So I go to the doctor hoping for some progress and she tells me that I am barely a centimeter dilated. I get a prescription for a non-stress test (you have to get these after you've gone overdue), and I will get a call the following week about scheduling an induction. I leave the doctor totally disappointed and resigned to the fact that this little guy is not coming for a while.
I was so utterly convinced that this baby was not coming for days that I had a hard time believing I was actually in labor. I reluctantly called the doctor, "I'm in labor, I think?" and she tells me to come to the hospital and they will check me out.
We start gathering some last minute things together to put in our hospital bag. It goes something like this:
Me shoving things into bag, "I hope this isn't false labor. I feel so dumb calling! I don't want to drive all the way to the hospital just to come back home!"
Then a pause, "Ow... ow... OWWW!"
Contraction passes. I turn to JChris, "Do you think I'm in labor? Is this it?? IS IT?!?" Like he has any idea what I am or am supposed to be feeling, "I'm going to be so pissed if we have to come back home!"
My poor husband looks at me with a mixture of cluelessness and fear in his eyes, "I don't know honey, probably?"
So he loads all of our stuff into the car and we are just about to leave when I feel a "pop." I don't know how else to describe it, because it is probably the weirdest thing I've ever felt. Then a small gush.
"Honey... I don't think we're coming back home."
My water broke at 1:45 in the morning. We get to the hospital around 2:30. I hold out until 6 in the morning trying to do the natural labor thing and I look at my poor, exhausted husband who I can tell is terrified to leave my side even though I'm probably close to breaking his hand. At this point I'm like screw it, give me the epidural.
Forget the wheel. Forget electricity, the printing press, the automobile. The epidural, my friends, is the greatest invention ever. Now, believe me, I hate taking medicine. I hate anything invasive. I am two Birkenstocks shy of being a tree-hugging, granola eating hippie. But after being awake all night, in all sorts of crazy horror film pain, getting the epidural was like finding the promised land. I swear I heard angels singing. I took a nap. A nap! In the middle of labor!
I started pushing around 11am on Friday, January 18th. What a relief when my son's head comes out (which my husband later lovingly referred to as "a gopher popping out of a hole." Thanks honey), then his shoulders, then a strange question from the doctor and nurses.
"Do you want to pull him out?"
I am so disoriented, and I remember pausing and blinking for a minute like, "What? I can do that?"
"Ok." I say. And at 11:45am I reach down and grab him under his arms, and I lift up my little boy for the first time. This was probably the most surreal moment I've ever had in my life. It is so strange having a baby. Even after carrying him for nine months, feeling him move inside me, and pulling him out myself, I still look at him and wonder, "I really did that? Me? I grew him and he came out of me?" Yet through all the disbelief, I was so elated and in love with this pink, slimy, crying baby.
And, yet again, my world is forever changed.