Do you know what I was doing this time five years ago? I was in the hospital, staring down at this:
That’s my little J-Man. I don’t tell you too much about him, and I don’t share his photos, due to privacy concerns, but seriously? How beautiful is that?
It was a Sunday. August 6, 2006. I was nine months pregnant, and my baby was due in a week. It was going to be the longest week of my life. I was uncomfortable (understatement of the year) and couldn’t wait to meet the little person that had been growing inside of me.
My husband and I met my parents for brunch at one of our favorite local restaurants. The food was great, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I couldn’t get comfortable in my chair. I felt as big as a house. I just wanted to go home and lay on the couch. We got home, and I started feeling really crummy. Then I felt crummy again. Then again. All of a sudden it dawned on me, these are contractions! I am going into labor!
Now, when you take childbirth classes, you learn that when you start going into labor you probably want to eat a good meal, take a long shower, and maybe get a nap in. You’re supposed to call the doctor when you’ve been having contractions five minutes apart for at least an hour. In other words, the contractions should start out far apart then gradually get more frequent. When they are consistently frequent, you go to the hospital.
Let me tell you right now, future moms. Forget what you read in books about how labor is supposed to go.
(Also, while I’m at it, don’t wait until you are in labor to pack for the hospital. Or to install the baby’s carseat. Not that I would know.)
I started having contractions and they were about 10 minutes apart for a half an hour, then 5 minutes apart for about fifteen minutes, then 3 minutes apart… Um?
It was a Sunday, which meant I had to call the on-call doctor instead of my own OB/GYN. I was crushed to find out neither of my doctors was on call that day. The doctor who answered sounded less than thrilled that her Sunday was being rudely interrupted by the creation of life. She told me to call back when my contractions had been five minutes apart for an hour. I started to cry. Then she sounded a little bit nicer and said I could head to the hospital if I wasn’t sure.
Off we went.
Good thing we did.
At 7 P.M., after less than six hours of labor, J-Man was born.
It’s impossible to really express the love one has for their children. It’s a little hand reaching out to grab onto mine. It’s running to me for a hug and kiss after falling down. It’s asking me to lay down with him for a few minutes before leaving him at night. It’s having him look at me today and say “Mom, that was the best birthday party I’ve ever had.”