Welcome to Mommy Mondays, my designated day to discuss all things Parenthood. Today, in anticipation of the upcoming birth of my son, I'm telling Parts I & II of my daughter's delivery story.
After a little bout with pain two weeks before my due date, The Gorilla and I decided to induce labor at 39.5 weeks. Both control freaks, the idea of knowing exactly when this whole baby-birthing thing was going to go down was appealing.
So we set the date for Tuesday. The date had a nice ring to it. We made arrangements for my parents to arrive on Monday. I packed a bag, slept hard, everything was under control.
We had big plans for how we were going to spend our last weekend just us. We thought we might go down to the beach, have a nice dinner, wax nostalgic.
This is the part where God laughs big belly laughs at your plans.
Friday night we had a late dinner at Hot Wings Café. My choice. Not because spicy foods are one of the wives’ tales that bring on labor, but because I actually like hot wings. This was our last dinner out as Tremaine-Family-of-Two.
Saturday morning we woke up early and The Gorilla went and got donuts, my favorite Saturday morning breakfast. He was home in time for kickoff of the OU/TX game. Watching this game involved a lot of screaming at the TV. And jumping up and down. I joked in my facebook status that the game was going to send me into labor. The Gorilla laughed nervously and suggested more than once that maybe I shouldn’t get so excited over it.
I brushed him off and marched upstairs at halftime to make some crab dip. We ate the bubbling, cheesy, amazing crab dip with blue corn chips while sitting cross legged in the middle of our bed. The Sooners lost the game, but it wasn’t totally unsatisfying.
We spent the rest of Saturday afternoon in our favorite way. We didn’t do anything. No beach. We never even got out of our jammies. I read, The Gorilla messed with his turtles. We both napped. It was perfect. Maybe we’ll go to the beach tomorrow, we said.
About six o’clock, we wandered sleepily to the kitchen and ate leftover hot wings and pizza and whatever else we could scrounge out of the fridge. We sat at the bar, both with our laptops, and chatted about whatever we were browsing through on the ‘net. The movie Hancock came on and we didn’t change the channel.
I decided I wanted to make cookies. While I was spooning them onto the cookie sheet, I felt an undeniable Braxton Hicks contraction. I hadn’t had many of these, and was surprised at the tightness.
“Feel my stomach,” I commanded my husband. As soon as his hand touched my belly, there was a gush of…something.
I gasped (what was that?!) and ran to the bathroom. We talked through the bathroom door. Was that my water breaking? It didn’t seem like enough liquid. It wasn’t nearly the explosion they always show in the movies. But it was more than a little something. What was it? We didn’t know.
I came out of the bathroom and The Gorilla asked, “Do you want to call the doctor? What do you want to do?”
“I want to finish making these cookies.”
And so I did. They were so yummy.
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Check back in a few hours for Pigtail's Delivery Story, Part 2: Can I Get a Room with Windows, Please?
