Category: Pregnancy

As he was leaving to take the dogs to the field, David noticed my phone was ringing.  The doctor called back and I missed it!  Who ends up playing phone tag with their doctor while they are in labor?!?  In the end, the on call doctor told me to head to the hospital. (I found out later, that the on call doctor told the doctor at the hospital that she would probably end up sending me home, but since I thought my water had broken, she didn’t want to take the chance…)  David headed out with the dogs, and I resumed my shower after a contraction.

While shampooing my hair, I realized that something wasn’t quite right.  My contractions were supposed to be eight minutes apart, and yet suddenly I was having an awful pain.  I should have been able to finish my shower without a contraction.  It took a while for my brain to make the connection that my contracting belly was communicating.  My blood felt like ice.  I HAD BEEN SO WRONG!  Not eight minutes–FOUR!!!

Let’s pause here and let me clarify something….  I watched that stupid video.  Every. Single. Minute. Of. It.  I knew all about timing contractions.  And I think I am a relatively smart person–most of the time. But, see, I thought that contractions all stayed the same intensity.  And that they only got worse!  So while I was dutifully timing the contractions and recording the information in the notes section of my phone.  I would have a definite contraction… and several minutes later I would have what I considered “aftershocks.”  Unfortunately, they were real, tiny, baby contractions that I DIDN’T COUNT!

Standing there in the shower, reality hit me, and I realized that I might be in a bit of trouble.  I rushed out of the shower, threw on some clothes and called David.  “Get home.  I was wrong.  Really wrong.”  Only, instead of rushing home to my aide, he tells me that one of the dogs peed on him and he needs a new shirt.  He asked me to iron it.  Iron a new shirt.  While I was in labor.  Because it was all about him!  So I said, “Okay, just get home.”  I threw a shirt on the ironing board.  Placed the iron on the shirt (did I mention I never turned the iron on?) put the iron back on the board, picked up the shirt, and headed downstairs.  David was smart enough not to say a word when he got the shirt, and we drove the five minutes to the hospital.

I walked into the hospital and to the maternity ward on my own two feet.  My contractions were approximately 2 minutes apart at this point.  They registered me fairly quickly and did the preliminary check.  I was 9 centimeters dilated!  When the nurse asked if I had planned on having an epidural and I told her I had, she gave me a half smile, and said “It may not be possible, but we can try,” and left the room.

“We’re going home.” I told my husband.  “Do over. I need a do over.  We can come back tomorrow, and I can have the epidural, and we can have the baby.” David just blinked at me.  Wise man.  Then he said, “Why don’t you call your mom.”  Very wise man.

“Mom, they said I might not be able to have the epidural.  I can’t do this.  I need the epidural.  I’m going home.”

“You can do this.  Besides, I didn’t have an epidural when I had you.”

“You are a stronger woman than I am!”

Luckily, I did get the epidural.  It helped.  If nothing else, it helped my sanity.  And then the contractions slowed down.  Not a lot thought.  And boy were they intense.  Not painful, but heavy.  I told David that there was so much pressure.  After that, each time I felt one, I had to sing the lyrics to “Under Pressure.”  It was a fine moment in my history.

At about 11:45, they did another check and my water broke.  I was 10 centimeters and they said I could push.  The doctor came in, I really liked her.  She had a very calming manner about her, and she puts you at ease quickly.  A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door.  A nurse opened it and asked if I was expecting a visitor.  I wasn’t, but it turned out to be one of my best friends, Ann.  I had always wanted my mom to be there.  I kept thinking that she would be able to get there in time and she would be there to keep me calm. I had texted Ann on my way to the hospital, and even though I had told her I was okay, she knew I would be sad that my mom wasn’t here and she just wanted to help out. (She was fantastic, too.  My doctor had delivered both of her children, one just six weeks before.)

So, Dave, Ann, and the rest of them helped me deliver Jamie.  And much like the rest of my pregnancy, Jamie didn’t plan on anything being easy.  He had a big head (no joking here, it was huge, 99th percentile at birth…  You can’t be 100th
percentile, people, so it was as big as it gets…)  And that is all I will say about that.

Jamie was born at 12:29 on July 15, 2012.  He was eight and a half pounds, and 17 days early.  And he was mine.

I found out I was pregnant with Jamie about four months after my husband and I were married.  I was happy– and terrified.  Don’t get me wrong, I wanted him more than anything, but looking at that “Pregnant,” made everything real, and I knew how much my life would change.  And Jamie didn’t pull any punches.  It felt like I was sick from the day he was conceived.  I lost twenty pounds in the first trimester.  Food was my enemy.  We’d go out to eat, I’d order my favorite thing on the menu, and sit eagerly awaiting the meal.  The minute I took a bite, though, it was over.  My husband kept trying, and each time we went somewhere, I thought it would be different.  But it wasn’t, and I didn’t mind, especially once I felt him moving.  Being sick was a small price to pay for a healthy, beautiful boy.

The day before he was born, I felt amazing.  I went to the store, went to a birthday party (and sat around outside in the heat!), cleaned the bedroom, and went all the way across the county to a dinner party with my husband.  I should have known….

Before going further, I should probably tell you that I always joked that I wouldn’t know when I was in labor. I didn’t take a birthing class, but I did watch a video the hospital sends out.  I heard all about the warning signs, timing the contractions–the typical stuff… All of that only gets you so far…

I woke up at 5:30 in the morning on July 15.  I had to go to the bathroom.  It was at that point that thought my water broke.  Did I freak out?  Did I rush to wake up my husband?  Nope.  I got my dog and I went downstairs to watch TV.  Everyone says the first pregnancy can take hours, and even the doctor told me that you don’t want to get to the hospital too early, so I figured I’d sit on the comfortable couch with Lexy, my sweet pup, to time the contractions. The started about ten minutes apart.

I thought it was going pretty well.  I was timing the contractions at about 8 minutes apart when Lexy started to get antsy.  (She has always been a smart pup..)  I was having moderate pain about every 8 minutes, and this little minor twinges about halfway through.  Lexy left the couch and ran over to the stairs.  She waited and when I didn’t follow her she came back into the living room and stared at me pointedly.  She went back to the stairs, but waited only briefly before coming back into the living room and barking at me.  Realizing it would only get worse, I headed upstairs to wake up David, my husband.  I called the doctor and left a message on the line, explaining I thought my water broke but that the contractions were far apart, and then hoped in the shower while David took the dogs out to the field for a potty break.

Then things got interesting.