That didn't go how I imagined.
On Tuesday, July 13th we welcomed Ethan - the newest member of our little family. I also joined the ranks of those somewhat disappointed in their birth experience, but not for the reasons you might think.
Around 5pm I was lying down, #1 Son and I watching some cartoons together when I felt a distinct "pop." Checking out the situation, I couldn't decide that my water had broken or contractions had begun. I mean I had one or two, but that was not unusual at the 38-weeks stage of the game. Still puzzling, I called the hospital. Unfortunately for me - I got the OB on call rather than any of my doctors. Oh no, she insisted. You'd be leaking fluid or having timable contractions. Call if you have that. This is despite my relaying yet again that labor with my last child never had timable contractions to start. Waited awhile, H came home. Still didn't feel right, so we made the decision to have Daniel spend the night at his cousin's house for a sleepover. If it was nothing, so be it. But if we had to head to the hospital, then he was taken care of. H drove Daniel several towns over.
In the time it took him to make this trip, and start the return I was suddenly having knock you off your feet contractions extremely close together. All I could think was - even if H makes it back, how am I getting to the hospital like this???
I called 911. Embarrassingly, this of course means that the whole circus shows up: fire department, police and the EMTs. They loaded me up in the ambulance, just as H finally made it through traffic back to our place. We all took off for the hospital. The EMTs were asking me questions, while sticking an IV in my arm, and can I just say that their gurneys seem frighteningly small to a whale of a pregnant woman who is flailing around trying to get a handle on her pain? I kept grabbing for something to hold onto, and hitting the button that collapses the back of the gurney. At some point the guy in the back with me yelled, Hey! Pull over and come help me, we're having a baby! Now I am not a yeller, but my high-volume response was: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! Pushing on that tiny gurney was going nowhere, so we continued to the hospital.
We came bombing into labor and delivery, and the only thought pitter-pattering through my tiny brain at that point was: Oh thank god, now they can give me something. I've had my eyes screwed shut the entire time, panting (nearly hyperventilating) against the pain. And then I hear from the nurse: Honey, you're fully dilated. It's time to push.
Nonononono. NO! This is the hospital! This is supposed to be where I get the drugs! After what seemed like an unimaginable amount of time, cajoling from the nurses, and a bit of what felt like browbeating from the doctor - who was most decidedly not my favorite person at this point - baby Ethan was born. It was only later that I cobbled together from bits of paperwork the information that they admitted me at 10:17pm and Ethan was born at 10:40pm. That's a grand total of 23 minutes in Labor & Delivery folks!
Eeks. Apparently I go from 0 to 60 in no time when it comes to having children. Daniel was around a 12 hour labor, and that makes Ethan around 5 or 6 hours. The important thing is we're all home, happy and healthy. I'm breastfeeding and short on sleep, but that's the way these early stages go. And IF there are any more children in my future? I think I'm announcing my pregnancy, and scheduling my C-section all at the same time.