April 29: Pre-Game

And now, for my memory and your entertainment...



A Birth Story. Part One.



On the morning of Wednesday, April 28th, I went to my 39 week doctor's appointment. I measured at 3 cm and was 80% effaced. Dr. Williams assured me that this baby would be coming on his own, and since I had dearly hoped to avoid induction I was thrilled with that news.



I returned to work, enjoyed lunch out with coworkers, and laughed as my colleague Laura predicted that Riggs would come the next day.



Flash forward to Wednesday evening. I made a delicious dinner of Mama Dot's shrimp casserole and had just cleaned up the kitchen and settled in to a Tivo'd episode of Glee when I suddenly felt a wave of nausea. I mentioned to Jonathan that I didn't feel well.



Five minutes later, I was sprinting for the bathroom. Hasta la vista, shrimp casserole.



I suddenly had memories of my mother's labor stories, which definitely began with....um...stomach issues. Hmmm...



I went to bed, and awoke with pain at 1 a.m. Assuming that the dehydration of being sick was causing Braxton Hicks contractions, I got out of bed and began to sip water.



The pain continued.



Suddenly, all I could think about was a warm bath, so I started the water and proceeded to spend the next hour in the tub with what began to be regular contractions.



At 2:15 a.m. I woke Jonathan, who was remarkably calm and began timing my contractions. They were already 3-4 minutes apart! Holy cow. We had not packed hospital bags (I know. Dumb.) and the house was not exactly tidy, so in between contractions we got everything squared away. Jonathan encouraged me to take a shower and wash my hair (the man is a genius), and by 4 a.m. we were ready to roll.



My contractions were strong but bearable through deep breathing and lots of "Ahhhh-ing," squatting, and rocking. But a few of them were strong enough to make me throw up, and as we were leaving the house and loading the car I began to throw up in the front yard. I sent Jonathan into the house for a plastic bag in case I continued to get sick in the car.



And there, as I continued to vomit in my yard and lean over the car, breathing through a contraction, I looked up and saw a man walking his dog...at 4 a.m....down our street.



I suddenly realized how strange I looked, all alone in my yard, looking like a total drunkard. I could just imagine him calling Memphis City Police on his cell: "Ummm, officer...there is a drunk pregant woman puking in someone's yard over here..."



So without thinking I just yelled out, "I'm in labor! We're going to the hospital! My husband is coming!"



The dog walker was PUMPED.



"Man, that is AWESOME! I mean, are you ok? I'm your neighbor. Don't worry, my dad is a neonatologist and my sister is a post-partum nurse so you aren't weirding me out at all."



Great. I'm glad this isn't awkward for you. Because I feel fabulous.



I tried to smile and nod through the contraction as he made small talk, and couldn't help but laugh as Jonathan came out the front door and a total stranger yelled, "Congratulations, Man!"



"Ummm...thanks!" he replied.



And with that, we loaded the car and hit the road to the hospital...