Thursday, September 13, 2012
One month old!
I have noticed that women love to regale the world with our child-bearing/birthing experiences. In fact, I have a friend in Twin Falls whose husband has a theory: get 3+ women of child-bearing age together for more than 15 minutes, and someone at some time will bring up their birthing experience(s). It's totally true! And since I am no exception, I'll just get mine out in the open right here...
It was a dark and stormy night...
Actually, I think it was.
Ryan and I went to see the Bourne Legacy on a Friday. We even got a baby sitter. I was huge pregnant and trying to do anything to go into labor. (At my last OB appointment, I burst into tears because she wouldn't let me have the baby early.) You can imagine my excitement when halfway through the movie, I started timing my regular contractions (10 min-ish), and was getting ready to tell Ryan "it's time, honey!" by the time the movie ended. Well...I got up to walk out, and my contractions ended. Completely. I could have run a marathon (that's set up for huge pregnant women--hmmm. Imagine that.). Since I had already had my heart broken by my unfulfilled pregnant-free expectations (ie, I really hoped I would have the baby) earlier that week (see above comment--the bursting into tears one), my hope was a tentative one anyway. By way of consolation, I told myself that at my doctor's appointment on monday, there was no way she would let me go home because I would be dilated enough to have the baby that day (hey, it happened with Emmett!). So, we skipped home, sent the babysitter away, and went to bed. No contractions on Saturday or Sunday, either. Until.
Sunday night. Not dark and stormy. Just dark.
I was up with contractions for 3-4 hours. Some were 5 minutes apart, some were 15 minutes apart (I should tell you here that since I have a tendency to go fast, my doctor recommended coming into the hospital when the contractions were 10 minutes apart). Again, I was getting ready to wake Ryan up with those age-old words, but decided to make sure I was really in labor by getting up and walking around a little. Contractions stopped. Again. I don't think my heart could have taken any more disappointment. Sigh.
So, when the contractions started again in the morning after I had awoken, I decided to ignore them. I had a doctor's appointment at 2:00pm, and I was pretty sure I would give birth that day. So I decided to just be patient. As Ryan was walking out the door at 8am, I casually mentioned my contractions ("Oooh, that one hurt."), and he stopped and looked at me: "Should we go to the hospital?"
Me: "No, they'll just send me home. Well, okay, if I have another contraction before you leave, then we'll go....Okay, that one hurts, too."
Ryan: "Are you playing solitaire?! Get up, let's go!"
Me: "Okay, I'll just take a shower and pack some things."
Contractions did NOT go away. In fact, they got faster and harder as I moved around. So I made Ryan hurry. He sent the boys to the neighbor, and I tried to breathe while sitting in the passenger seat as we ran red lights, weaved in and out of traffic, and in general broke a few traffic laws (and got pulled over--no ticket, just a slow, deliberate lecture about how speeding doesn't actually get you to where you want to go any faster than following the speed limit. And did I want an ambulance? No, thank you, I think we can make it the block and a half left to go...!). I was in the delivery room for about 45 minutes. The delivery went very quickly and smoothly. I even had time for an epidural. It was a wonderful experience, and like I said, I fell instantly in love with my new baby girl.
However, if Ryan had not stopped to ask if I needed to go to the hospital, I'm 95% sure that I would have had a home birth. Accidentally. Or maybe a car birth. I'm so glad I didn't!