Years ago I read a lovely story about this woman who, each year on her children's birthdays, tells them the story of the day they were born. Well you know me with my screwed up inability to say no to anything even vaguely resembling a tradition, I latched on to that puppy right away. Traditions always sound like such a great idea in the beginning... it's all that darn follow-through that's hard to live with.
So each year at bedtime on their birthdays, if we have time and if I remember, I tell the girls all about the day they were born. Well okay, I tell them a very watered down, shortened version of the events of the day. Because at this age I don't think they really need the blood, puke and swearing version right before they drift off to dreamland. I've always meant to write down the long version though so here goes...
Seven years ago today I awoke somewhere around 2am, startled. Sat bolt upright on the couch and flipped the light on immediately. I may have said something along the lines of, “Oh crap!” because it was either that or the light being turned on that woke Scott up. Before he woke up, clearly also startled, half asleep on the floor, mumbling, “What??? What’s wrong?” I had no clue that he was in the living room with me.
I’d taken to sleeping on the couch during the later months of my pregnancy because it was more comfortable and easier to get up for the what seemed like dozens of trips to the bathroom each night. Plus I wasn’t sleeping well and I could watch TV without disturbing Scott. But on this night, we’d both fallen asleep watching a movie and he hadn’t gotten around to moving to the bed. When I realized he was there I switched the light off and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I think maybe my water just broke. You should go get in bed.”
This didn’t go over as peacefully as I’d hoped. “WHAT?!? Your water just broke and you want me to go to BED?!!??!”
“Yep. Yeah… I think so. That would be good. I’m not actually sure it broke.”
I really didn’t want to tell him that part. That I wasn’t sure. A week or so before I’d gone to the doctor because I was spotting and they hooked me up to a monitor to make sure all was well. The nurse, looking at the print-out as it rolled off of the machine, said calmly, “Tell me when you’re having a contraction.”
“Tell you when I’m having a WHAT?!?” I asked, slightly shocked, then quickly deciding there’d probably just been a lack of communication, I explained, “Oh I’m not having contractions. I just came here because I’m spotting a bit and wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
She looked at me and then at the print-out and then back at me with confusion and asked, “You didn’t feel that?!?”
“Feel what?”
“You’re having contractions. Strong ones.”
Holy crap. Breathe.
“I didn’t feel anything.”
“Nothing? No pain at all? No cramping?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
At that moment I was a happy little mixture of terror (Is the baby coming NOW?) and relief (If I can’t feel strong contractions at ALL, perhaps this childbirth thing is going to be way easier than I thought!)
Scott, on the other hand, was not even a tiny bit happy about my lack of feeling. It scared him. A lot. “You’re a woman. You’re supposed to know when you’re having contractions, aren’t you? It’s a good thing we came here. Otherwise you might have just woken up one morning and the baby would be laying there next to you and you’d be like How did that get there!?!” I told him that apparently living with him for so many years had completely numbed me to pain.
They ended up sending me home that day since I wasn't actually in labor yet. The contractions I was having were just preparing my body for labor. But when I had to tell him in the middle of the night that I thought my water broke instead of that I knew… I figured he was going to give me a hard time.
In the movies the water breaking is so OBVIOUS. It floods out all over the poor woman's shoes in a gush and usually provides a moment of comic relief for the audience. But it doesn't always work that way in real life. Often there’s just a small trickle and often your water doesn’t break at all and the doctor has to break it for you. I’d decided I was going to go that route. Better that the doctor breaks it than an embarrassing scene at the grocery store or something. Unfortunately, it turns out that you don’t actually get to decide.
At 2am, I awoke thinking I’d heard a POP! and then felt some wetness, but not much. One of those glamorous details they don’t always mention about pregnancy is that bladder control isn’t necessarily a given in the later months. Sometimes hard laughter or a good sneeze can lead to a little surprise. I’d been pretty lucky in that way in my first pregnancy but that night I wondered… Did I just wet my pants? Did I imagine that sound or dream it?
I’ll admit now, that I was pretty sure my water had broken but when it did, panic set in and I headed straight into denial. Scott was being all calm and logical about it… Okay well not calm exactly, but logical, and thought we should go to the hospital. Because when your water breaks that’s what you do, right? Except that I wasn’t ready to go to the hospital… and so I said, “Don’t you remember what the doctor said?”
We’d attended the “Everything You Need to Know About Labor and Delivery” lecture shortly before and my doctor had run down the list of ways you would know that it was time to go to the hospital. If you’re just having contractions it can be a little tough to figure out. But if your water breaks, that’s a pretty clear sign. He said if your water breaks you need to go to the hospital, because once your water breaks you need to deliver the baby within 24 hours… But then he added… unless of course this is your first delivery and your water breaks in the middle of the night while your husband is sound asleep. In this case, as long as you're feeling okay, there’s really no need to wake him right away.
He said that. I swear he did. I remembered it clearly because it completely pissed me off.
I loved my doctor too. He was this great combination of years of experience, a great reputation, a completely laid back attitude and a really wacky sense of humor. The first two things were important but the laid back attitude and the off-the-wall sense of humor were critical in my mind. I loved him because he would tell Scott stuff like, “You know she’s building a baby in there right? She’s doing all the hard work so at this point your job is to worship her like the goddess she is.”
Later he advised Scott to give me foot massages and to take over doing the dishes because it’s hard for her to lean over a sink with a big belly in the way. So this “let your husband sleep if your water breaks in the middle of the night,” comment threw me off and pissed me off as I already mentioned. Now I like to think that he was joking and I just missed it. At the time I was thinking you’ve got to be kidding. I’m the one about to go through labor and delivery, one of the most difficult physical experiences of my life, and I’m supposed to be worried about HIM getting enough sleep?
But suddenly at 2am I appreciated the advice. Because suddenly I wasn’t ready to go to the hospital. I wasn’t READY to give birth. It’s only the 8th of September. Hulloooooo… the baby is due on the 9th. I’m a procrastinator. It’s hard enough for me to get anything done on time… let alone EARLY. This has to be a mistake.
I ordered Scott back to bed. "JUST GO TO SLEEP. It’s fine. Sleep."
“Yeah right. You really think I can sleep now?!?”
“DOCTOR’S ORDERS! GOOOOOO!”
And then I did a load of laundry. Emptied the dishwasher. Finished packing my hospital suitcase. Showered. Did my hair and make-up. Composed and sent several emails. Ate some oatmeal because I knew I'd be cranky enough on that delivery table without adding HUNGRY to the mix. All of this was between painful contractions, which I was trying to pretend weren't happening, and all while Scott yelled occasionally from the bedroom, "NOW what are you doing???"
“Watering the plants. Go to sleep.”
And as long as he was already awake, I vacuumed. I mean my mother-in-law would be visiting, right? Somewhere along the way I called the doctor, who was just as laid back as I needed him to be. He did tell me it was time to head to the hospital. But that there was no need to run any red lights.
Mind you, I’m not one of those obsessive compulsive the house must be perfect at all times types. I’m somewhere on the other end of that spectrum, unfortunately. My cleaning the house and other tasks were mostly just serving the purpose of keeping me away from the hospital at that point. Because here’s the thing: I’m not really a worrier. Well okay I’m an extreme worrier. No. Well okay, the thing is that I’m a product of both of my parents....my dad was the calmest dude on the planet. His words still ring out in my ears on a regular basis: There’s no point in worrying, Dione. If there’s something you can do about it, do it. If there’s nothing you can do about it, then what’s the point in worrying?
My mom, on the other hand, wrote the book on worrying. She could find something to worry about in the most harmless of situations. At best those roller skates would lead to bumps and bruises. At worst you’d roller skate past some kid practicing fishing in a bucket and you’d lose an eye when that hook hit you. (Okay, this actually happened to my sister. Though she sees fine today, it permanently ruined roller skating for all of us. Because roller skating is DANGEROUS!)
When it came to this labor and delivery thing I’d chosen to go with my dad’s theory. Though I worried about the baby, I didn’t bother worrying about the actual delivery. I’d hear other pregnant women freaking out about every detail...the pain, the embarassment, the possible complications... and just think this kid is coming out one way or the other whether I like it or not. Worrying would be pointless. This worked out pretty darn well for the first nine months. More precisely, it worked right up until my water broke or until I thought my water broke and then all bets were off. I immediately turned into my mother and I completely freaked out and worried about EVERYTHING.
At some point Scott told me if I didn’t hurry up he was going to the hospital without me. Such a tempting offer… Could we make that work somehow, do you think?
But THEN we went to the hospital.
(Sorry this post got way longer than I expected. At this rate the story might last longer than the actual labor. I'm on official birthday-celebrating-duty today so consider this "to be continued...")
So each year at bedtime on their birthdays, if we have time and if I remember, I tell the girls all about the day they were born. Well okay, I tell them a very watered down, shortened version of the events of the day. Because at this age I don't think they really need the blood, puke and swearing version right before they drift off to dreamland. I've always meant to write down the long version though so here goes...
Seven years ago today I awoke somewhere around 2am, startled. Sat bolt upright on the couch and flipped the light on immediately. I may have said something along the lines of, “Oh crap!” because it was either that or the light being turned on that woke Scott up. Before he woke up, clearly also startled, half asleep on the floor, mumbling, “What??? What’s wrong?” I had no clue that he was in the living room with me.
I’d taken to sleeping on the couch during the later months of my pregnancy because it was more comfortable and easier to get up for the what seemed like dozens of trips to the bathroom each night. Plus I wasn’t sleeping well and I could watch TV without disturbing Scott. But on this night, we’d both fallen asleep watching a movie and he hadn’t gotten around to moving to the bed. When I realized he was there I switched the light off and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I think maybe my water just broke. You should go get in bed.”
This didn’t go over as peacefully as I’d hoped. “WHAT?!? Your water just broke and you want me to go to BED?!!??!”
“Yep. Yeah… I think so. That would be good. I’m not actually sure it broke.”
I really didn’t want to tell him that part. That I wasn’t sure. A week or so before I’d gone to the doctor because I was spotting and they hooked me up to a monitor to make sure all was well. The nurse, looking at the print-out as it rolled off of the machine, said calmly, “Tell me when you’re having a contraction.”
“Tell you when I’m having a WHAT?!?” I asked, slightly shocked, then quickly deciding there’d probably just been a lack of communication, I explained, “Oh I’m not having contractions. I just came here because I’m spotting a bit and wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
She looked at me and then at the print-out and then back at me with confusion and asked, “You didn’t feel that?!?”
“Feel what?”
“You’re having contractions. Strong ones.”
Holy crap. Breathe.
“I didn’t feel anything.”
“Nothing? No pain at all? No cramping?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
At that moment I was a happy little mixture of terror (Is the baby coming NOW?) and relief (If I can’t feel strong contractions at ALL, perhaps this childbirth thing is going to be way easier than I thought!)
Scott, on the other hand, was not even a tiny bit happy about my lack of feeling. It scared him. A lot. “You’re a woman. You’re supposed to know when you’re having contractions, aren’t you? It’s a good thing we came here. Otherwise you might have just woken up one morning and the baby would be laying there next to you and you’d be like How did that get there!?!” I told him that apparently living with him for so many years had completely numbed me to pain.
They ended up sending me home that day since I wasn't actually in labor yet. The contractions I was having were just preparing my body for labor. But when I had to tell him in the middle of the night that I thought my water broke instead of that I knew… I figured he was going to give me a hard time.
In the movies the water breaking is so OBVIOUS. It floods out all over the poor woman's shoes in a gush and usually provides a moment of comic relief for the audience. But it doesn't always work that way in real life. Often there’s just a small trickle and often your water doesn’t break at all and the doctor has to break it for you. I’d decided I was going to go that route. Better that the doctor breaks it than an embarrassing scene at the grocery store or something. Unfortunately, it turns out that you don’t actually get to decide.
At 2am, I awoke thinking I’d heard a POP! and then felt some wetness, but not much. One of those glamorous details they don’t always mention about pregnancy is that bladder control isn’t necessarily a given in the later months. Sometimes hard laughter or a good sneeze can lead to a little surprise. I’d been pretty lucky in that way in my first pregnancy but that night I wondered… Did I just wet my pants? Did I imagine that sound or dream it?
I’ll admit now, that I was pretty sure my water had broken but when it did, panic set in and I headed straight into denial. Scott was being all calm and logical about it… Okay well not calm exactly, but logical, and thought we should go to the hospital. Because when your water breaks that’s what you do, right? Except that I wasn’t ready to go to the hospital… and so I said, “Don’t you remember what the doctor said?”
We’d attended the “Everything You Need to Know About Labor and Delivery” lecture shortly before and my doctor had run down the list of ways you would know that it was time to go to the hospital. If you’re just having contractions it can be a little tough to figure out. But if your water breaks, that’s a pretty clear sign. He said if your water breaks you need to go to the hospital, because once your water breaks you need to deliver the baby within 24 hours… But then he added… unless of course this is your first delivery and your water breaks in the middle of the night while your husband is sound asleep. In this case, as long as you're feeling okay, there’s really no need to wake him right away.
He said that. I swear he did. I remembered it clearly because it completely pissed me off.
I loved my doctor too. He was this great combination of years of experience, a great reputation, a completely laid back attitude and a really wacky sense of humor. The first two things were important but the laid back attitude and the off-the-wall sense of humor were critical in my mind. I loved him because he would tell Scott stuff like, “You know she’s building a baby in there right? She’s doing all the hard work so at this point your job is to worship her like the goddess she is.”
Later he advised Scott to give me foot massages and to take over doing the dishes because it’s hard for her to lean over a sink with a big belly in the way. So this “let your husband sleep if your water breaks in the middle of the night,” comment threw me off and pissed me off as I already mentioned. Now I like to think that he was joking and I just missed it. At the time I was thinking you’ve got to be kidding. I’m the one about to go through labor and delivery, one of the most difficult physical experiences of my life, and I’m supposed to be worried about HIM getting enough sleep?
But suddenly at 2am I appreciated the advice. Because suddenly I wasn’t ready to go to the hospital. I wasn’t READY to give birth. It’s only the 8th of September. Hulloooooo… the baby is due on the 9th. I’m a procrastinator. It’s hard enough for me to get anything done on time… let alone EARLY. This has to be a mistake.
I ordered Scott back to bed. "JUST GO TO SLEEP. It’s fine. Sleep."
“Yeah right. You really think I can sleep now?!?”
“DOCTOR’S ORDERS! GOOOOOO!”
And then I did a load of laundry. Emptied the dishwasher. Finished packing my hospital suitcase. Showered. Did my hair and make-up. Composed and sent several emails. Ate some oatmeal because I knew I'd be cranky enough on that delivery table without adding HUNGRY to the mix. All of this was between painful contractions, which I was trying to pretend weren't happening, and all while Scott yelled occasionally from the bedroom, "NOW what are you doing???"
“Watering the plants. Go to sleep.”
And as long as he was already awake, I vacuumed. I mean my mother-in-law would be visiting, right? Somewhere along the way I called the doctor, who was just as laid back as I needed him to be. He did tell me it was time to head to the hospital. But that there was no need to run any red lights.
Mind you, I’m not one of those obsessive compulsive the house must be perfect at all times types. I’m somewhere on the other end of that spectrum, unfortunately. My cleaning the house and other tasks were mostly just serving the purpose of keeping me away from the hospital at that point. Because here’s the thing: I’m not really a worrier. Well okay I’m an extreme worrier. No. Well okay, the thing is that I’m a product of both of my parents....my dad was the calmest dude on the planet. His words still ring out in my ears on a regular basis: There’s no point in worrying, Dione. If there’s something you can do about it, do it. If there’s nothing you can do about it, then what’s the point in worrying?
My mom, on the other hand, wrote the book on worrying. She could find something to worry about in the most harmless of situations. At best those roller skates would lead to bumps and bruises. At worst you’d roller skate past some kid practicing fishing in a bucket and you’d lose an eye when that hook hit you. (Okay, this actually happened to my sister. Though she sees fine today, it permanently ruined roller skating for all of us. Because roller skating is DANGEROUS!)
When it came to this labor and delivery thing I’d chosen to go with my dad’s theory. Though I worried about the baby, I didn’t bother worrying about the actual delivery. I’d hear other pregnant women freaking out about every detail...the pain, the embarassment, the possible complications... and just think this kid is coming out one way or the other whether I like it or not. Worrying would be pointless. This worked out pretty darn well for the first nine months. More precisely, it worked right up until my water broke or until I thought my water broke and then all bets were off. I immediately turned into my mother and I completely freaked out and worried about EVERYTHING.
At some point Scott told me if I didn’t hurry up he was going to the hospital without me. Such a tempting offer… Could we make that work somehow, do you think?
But THEN we went to the hospital.
(Sorry this post got way longer than I expected. At this rate the story might last longer than the actual labor. I'm on official birthday-celebrating-duty today so consider this "to be continued...")
OMG gosh girl....you HAVE to submit this article to PARENTS magazine or something like! In fact...send it to every baby / parenting magazine you can think of!
ReplyDeleteI am going to keep repeating myself...you are a NATURAL born writer! Your writing style immediately sucks the reader in and leaves them wanting more, more, more! Finish this post please...I can't wait to read the rest!
Hugs
Cheri