Saturday, 7:14 p.m. Darling Husband and I were hanging out on the couch, watching the news a documentary a totally mature movie Disney/Pixar’s Cars. He loves that movie.
Saturday, 7:15 p.m. I felt a small gush in my underwear. “Oh! I think I just peed a little!” I told Darling Husband. “But … that’s weird, because I wasn’t laughing or anything … OH! There’s more! Aughh!” I paused. “Maybe my water broke?” Darling Husband looked panicked. “Well, go to the bathroom! Go check!”
Saturday, 7:16 p.m. I felt another small gush on the way to the bathroom. When I sat down on the toilet and pulled down my pajama pants, I saw the whole crotch was wet and yellowish. Damn, maybe it is pee, I thought. But it didn’t smell like pee, and when I touched the fabric, it was slimy.
Saturday, 7:17 p.m. Darling Husband refused to smell my wet pants (gee, I wonder why, ew), but I was convinced my water had broken. Unfortunately, from my reading, I knew that the fact that it was yellowish probably meant the baby had pooed inside of me.
Saturday, 7:18 p.m. Darling Husband brought me my cell phone, as I sat stranded on the toilet, and I called the labour assessment unit to tell them what happened. They said it sounded exactly like my water had broken, and to head to the hospital. Woo hoo!
Saturday, 7:19 p.m. Darling Husband flew into action, gathering up the been-packed-for-two-months hospital bags. I tried to wipe myself off, but the fluid kept slopping out of me. I soaked one pad completely and had to change it before I’d even left the toilet. It just wouldn’t stop coming out! I finally just yanked a pair of Darling Husband’s boxers overtop my underwear. By the time I stood up, I had soaked through the pad, my underwear, his underwear, and my pants. It looked like there was no end in sight, so I just grabbed a beach towel to sit on in the car.
Saturday, 7:35 p.m. Darling Husband dropped Little Dog off at his parents’ place, while I waited in the car excitedly making calls and sending texts. I wasn’t feeling any contractions, and other like feeling like a world-class pants-peer, I was doing great!
Saturday, 8 p.m. Darling Husband pulled up in front of the hospital, in the special place where you can park short-term in order to bring in your labouring wifey. We left the bags in the car for him to retrieve later, and booted it to the check-in desk.
Saturday, 8:05 p.m. After handing over my health card and signing a couple pieces of paper, we got to go up the special elevator that leads straight to the delivery area. I went right up to the desk and explained I was the girl who had called about her water breaking, and they couldn’t believe we were there so quickly. I was thinking, uh, what else was I going to do? Finish the movie???
Saturday, 8:10 p.m. I had remembered from our pre-admission tour that you were supposed to bring your underwear that your water had broken in, so they could test it to make sure it was amniotic fluid. I hadn’t been wearing underwear, but I’d dutifully brought my soaked PJ bottoms in a ziplock bag. They ended up just using the soaked pad for their test, but were impressed that I had brought the pants. Apparently no one remembers to do that. Gold star for me.
Saturday, 8:15 p.m. They wanted a urine sample, so I went to a little bathroom and peed in a cup. The fluid was still slopping out of me, and when I tried to stand up, it went all over the toilet seat and the floor. Gross! It took a while for me to get myself, the floor, and the seat cleaned up. Such a strange feeling to have slime leaking out of you!
Saturday, 8:30 p.m. I was reclined on a bed in a little “holding area” while they confirmed my water had broken. They strapped a few monitors on me, and determined I was having some mild contractions. Baby Boy’s heartrate was strong. All was good.
Saturday, 9 p.m.
The nurse dropped the bomb that I would need to be induced, even though I was already having contractions on my own. They said it was standard to induce me because I’d tested positive for Group B Strep
, and I think the baby-pooing-inside-of-me might have been a factor, too. I was not crazy about being induced, because I knew it would mean MAJOR PAIN, but I was fine with it.
Saturday, 9:30 p.m. After one false attempt (still have the bruise!), they got an IV started with just fluids.
Saturday, 9:45 p.m. We got to our delivery room, which was huge and really nice. It was identical to the room we’d viewed on our hospital tour, so it was nice to see a familiar place. Darling Husband went to move the car and get the bags, while I excitedly walked around, dragging my IV behind me.
Saturday, 10:20 p.m. I got changed into a hospital gown, pair of disposal underwear, and a giant hospital-issue pad. I was feeling the contractions, but they were still mild. My nurse bustled around, getting things set up for the induction.
Saturday, 11 p.m. The induction began exactly at 11 p.m. The nurse explained that the doses of Pitocin would go up gradually, every 30 minutes. It started at three, then would jump to six, and then double to 12, etc. until it reached a maximum of 120.
Saturday, 11:45 p.m. They still had not checked my cervix, so I had no idea how dilated I might be. I really wanted to know, but I was also afraid it would only be 1 cm — or not at all!
Saturday, 12 a.m. “The baby will definitely be born today!” I remember telling Darling Husband excitedly. I knew they wouldn’t let me be in labour for more than 24 hours, which meant he was definitely coming today, June 6. I knew his birthday! He was going to be born exactly one day early!
Saturday, 12:30 a.m. Mom and Little Sis were too excited to wait at home, so they popped in to see me. By that point, I was bouncing on the birthing ball, and starting to really feel the contractions. The nurse showed Darling Husband how to push my hips together during each contraction, and that helped a bit. I was able to talk to them in between contractions, but it was getting painful.
Saturday, 12:35 a.m. Mom nervously commented that the contractions seemed REALLY close together — like a little more than a minute apart. I briefly wondered if maybe I was at 10 cm, and the baby was going to pop out any second? Oh, if only!
Saturday, 12:36 a.m. The nurse noticed how close the contractions were, and asked Mom and Little Sis to leave so she could check my cervix. I laid on the bed and braced for it to hurt. It felt a tiny bit more painful than a pap test.
Saturday, 12:37 a.m. The nurse announced I was 1-2 cm. “That’s it???” I remember crying. It sounded like nothing at all. I told her I was choosing to be optimistic, and was considering it 2 cm.
Saturday, 12:45 a.m. The nurse said Mom and Little Sis were asking to come back in, but I said no. The pain was much, much worse, and it was all I could do to handle each contraction — as of yet, with zero pain medication. They asked if they could just say good-bye, but I refused. I didn’t want to see anyone except Darling Husband.
Saturday, 12:46 a.m. Darling Husband made the mistake of putting his hand too close to my mouth. As I squeezed it, I bit it.
Saturday, 12:47 a.m. Rest in between contractions. I apologized for biting him.
Saturday, 12:48 a.m. Grabbed both his thumbs and bent them to the sides.
Saturday, 12:49 a.m. Apologized for trying to break his thumbs.