Both before, and after, I got pregnant, I would often hear mothers talking about how beautiful their birth experiences were. Really, ladies? Beautiful? Perhaps they’d suffered from some sort of post-baby amnesia and forgotten all of the pain that comes with labor and delivery? That was the only valid explanation since beautiful seems a far stretch in the adjective department. I mean sure, the final product of the experience was bound to be pretty extraordinary but the path getting there, not so much! I hated these women…I just knew they were lying to me. They wanted me to suffer right along with them. When thinking back at this mindset, however, I must meekly admit my mistake. I’d been wrong (this rarely happens…just ask my husband!)
It was a Tuesday morning, 10 days past my due date. My stubborn little girl seemed to have found a nice comfy spot that she was not so willing to leave. I’d begun mentally preparing myself for the induction that I hadn’t wanted, but was apparently going to need. After another appointment with my OB, he decided to “check me” one last time. I assumed this was purely for shits and giggles since I hadn’t been making any progress thus far, but I dutifully placed my feet in those stirrups and waited for him to tell me nothing had changed. Well this particular check was slightly more intense and seemed to take longer than any of the others had. Slightly concerned, I began wondering what he was up to. Once he’d finally finished, he informed me that, I’d dilated to a lovely 2 cm! I lie there in disbelief and then heard him say, “Oh, and I went ahead and did a membrane sweep today.” Thanks for the warning doc…that explained the extra lovely examination.
Despite the fact that my doctor insisted the sweep would not put me into labor, I started having some sporadic, but intense, contractions. Throughout the rest of the day, they would come and go, but I chalked them up to the same Braxton Hicks I’d been experiencing for about a month. The hubby and I had dinner that night, cleaned up, lounged around, and then climbed into bed.
Around 10pm, my contractions started coming every 7-8 minutes. I told my hubby, Ryan, to get some sleep; called my mom and told her the same thing. I had a funny feeling we’d be taking a trip to the hospital early the next morning. I tried to lay down and was increasingly uncomfortable. The contractions started getting closer, and before 10:30 they were 1-2 minutes apart. At this point, Ryan was awake again and insisted that we go to the hospital. I got up and started calmly walking around the house, putting the last minute things into my bag, while Ryan frantically raced around. He was looking at me like I was insane and couldn’t quite understand how I was staying so calm. By about 11, we were in the car and making the 45 minute drive to the hospital…