Since I’m catching up on the goings on of the past few years. Obviously, Finn’s birth is one of those things and I loooooove a good birth story.
About a month before Finn’s due date, I went to see my OB for a check up. She confirmed that I’d already begun dilating which was great news. Of course, as a first time mom, I had NO idea what any of that really meant in terms of how soon I’d deliver, but I googled the heck out of it and found out it meant a whole lot of nothing.
Anyway, as the month went on, I continued to progress so my mom decided to come up. My doctor was convinced I’d go into labor early and my mom didn’t want to miss it. She loaded up and and drove from South Texas to Indiana overnight.
Then she waited for 5 weeks.
Paul began requesting one last slow Saturday morning breakfast with biscuits and gravy.
Then we ate that ever Saturday for the rest of October.
Everyone was getting super anxious. Like, every time I sighed or had heartburn or anything else, my mom and Paul were just CONVINCED I was in labor. Like, seriously, every deep breath was like “are you ok? Is this it??” NOOOOO. Eventually I just stopped talking about it.
By the time I reached my due date, October 28, I’d dilated to 5 cm and was almost fully effaced but there was no sign of real labor. I went to work for the next two weeks with a beach towel just convinced that my water would break when I was in some unbearable meeting and it would save me. Alas, that never happened. We kept on having people over all the time because Paul was super stressed he’d never have a life again or something. I was baking pretty much every day just to do something, so I guess it was good that people were around to eat it. Of course, Paul was also worried that I’d have the baby in the car on the drive to the hospital so he kept asking if I’d want one of his med student friends with more OB experience than him to ride to the hospital with us if they happened to be around when we went in. Umm…no. Nononononono. Thanks.
I went in to have my membranes stripped when I was about a week overdue. I took the rest of the afternoon off of work and had a few small contractions. I went to bed that night just praying that something would happen.
No such luck.
So, we continued to wait. I went walking every day, did some ridiculous Just Dance games, ate spicy food, did all of the super embarrassing tips I could find online, aaaaand nothing happened.
The next week, I went back in for a stress test and all was well. My OB said we could try stripping my membranes again, but the next Monday would be 42 weeks and she didn’t want me to go past that. I reallyyyyyy didn’t want to be induced so I just kept on try to get things moving. Again, I’ll spare you the details of the embarrassing things I did to GET THE BABY OUT OF MEEE!!!
By Friday, nothing had happened. My dad, sister, and brother came up to Indiana since we’d be inducing soon. I went to have my membranes stripped again that Friday and still nothing happened. By the time I went to bed on Friday, I was just resigned to being induced. My OB was on call on Sunday, so she said that it would be best if I checked in early Sunday morning to be induced. That meant Saturday we’d just be watching football and hanging out.
We all got up Saturday morning to get some meat on the smoker and have a couple of friends over to watch football games. While my family and Paul were hanging out at the house and getting some food ready, I went to the grocery store to pick up a couple of things for the day. While I was in the store, I began to *THINK* I was feeling contractions. But I had no idea what they were supposed to feel like, so after a couple of just kind of weird feelings, I started timing them. They were steady so I was pretty sure this actually was labor. FINALLLYYYYYY.
I finished the grocery shopping, went home, unloaded the car, and just kept timing them. They had started at 9 am or so and kept going. By 9:45, I decided to tell Paul that this may be it. I pulled him aside and kind of whispered, “sooo…I think I’m in labor…” I filled him in on the details and the first thing he says is, “ok, well I have this brisket…”
I’m in labor and he’s worried about the BRISKET?!?!! Thanks, Paul.
He explained that he needed to smoke it for about 10 or 11 hours (he’ll probably read this and tell me I know nothing about smoking meat and that time is wrong, but it was something like that) and he didn’t know whether or not to put the meat on the smoker. I figured that the contractions weren’t hurting yet, were still about 10 minutes apart, and I dunno, I’m a first timer, but I should have time….right?? And if not, I just hoped someone else could take over the meat smoking.
So he put the brisket on and we didn’t tell anyone anything for awhile. We just went on about our day watching football and hanging out with friends. Finally, at about 2 pm, I decided I should tell my family and the friends at our house. When I did they all said “oh well I was wondering why you were getting quiet and taking deep breaths every once in a while!” Sly, I am not.
And the day just went on and on and on. The contractions got a little longer and closer together, but they were really manageable so we just kept waiting. Finally, the brisket came off the smoker, we ate dinner, and Paul and I decided to go on a walk. We were a little worried that eventually things would progress really quickly and then I’d be almost 10 cm by the time we got to the hospital. I mean, we both knew it was unreasonable and unlikely, buuuuut, we the thought was still there. About 9:30 that night, we decided to make our way to the hospital. The contractions has picked up on the walk and were starting to come more often. They still weren’t *AS* painful as I’d expected (thanks, tv deliveries) so I was a little scared I’d get in too early. I knew they’d never turn me away because I was already so far progressed, but rationality is not my strong-suit when it comes to my own body/health/pregnancy.
To be continued….