**WARNING: This is LONG. It's definitely not the Cliffs Notes version. You will not hurt my feelings in the least if you skim.**
I really didn't think she was coming early.
I said that repeatedly in the days leading up to Laura's birth. And now I don't know if I really believed that or I was just really hoping to convince my body not to evacuate her before we finished up a million little things at home and/or packed our hospital bags, at the very least. I had a strange feeling with Will, especially over the last few months, that he would arrive before his due date. A whole month before that date wasn't quite detailed in my general feeling, but it just so happened to pan out for me. So by saying I wasn't feeling it this time around, I guess I thought maybe I could turn wishful thinking into reality.
Our Saturday started out innocently enough. We ran some errands, had some lunch, got some paint for the deck (which we're just now getting around to painting), came home. It was nice out and, on a whim, I decided to mulch the small space between our deck and the stone wall right next to it. Why this was suddenly such a pressing matter is still a mystery (especially seeing as I only got it partially finished because I ran out of mulch and it is STILL half-finished), but it was imperative that I complete this task sooner rather than later. I also felt it necessary to vacuum the car and clean all of its nooks and crannies, among other various menial tasks.
When I finished all of this, my extra 50 pounds and I were pretty pooped. But I'd made plans to make one of our favorite dinners (asparagus was in season so I made our old standby pasta with asparagus, prosciutto, and mozzarella--a Giada di Laurentiis recipe if anyone's interested) and so I did. And then I took a shower and began looking forward to capsizing into bed before beginning my nightly bedroom/bathroom/lather, rinse, repeat routine.
Freshly bathed, I walked into the kitchen, looked at the clock and prepared to go down to the basement. I was standing at the top of the stairs in my pjs at 9:26 when my water broke.
And my first thought, I'll be the first to acknowledge, was not exactly maternal. I actually said it out loud: "No effing way." (With the effing in its full glory, not abbreviated.) What I did next is still beyond me. Instead of the logical thing to do (go into the living room, approximately five steps from where I was standing, and tell Jamison what had just happened), I squeaked downstairs, sliding around in my gross, sticky, wet Crocs (which were the only things that fit my fat feet at this point and were on my feet since I'm one of those people who don't go barefoot, even in the house) and stood there looking around until I remembered that I should probably get a towel to contain the potential mess.
By this point, Jamison and Will were watching basketball on the computer (WVU was playing and our free cable had been so rudely yanked a few months back, hence the computer viewing) so I finally went back upstairs to interrupt them with the news. I think his reaction was something along the same lines as mine, probably minus the cursing. (Will, as expected, was completely oblivious.) So we got Will ready for bed and alerted my mom, who, after her initial disbelief (as she'd just left here two days prior with no signs pointing to imminent labor), began to prepare for the three hour impromptu journey here.
(Sidenote: I was actually really fortunate that my water didn't break earlier, as my doctor returned from the Dominican Republic Saturday night. I know that everyone thinks that
their OB is the best, but I honestly think mine wins. Seriously, I have a bit of a (completely innocent and appropriate) love affair with mine. I researched extensively before choosing him and was incredibly fortunate that he completely supports women who want to attempt a VBAC. In a lot of places, I'd have been automatically forced to have another c-section, as a lot of doctors won't even consider it as an option and there are lots of hospitals that don't allow them, either. My only regret is that I wish we'd lived here when Will was born so my Rockstar Doctor could have delivered him.)
In the interest of (relative) brevity, I'll just give an approximate timeline of events from here on out.
10:30ish--Contractions begin. We begin packing for the hospital. Jamison goes to the store for Depends and Gatorade. I try to "rest" but it's not happening. There's too much to do.
Midnight (Sunday)--Bags packed. Grammie en route. I "go to bed" only to listen to a bed partner (who shall remain nameless, but I think you can do the math) snore exuberantly. I to begin to dread each contraction. I know you're supposed to embrace them and go with the flow because "each contraction brings you closer to your baby" but whoever said that is either (a) a total masochist, (b) a man, or (c) both.
1:30 a.m.-- I begin to be seriously jealous of anyone who is sleeping while I pretend that those pesky contractions are going to go away so that I can sleep peacefully until morning and then have everything begin again soon after I wake up only to end in our daughter being born a few short, relatively painless hours later. Loud snoring continues.
2:30ish-- Mom gets here. I go downstairs to talk to her as a distraction.
3ish-- Try to go to bed again. In my state of restlessness, I read the "labor" section of
What to Expect. I avoid the "doom and gloom" section at the end that details about a frillion and one potential disaster scenarios that life could potentially hurl at you with little or no warning. Then because I have nothing else to do, I start timing contractions. What feels like fifteen minutes long turns out to be about 45 seconds long, about every four or five minutes.
4:30-- One minute long, every four to four and a half minutes. Snoring continuing at same regular pace. I start thinking about making the journey to the hospital. I'm still a little bit in denial that this is really happening.
6:00-- I wanted to wait longer, but I know the time has come to go to the hospital. I want to see Will one last time as my only child. I accidentally wake him up and thus leave the house to the tune of his mournful wailing. In retrospect, not my best plan.
6:30-- At the hospital. Slowly waddle in in a light rain. Whoever said walking eases the discomfort of contractions is also full of it.
Arrive at labor and delivery registration desk. Assume that all the pre-registration paperwork I filled out means I'll breeze right through this. Instead, I spend the next 10 minutes or so answering questions and filling out paperwork, while gritting my teeth and mentally cursing loudly and emphatically at this poor girl behind the desk who's only doing her job. Apparently all that paperwork I filled out months ago meant nothing.
7ish-- I am finally escorted to a tiny room, given a gown, hooked up to various monitors and perched in the most uncomfortable bed in the world. The tv has some sort of problem with speakers that make everything sound really strange and tinny, like we're underwater. Or actually, like
I'm underwater, seeing as I'm in this room alone. For whatever reason, Jamison can't come back with me at first. I watch the "relaxation" channel but can't take the vibration from the speakers so I settle on some good old Law and Order (Under the Sea Edition). These contractions haven't gone away. They appear to Mean Business. It turns out that writhing around in an attempt to escape them isn't as fun without an audience.
7:30ish-- Resident who appears to be 19 comes in to see if I am, in fact, in labor. She also appears to be perhaps the least confident candidate to make this assessment but I give her a break because she seems nice enough. And she waited until a contraction was over before she did her exam. Seems that I am in labor after all, despite the fact that whatever test she was supposed to be doing didn't work out for whatever reason. (Tangent: It's funny that you ever wonder how you'll be sure you're in labor. How could you not really know? Yet another reason those "I didn't know I was pregnant until there was a baby being born in a Taco Bell bathroom stall" shows are b.s.) Young Resident declares I'm 1 cm dilated, a crushing blow after about seven good hours of steady contractions. Visions of another c-section loom.
9:30ish-- After being moved to a real She's Having a Baby Room, I decide to get in the tub. Which feels nice. Until I have to get out to be monitored the requisite 15 minutes per hour. Or more likely until I get out and realize that the tub brought on Even Worse Contractions. So now I have to lie in bed, hooked up to monitors and such, which means that there's really no moving around in order to alleviate the blinding pain for the next 15 minutes. I begin to wonder how the human race survived with childbirth being as it is.
10:30ish-- Enough of the "no drugs is better for the baby/ epidural will slow progress/ you'll surely have another c-section if you choose a medicated delivery" school of thought. If someone-anyone, a homeless man with a rusted butter knife, perhaps- had offered to do another c-section at this point, I would have caved in about three seconds to just have it over with. The prospect of doing this for who knows how long with no end in sight has taken the wind out of my swollen sails. And, above all, I'm tired. No sleep the night before plus mulching madness/car cleaning/delicious dinner has done me in.
10:45-- The man who administers my epidural now becomes The Nicest Man Ever. Getting through the three or four contractions I had while "holding still" remains one of my proudest accomplishments to date (besides my actual children, of course). Epidurals are now officially The Best Medical Advance Ever. (I thought it was the strangest feeling ever when I had one with Will since I wasn't in any serious pain when I got it. This was definitely not strange, just sweet relief and the promise of lying around until this baby decided to make her exit.
I'll skip over some unimportant parts since this is becoming an epic tale. But various key family peeps arrive during the afternoon (thanks, family peeps!). Slow progress is made throughout the day and evening.
Around 9:30ish, I'm fully dilated, the doctor is there, but the baby is posterior. My doctor tries to turn her to no avail. He leaves to try to let things happen of their own accord. And lo and behold, they do.
10 p.m.ish Pushing begins. To my surprise, the epidural doesn't take away the kind of strange feeling of a child getting ready to make her exit from your body.
10:57 Laura Lea Queen makes her grand entrance. I think my first words to her were "Oh my goodness!" Even though I could certainly feel her exit, I still couldn't believe she was really there, crying on my chest.
On a related note, one of the (in my opinion, anyway) best writers in the world, Catherine Newman, says this about the birth of her son: "But when I looked into Ben's serene little face, the world stopped and started and I became, in an instant and forever, a mother." And while I was already a mother, it's the same feeling the second time around. In an instant and forever. Exactly.
11:15ish Family members meet their newest addition. Will wants us to take her hat off. Everyone agrees that she's perfect. She looks just like her big brother. Who was also perfect.
And that, as I remember it, is the day our sweet daughter came into our lives.
