|On a cold and foggy night...|
"I could have just peed myself," I cautioned. I have snizzed my pantalones on more than one occasion throughout the past 39 weeks. Not pretty, not fun, and (dreadfully) not unusual. "Gross! I did it again!"With another whoosh underway, I just looked up at Shawn's beaming face, then decided to mosey on over to the bathroom. A moment later there was yet another whoosh of water into le toilet. As I suspected I would, I started to voice my doubts. Phrases like "extremely incontinent," "never actually going to come," "only 8% of women's water breaks, I am the 92%" and "not ready not ready not ready" spilled forth from my mouth.
|No smiling once the contractions begin|
Then the contractions started. Oh my word, the contractions did a-start. "Crap. I think I really am in labor." was answered by Shawn with "I'm not even sorry. I'm so excited."
What to do when you have finally convinced yourself that you will be birthin' a baby:
1. Repack entire hospital bag
2. Make husband take a shower, despite his anxiety baby will be born in bathroom if he does
3. Put a maxi pad on since this faucet drip cannot be turned off once started
4. Unpack hospital bag after remembering need to brush hair and teeth
5. Squeeze into car and backseat drive as husband driver is blinded by pure adrenaline excitement and that deer on the side of the road looks like a jumper
|Thank you, Husband Love, for allowing me to see what real pain looks like (also check out the drawer full of my contraction ticker-tape)|
Once I was firmly planted in triage and gussied up in my bum-exposing gown, the monitoring began. Contractions were one and a half to two minutes apart and freakin' awful. I would grit my teeth and clench the bed sheet and blankets so hard, my nails could have bored holes through the fabric.
How Henry came to be... to be continued..