction before she left. Wait-what? OUT OF TOWN?! I don't know about you, but this seemed to be some vital information that she could have shared with me a littler earlier than two weeks prior to my due date. I do realize now that babies are very often born by other OB-GYNs that are not the primary care physician, but being my first pregnancy I was really hopeful and found comfort that my doctor would be the one to deliver. When the induction was set to be scheduled a week from that day I think my husband turned white as a sheet and mumbled something along the lines of, "So like next week. Whoa." For me this was also scary, but so exciting at the same time. I could see a light at the end of the tunnel where my feet would no longer be swollen, my hips would no longer hurt, I wouldn't be peeing every two minutes or worrying about sneezing, and I would be able to climb into my bed or my husbands truck without assistance. I would have my body back and I would finally meet this precious guy I'd felt moving and squirming, but had no idea what he looked like. Okay, the induction was scheduled. Not for September 11th, but for the 12th. I made sure of that. That was one thing I stressed about my entire pregnancy was that my due-mid-September baby would be doomed with a 9-11 birthday.
Upon walking out of the office I found that I was spending more time reassuring my husband who I was still concerned may faint or have a panic attack. Seriously. He was headed back to work and I'm sure he got nothing done the rest of the afternoon while I headed back to the house. It was hot summer and being eight months pregnant in late August/early September is not a good combo. I was sweating in places I did not know one could sweat. Ugh. While I worried about the anxiety state of my husband, I did have my own worries about being induced. Now I'm no Saint and I think the last time I attended a regular church service outside of Christmas and Easter was probably before I went off to college, but I do consider myself a Christian and do have a concern for God's opinion on matters in my life. My biggest worry was about how God was going to feel about taking birthing matters into my own hands. It may sound silly, but one of my thoughts was, "What if God did not want the 12th to be my baby's birthday?" I also was disappointed that I would not have an exciting birth story to tell my son about his special day when he got older. I mean, how exciting is telling your child, "Well on the day you were born we woke up really, really early and went to the hospital where mom was given some medicine so you would come out and TADA!-- you were born." Lame. I wanted to have an exciting birth story, but it just didn't look like it was in the cards.
Fast-forward six days later. Knowing I would be induced on the 12th I worked up until September 11th, scheduling my last work-related meeting for 2 p.m. and planned to be finished by 2:45 to head back to the house to clean up, check off last minute to-dos, and prepare for family to arrive that evening. Let me tell you I must have been the laughing stock of Heaven. This is not how my day went by any means! So I'm sitting in my meeting, wrapping up last minute details, signing final paperwork and what? Am I peeing? Wait! I can't stop! My water! My water broke! I jump and announce that I believe my water just broke, grabbed my bag, and was heading out the door when another lady thought this would be the most appropriate time to barrage me questions about my dilation, cramping, etc. Um. Hello! I have water trickling down my leg and am currently uncontrollably soaking my pants lady! It still makes me grit my teeth just thinking about it. I quickly shut down these questions and dashed out the door. I made it to the bathroom stall before things got really embarrassing (a thorough soaking) and then somehow managed to make it to the car all while calling my mom and my husband to inform them of my situation. Somewhere in there I am sure I dropped the full on F-bomb out of sincere awe and mental chaos. I don't know what came over me, it just came out. I have yet to share this detail with my husband or anyone else as I was alone and now driving myself to the hospital while soaking my seat. I know my husband would laugh himself to tears knowing this detail. He cusses like a sailor and I could probably count on my fingers the amount of times I've uttered a four letter word. Just not in my character. I tend to use abbreviations for some reason, as if this makes the word less powerful or crude(i.e. "a-hole", "what a b," "eff!"). Anywho, I digress. So I'm driving myself to the hospital-I choose to take the turnpike as this seems to be(and one would reasonably infer) that this would be the quickest route. Oh no-CONSTRUCTION! Are you effing (<-- see) kidding me! CONSTRUCTION! I cruise/blast through construction (Sorry daddies and cute daughters on signs) and make it to the hospital only to find a line at check in. Seriously? A line? I'm usually one to follow social norms and understood rules, but this seems to be an exception. I tapped the shoulder of the girl next in line and explained that my water broke and asked whether I could cut. Maybe it was the driblets of water on the floor or just the fact that I seemed to have more of a crisis on my hands than her lab papers, but she quickly jumped out of the way.
After checking in, my husband walks into the lobby full of people. He looks gaunt and scatterbrained as he approaches me and not quietly, but just loud enough for a quiet waiting room of people could hear drops a, "F**********CK babe. Are you okay?" Thanks honey. Yes, but now slightly more embarrassed. After reassuring him that I was fine, the nurse came into the waiting room to take us back to my room.
Looks like I'm going to have to stop here as baby is awake from his nap. I guess the actual birthing story will be for next time.
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