What did you do when you had finally had enough and wanted that baby out of you?
Eat certain foods? Drink nasty concoctions? Force your husband to have sex with you (Honey, I swear it is still down there somewhere!)? Do a crazyass WOD at your CrossFit gym that no man should even be able to do, let alone a pregnant lady who is about to pop out a baby any second (...Emily)?
Where were you when your water broke?
At home rearranging your entire house for the 37th time? In a restaurant, glaring at the little twerp screaming beside you (doesn't he know that this might be your last chance ever for a peaceful meal)? Using the bathroom in a BBQ restaurant (you know who you are...)? In the car, regretting having just gotten it cleaned? In Costco? What place was lucky enough to be graced with that bodily fluid of yours? I would like to point out for those who have not had the pleasure of this yet- there is no gushing of water like a dam has broken open. You basically think you are peeing yourself- which unless you were diligent with your Kegel exercises- you probably had done a number of times already. So, half of the time you don't even realize what's happening. You do however know- that you better get your ass in gear. (This is where I would recommend if you are, let's say at Costco- maybe you just leave your shopping cart and make your way to the door. Checking out is not necessary. Checking out with frozen items is just plain crazy [...Emily].)
How was your trip to the hospital?
Did you peacefully stroll through the automatic doors because you had already been there 10 times in last 48 hours with false hopes of labor? Did you almost run over 20 people with your car? Did you yell at your significant other telling him that you hated him for doing this to you and punch him repeatedly? Did you almost have your baby on the side of the interstate (...Emily)?
If I haven't heard your story - I would love to hear it. All the gory details. Now, here is mine...
I was immensely over the pregnant thing the minute I found out I was pregnant. (Not out of ungratefulness, but pure fear.) Towards the end though- I had many debates about how miserable I was and how badly I wanted that baby out vs. dealing with the repercussions... i.e. actually having the baby. Because, as bad as the end (or all) of pregnancy can be- you know that the only way out of it is for that watermelon to come out of you- one way or another. So, you kind of start weighing the pros and cons of your situation. Well, you start weighing the cons and worser cons.
My body apparently wanted to expel my child before I was mentally ready to start trying the induction tricks. Four days before my due date, I decided to go and get a pedicure; because, I happen to like my doctor and if she's going to have her head down there for who knows how long- I can at least give her some clean, callous-free feet with freshly painted toes to look at. And, I physically could not even pretend to reach my own feet, so hired help was a must. As I sat there and got knocked side to side by the rhythm of the massage chair, I recalled my last pedi where one of the workers came and turned off my chair! She shook her finger at me, saying that I could not do that chair because it might make me go into labor. At that point I was not that far along, so she freaked me out enough to listen. But, this time around I looked at my girl with a "hmmm... do I care?" expression. We exchanged looks with one another and as if she knew, she said nothing.
That night, my husband and I decided to go out to dinner. Yes, we tried to cram in as many last minute outings that we could, as we had been told multiple times, by everyone with a child, to do. The myth is that pregnant people love to eat- that is why they all get fat, right? Wrong. I did not enjoying eating. I was constantly nauseous. Nothing except for Wendy's fries ever sounded good to me. Not to mention that at the end of your pregnancy- you literally run out of room to keep anything else in your stomach except for a few bites. And, you are only allowed one measly glass of wine (doctor approved). It was all just really disappointing.
So, we tried a restaurant that I loved prior to getting knocked up... then got sick at while I was prego. (I will never look at chicken and waffles the same again.) I decided to suck it up and go back because Russ really wanted to go and nothing else, aside from Wendy's, sounded at all appealing anyways. I finally found something on the menu that had no meat (because that was hit or miss with me those days). Well, it just so happened to be eggplant parmesan. I really had not thought about it until after I placed my order- but soon remembered that it is a dish that supposedly induces labor. I was still in my I don't give a shit right now phase of the game and ate my 4 bites of dinner when it arrived. After I finished my one glass of wine, we boxed up the rest/basically all of my plate and headed home.
I did what had become my normal routine of rolling out of the car, waddling through the front door, kicking my flip flops off, and falling directly into bed where I would proceed to lay uncomfortably on my side for the next several hours.
This particular night, I started to get stomach cramps, which led to a lot of time in the bathroom, and me wanting to punch someone. Eventually, I realized that these cramps were coming every 2-3 minutes and that these cramps were actually contractions. (If you do not know this already- you become a total freaking moron when you are pregnant. I guess the baby is literally taking your brain cells along with everything else. Babies are basically just parasites.)
I call my doctor and she tells me to get my butt to the hospital. So, Russ takes me, my big butt, and my obnoxiously big bag to the hospital. At that time, we lived approximately 5 minutes from the hospital. So, I was not too worried about not making it in time. But, wouldn't you know that there was road construction at the one intersection between my house and the hospital. That poor construction worker will probably never forget the evil eyes of an extremely pregnant woman glaring at him from between her death grips on the 'oh shit handle'.
We finally arrived at the hospital and since it was so late at night, we lucked out and were the only ones in the waiting room- thus we did not have to wait long. And, thank goodness because as soon as we walked into the delivery room, I ran to the bathroom and puked my brains out. On the 3rd puking session I thought I had pissed myself- but the nurse informed me that it was actually my water breaking.
I had always planned on making it as long as I could before accepting an epidural. Why, I have no idea. It must again be because my IQ dropped once I became with child. To those of you who did not get an epidural/my new favorite drug on the planet- I do not understand you and I will never understand you. And, do not waste your time trying to make me understand you. At this point, I was dry heaving with every contraction and that needle could not get in my spine fast enough. (Consequently, I did vomit while the needle was in my spine- which was apparently a bad thing.) But, I did not care- because soon I could feel nothing below my waist and it was faaaaaabulous! (Insert jazz hands here.) I also got a catheter at this point, which became my new best friend. After months of having to get up every 30 minutes and pee, it was a dream come true being able to lay in that bed and piss away. I cried when they took it out, and not from the pain...
After the epidural and catheter made their way into my life/body, I was a whole new, half-functioning, person. And, I must admit that the rest of the delivery was not so bad. After a few hours, our little screaming bundle of joy, with huge swollen balls made his debut. (We had been warned about the swollen balls, but there was really no preparation for the first glimpse of them. I mean... wowza.) They also cannot prepare you enough for the fact that your baby will look like an alien after he squirms his way out of the good ole' birth canal. Poor kid. Poor canal.
I will save the rest of this story for another day because remembering all of this is starting to give me anxiety. I should probably have a glass of wine. Or, a bottle. Because, I can do that now.
Until next dwellivery,
Katie
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