I am still shocked that my water broke this time. Like, not movie dramatic water breaking, but it totally gushed multiple times. Why are there no water breaking 101 practice scenarios?
HERE’S YOUR PEE CUP AND THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE WHEN YOUR WATER BREAKS.
My birth story began when…
I kept telling people I wouldn’t make it to my due date. They looked at me like I was a naive first time mom.
I told them I would deliver at the end of January. They looked at me with a smile saying ‘suuuuuree you will’.
At the same time I was telling my unborn child to stay put until after I gave my mom her final hoorah birthday party. You know, because you can plan when babies show up.
Still, no one believed me. Shocking, right?
Well… we gave my mom a kickass 50th birthday party. Sure, she might have cleaned up her party because my cankles were out of control, but it was great..
And then my body started getting ready to deliver a baby. I shit you not, guys! Things got rolling as soon as my oh-so-important birthday party was over. My child was FINALLY listening to me!
The next day I waddled my happy ass around the car show so my boys could admire their toys. I figured it would get my very closed cervix to open! I didn’t need a lot of progress but a girl loses a piece of her soul each time the doctor says “no progress.”
By golly, it worked!
I sort of remember the fetus moving to the point of no return around the Mercedes display. Which only reinforces how poor I will be when my boys get older.
Monday was full of irregular contractions but meh, they didn’t hurt so I gathered the items for my hospital bag like any good pregnant woman. Of course Michael had to spread everything all over the floor because he was ‘helping’. Thanks, kid.
And since every woman likes to get their nails did before pooping on the table, my ‘would rather game than paint her sister’s toes’ sister dressed up my talons and told me how swollen my ankles were.
Sister love at its finest.
Tuesday consisted of more contractions. Again, they didn’t hurt so I went about my day without tracking them. Why bother tracking Braxton Hicks, I thought.
I did, however, tell Michael to add his clothes to my bag so my mom didn’t have to bring his underwear to the hospital again. He didn’t listen.
Fellas, when the very pregnant chick actually wants to landscape her very neglected hedges, you need to listen up. Shit’s about to go down. We don’t shave because we care what you think. Hardly. We shave because who knows who will be holding up our legs when it’s time to push.
There was something about Wednesday morning that felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that I peed 3 times in 1 hour. Or maybe it was Michael’s teacher telling me I looked like I was going to have a baby any day now. Or maybe it was the overwhelming urge to buy food for the house, but not fresh food, only freezer ravioli and pot pies… just in case.
Something was happening even if I didn’t bother to track the contractions.
And then the glorious news I had been waiting for… I was 1cm and my cervix was soft at 2cm long! YES! Triumph! Multiple days of contractions had paid off… even if they were just silly irregular contractions that happened to be slightly uncomfortable.
And then it happened. My water broke!
Michael got home from school around 9:30 pm and I felt a gush. ‘Damn it all to hell, lady bits! Seriously? I can’t wait for this pregnancy to be over so my leaky fucking vagina will stop with all of this nonsense.’
I was annoyed.
I sat down on the toilet and heard a little tinkle. Mmmkay. And then there was blood. Bright red blood. You have my attention, leaky vagina!
I called my doctor and she said to rest and see if anything happened over the next hour. It could just be fluid from being checked, so I crawled in bed with a chicken sandwich and used the Daddy511 app to track my contractions. You know, the contractions that were at best uncomfortable. Totally not the real thing because real contractions hurt, I thought.
Except, the app was telling me they were 3 minutes apart. No way! Surely I was doing something wrong because 3 minutes apart meant I should be at the hospital. Was I even tracking the right feeling?
And then another gush at 10:47. And again at 11:15.
OK. OK. I get the point!
And then I filled another pad on the 45 minute drive to the hospital. Mind you, it was 12:30 am at this point.
And then there was more bright red blood when I peed in triage.
And then my fluid ‘looked like a fern’ under the microscope. (I guess that is what happens when it’s amniotic fluid.)
And more gushing.
And then I was admitted with contractions 3-4 minutes apart and a rupture. Are you fucking kidding me? I thought contractions 3 minutes apart were supposed to hurt? What the what? Who knew.
I tried to sleep. Honest. Anyone who tells you to rest while dealing with contractions deserves to be punched in the face. It’s impossible unless you are the spouse.
We will check you after a few hours of contractions to see if you make any progress, they said. We don’t want to give you Pitocin unless you stop progressing, they said.
Except a few hours turned into being checked at 5am. Fine. Whatever. Give me my final apple juice so I can get my damn epidural. I’m done. No more. I made it to 4-5cm, just like last time. Natural births are NOT for me. I’m fucking tired and cranky. Unlike my sleeping husband. Fuck!
And at 7:30 am I was 5cm.
And at 9:15 am I was 7cm.
And then it hurt so fucking bad again. Surely my vagina was falling out! This is not what I signed on for! OMG! I went from 7-10 in 30 minutes, just like with Michael, and it was time to push. Except I didn’t want to. I mentioned the nightmares stemming from Michael’s delivery. I told them about his shoulder getting stuck. I told them I was scared it would happen again, so they called in a backup doctor in case this baby decided to hangout down below for a few hours, too.
Only he didn’t delay the party. Maverick was born at 10:11 am WITHOUT the shoulder doctor!
The doctor delivering Maverick blew my freaking mind! She was SO MUCH better than the first. She was constantly lubing her fingers and running them around the head. She numbed my perineum and gave me a 2ish stitch episiotomy when she saw his head was struggling to escape. She is the reason I didn’t scream. I might have gotten slightly teary eyed when he was crowning because … uhhh … crowning, but I didn’t scream.
And then he was out. And then I delivered my placenta. And then she tried to collect as many potential clots as she could. She’s my hero.
It was one of those deliveries where you sit back and say “I could do that again. Maybe having kids isn’t that bad after all.”
Afterwards, I asked that the grandparents wait FOREVER to see Maverick. On purpose. All I cared about was Michael seeing his little brother for the first time. Before everyone else. Just thinking about Michael walking through the door and being able to spend a few private minutes with my new family was all I needed to forget about my aching vagina and cramping uterus.
Our little moment was perfect even if it royally pissed off Michael because ‘his parents had been there forever’.