For his first couple of months, Connor could only wear either preemie or newborn-sized clothes. He was born at 5 pounds 15 ounces, and was 21 inches long — average length, but way below average weight.
Aaron and I had naturally assumed that we’d have a big baby, since we’re both tall, and since I was a hefty 9 pounds and change when I was born, so we hadn’t stocked up on newborn sizes as we were hitting the garage sales this summer. We got a few things, but not even enough to get us through a week (depending on the amount of spit-up and number of diaper blowouts). Luckily, my Aunt Connie brought us some hand-me-downs from my cousin Jamie’s son, but they were mostly sleepers. I wanted Connor to have some cute clothes that actually fit, and that might be just a smidge geeky. (Don’t worry: we have plenty of appropriately geeky babywear once he reaches the 6-month sizes.)
So, one Saturday last month, we went out on a baby clothes shopping spree: babyGap and Old Navy. (Yes, when you have an infant in tow, two stores is a spree.) We focused on long-sleeved onesies, since it was getting to be autumn, and we stayed in the clearance section as much as we could, especially at the Gap. Our haul gave us about six onesies and a guayabera, in under-7-lbs and 0-3 months sizes.
I’ve also been hitting online sales and using coupons that I find in the parenting magazines I read now. Gymboree was good for a sale on out-of-season clothes, so I got Connor five pairs of shorts (half of which will likely fit, and half won’t, since I got different sizes to be sure), a Hawaiian-themed jumper, and a bucket hat (which, again, may not fit once spring arrives). The corduroy overalls I got him, even though they’re size 0-3 months, will be way too big for at least another month.
Carter’s has been good for sales and coupons, too, so I got him a newborn-sized hoodie and pants set and a warm fuzzy jacket for the fall and winter. Those were actually some of the first clothes I bought for him online, and the hoodie and pants have gotten a lot of use, especially since he only has about three pairs of pants that fit. (He only really wears pants when we go out on the weekends, though.)
So, here is a sampling of Connor’s newest gear. Some of it was on clearance, so I couldn’t get images, and I bought a few things on eBay that I didn’t include, but this covers the most part.
Oh, and you’d better believe that I’m going to splurge on Baby Vans and Baby Converse as soon as Connor can walk. 😉
My little squigglebug is growing so fast! You’ve outgrown the preemie onesies and jammies that your Great-Aunt Connie brought you last month, and you’re outgrowing most of your newborn clothes. You get too long for footie pajamas before they get too tight around the chest, and Mommy and Daddy are thinking this issue with finding clothes to fit your height might be a trend that continues throughout your life. Sorry about that.
You’ve definitely hit some growth spurts recently — most notably at six weeks, when you ate and ate and ate and then ate some more. This week, you’ve just been straight-up fussy, and we’re thinking it might be tummy troubles, since you seem to calm down when we give you medicine drops for gas. Sometimes.
It breaks Mommy’s heart when she can’t calm you down. Sometimes Mommy gets frustrated, too, and has to put you down and let you scream for a few minutes while she calms herself down. It’s hard to remember sometimes that Connor’s having just as bad of a time as Mommy is — maybe even more so, since you can’t tell me what’s wrong, and all you can do is cry.
One thing that’s been helping recently is the MobyWrap. Mommy ties it on, puts you inside, and you’re asleep in a matter of minutes. Sometimes Mommy needs to walk around for a little while first, bouncing and shushing, but not for long. Then Mommy gets to do some cleaning or blogging (you’re fast asleep with your head lolled back and your mouth hanging open as I write this).
Now that you can hold your head up a little better, you’ve decided you like the bouncy seat that Great-Aunt Connie and Bonnie got you, too. That’s a big help for Mommy and Daddy: that means we can put you someplace besides the swing when you’re awake and we need our hands free. Sometimes you’re in a swing mood, and sometimes you’re in a bouncy seat mood — I wonder if it’s not because you like to be with us when you’re awake, but don’t mind swinging in the corner when you’re sleepy.
You’re starting to grab at objects and hold them tight. You like to cuddle with Mr. Dog (when Mommy or Daddy puts him in your arms), and you grab onto your clothes while we’re trying to change you, and you grasp at Mommy while you’re breastfeeding (either her clothes or her boobie). You still can’t aim your arms very well, and you have no hand-eye coordination to speak of, but it’s cute to put a finger in your hand and have you grasp it tight.
Mommy and Daddy have started taking you out more often on the weekends. You usually sleep through our entire meal, whether it’s lunch or dinner, and then you keep sleeping through our visit to Starbucks afterward. If ever you do stir and start crying, we can usually rock your carseat to get you back to sleep. Unfortunately, you aren’t a fan of the pacifier yet, so we can’t just plug your cryhole. (We just bought you some new binkies today, though, and we’re hoping you’ll like them better!)
We’ve also taken you out in your stroller — your carseat snaps right into the top, which is handy. You’ve come with us on a walk around The Shops at Fallen Timbers and on the University Parks Trail, and you slept through most of both. We won’t get to take walks like this for long, since winter’s coming soon, so we’re taking advantage of what good weather we have when we can.
What else…? Oh, the smiles! How could I forget the smiles? You smiled at Mommy once when you were five weeks old, but it wasn’t until last week that you really started smiling more often. You’re not consistently smiley yet, but you’ve been uncomfortable with those tummy troubles, so we’ll just give it time.
This month has been a bit of a roller coaster. You sleep longer — five hours for your first stretch, three hours after that — and that makes the days easier to handle. But then you’ll be cranky and fussy, and that makes Mommy sad and frustrated. But then sometimes you’ll smile, and that makes everything better.
Someday, you’ll smile more often, and Mommy will be able to take a smiley picture of you.
“That’s not a head; I think that’s a scrotum!”
Lying there between contractions, I felt my heart sink as the realization set in: after eleven hours of unmedicated labor, I wasn’t going to get the natural birth I’d hoped for.
Time seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow to a crawl somehow as one of the nurses hit the call button and what seemed like half of Labor and Delivery instantly swarmed into my room. Dr. Ward’s face filled my field of vision for a moment, her blonde curls framing her face as she explained that they were going to take me to the OR for a c-section. The L&D staff surrounded my bed, preparing me to be wheeled down the hall — presumably, they were removing monitors, preparing my IV stand to be moved, that sort of thing, but I felt like the eye of the storm. I was still dealing with the pain of contractions, on top of dealing with the sudden turn my birth experience was taking; I couldn’t focus on the actions of everyone around me.
Unbeknownst to me, Aaron was having more trouble acclimating to this turn of events than I was. In the midst of the frenzy, he left my bedside (or was forced aside by the onslaught of medical staff) to lean up against a cabinet, lightheaded, trying to collect himself. That’s when the staff took note, and had him sit down for a moment (I’m sure they didn’t want to deal with my 6’3″ husband passing out in L&D). As I was being wheeled out of the room, Aaron called out to me to tell me he loved me. I called back from the door — they were moving me out fast — and told him I loved him, too, and that I’d see him in a few minutes. I could hear in his voice that he was freaked out, and that brief reassurance was all I could do to try to calm him.
The next minute or two felt like something out of a movie: I was flying down the hall to the Operating Room, watching hospital scenery go by — scenery I was denied seeing on my hospital tour, due to it being a sterile area. A contraction hit, and I clung to the bedrail like I had in the L&D room, only to be scolded: “Keep your hands inside!”
“OK, hands inside,” I repeated, and let go. With nothing else physical to focus on — no massage, no clutching to the bedrail — I was even more aware of my urge to push. As much to act as a help to myself as to assure anyone else, I said aloud, “I’m not pushing… I’m not pushing…”
I heard my nurse Karen somewhere behind me, reaffirming, “Yes! Don’t push!” I remember feeling a little irritated by her response — didn’t I just say I’m not pushing? But I was also glad to hear her familiar voice, and to know that someone was listening.
The doors to the OR swung open, and even more staff were there, ready and waiting for my arrival. The intricate ballet that happened next was hard to follow in my pain-haze: I heard Dr. Ward talking to the anesthesiologist as I was moved from the labor bed to the OR bed, discussing whether he could administer the spinal with me on my side or sitting up. As I was being transferred to the OR bed, the nurses explained to me that I’d feel like I was going to fall off, but not to worry: they wouldn’t let me fall. Once they’d transferred me, it was time to get my spinal — which, unfortunately, I had to sit up for; he couldn’t do it with me lying on my side for some reason.
Of course, as the nurses helped me into a sitting position, I felt another contraction coming on. Karen was right there again, her familiar, calming voice telling me to “breathe it out, just like in the room.” I remembered, and relaxed, and hissed my exhales and counted to ten. Again, I felt like I belonged on the (now-defunct) Discovery Health Channel as I braced myself, staying utterly still while the anesthesiologist inserted the needle, saying something to the other staff (and maybe me?) about how this was perfectly fine, how he’d had to do this during contractions before, and it was no problem.
I was catheterized at some point (I forget in the shuffle whether it was before or after the spinal), they put an oxygen tube in my nose — “More for the baby than for you” — and hooked more equipment up to my arms, so I was spread out in some sort of Jesus Christ pose. During this part of the prep, they also erected the screen that would keep me and Aaron from seeing the actual surgical procedure.
I could feel myself going slowly numb, and remembered something someone had said on a pregnancy podcast about the OR staff checking to see how numb she was before making the incision. For some reason, I was suddenly ultra-paranoid about the spinal not taking effect in time, so I asked, “Am I supposed to be able to feel anything?” I knew I hadn’t felt any contractions since the spinal, but I also had no sense of time, and I could feel some vague, numb sensations on the surface of my skin. They assured me that I’d feel some pulling sensations, and pressure, but no pain. I was glad that the podcasts I’d listened to had prepared me for the shortness of breath I might feel with the anesthesia, too, or I might have been freaked out by that. As it was, I was prepared for it.
Finally, finally, Aaron arrived, wearing scrubs. He was wide-eyed and shaking, and I could tell he was having a bad time of it. I almost felt guilty for being as calm as I was — I mean, I knew I was OK, but he’d had no such reassurance. I came to learn later that he was told that if I ended up having a spinal, he’d be allowed in, but if I had to be put under completely for the procedure for some reason, he’d see us in the Recovery Room. Not only that, but he’d had to change into scrubs and just wait, alone, outside the OR door, not knowing what was currently happening or what would happen.
Poor guy. No wonder he was so freaked.
As he stood by me and we said our hellos and everything’s-OKs, the nurses draped a warm blanket over his shoulders, and pushed a stool up for him to sit on — after they were convinced that he wasn’t, in fact, going to pass out and fall off. He sat near my head and held my hand (with some difficulty; we had to work around lots of IV tubing), and we waited for the cesarean to begin.
When they announced that they were starting the incision, I sat utterly still and waited to see what sensations I would feel. I barely felt a fingernail dragging across my skin, then a mild sensation that my skin was being moved around — Aaron told me later that I was, in fact, held open by big metal claws, just like on those medical reality shows on TLC.
It wasn’t long before someone — assumedly Dr. Ward — announced, “I’ve got one leg!” Soon Connor was out and was hastily peeked around the edge of the barrier (Aaron got a quick flash of Connor, but I couldn’t see him at all) before being whisked away to be evaluated.
I nearly cried when I first heard Connor’s voice coming from the adjoining room, letting out his first cries. Aaron and I looked at each other in shock and amazement (“Holy shit, we’re parents!”) before the nurses invited him into the room to be with Connor.
Then I was alone with the nurses in the OR, straining to hear Connor’s cries and the low cadence of Aaron’s voice talking with the nurses in the other room as he took picture after picture. The staff stitched me back up and discussed the remainder of their Labor Day weekend as I lay there alone, longing to see my baby. They discussed their dogs and my fibroids and whatnot, then ceremonially counted all their instruments three times over after they were done closing the incision.
As I stared at the wall with nothing to occupy my mind but my desire to see my newborn son, I memorized the times written on the whiteboard there. I had entered the OR at 13:30, or 1:30pm; Connor had been born at 13:47, or 1:47pm. The prep and surgery had only taken 17 minutes total.
In the midst of this, Aaron did come back with Connor and the nurses in tow, and there was much rejoicing and many photos taken:
And that’s how two became three.
One month ago yesterday, you turned your Daddy’s and my lives upside-down with your early arrival. We hadn’t even installed the car seat yet when you decided it was time to make your appearance. If you’d waited until the doctor had guessed your arrival date would be, you’d only be one week old instead of one month!
You’re Mommy’s little squigglebug, always flailing your long arms all over the place. For the first couple of weeks of your life, you kept your long legs folded up indian-style, but now you stretch them out regularly. This helps you squirm out of Mommy and Daddy’s bedtime swaddles during the night, and we frequently find you in your crib either with your arms freed or with you having gotten completely unswaddled.
You eat every two or three hours, day and night. This is the biggest change for Mommy and Daddy right now, because we’re used to getting a lot more sleep than all that. But little Connor needs to eat, and Mommy decided to breastfeed, so Daddy helps by changing your diaper and burping you (and swaddling you at night) whenever he’s home for a feeding.
Mommy and Daddy used to go out to eat a lot, but you’ve changed all that. Last weekend, though, we took you out to an Indian restaurant on Saturday and to our favorite Chinese dim sum restaurant on Sunday, and you slept through the whole thing (which was what we had hoped). You even slept through our after-lunch Starbucks trips!
I could write so much more about this crazy first month with you in our lives, but you’re starting to get fussy and squirmy and sleepy here in your Moby Wrap.
I love you, little guy, no matter how frustrated I might get with your frequent feedings and fussy fighting-off of sleep. You’re way too cute for me to stay mad at for long.
(Start with Part One)
The first hour or two after we got checked into the hospital was a weird period of acclimation. As I got connected to more and more equipment, the experience became more and more real. I got as comfortable as possible on the labor bed (with absorbent pads beneath me, since I was still leaking amniotic fluid), was connected to external fetal monitors, got my IV put in, had blood taken, had a blood pressure cuff put on, and was asked all the standard medical history questions by several students and residents.
Since my Strep B test results hadn’t come in yet — I’d just had the culture taken that afternoon — the staff treated me as if I had tested positive, and gave me an IV line with penicillin. I also got the standard hydration solution along with my Pitocin drip, which they started at one milliunit (and eventually ramped up to 14 milliunits over the course of my labor).
Once the initial hubbub died down, Aaron and I settled in to rest as much as we could. The blood pressure cuff automatically activated every half hour, but it surprisingly didn’t affect my ability to catch some Z’s during those few hours. Aaron attempted to relax in a squeaky and not very comfortable recliner.
We both managed to rest enough to take the edge off by the time the shift change happened at 7:00am. Cortnie was replaced by Karen, a motherly type who claimed to be “allergic to pain.” She unhooked me from the monitors and let me have my second potty break since I’d checked in, then helped me into a more comfortable position where my ass wasn’t falling asleep.
Karen reminded me to stay hydrated as much as possible, and to drink a glass of juice every hour or so to keep my blood sugar levels from dipping. So, I continued to try to doze as much as possible, and Karen brought me a glass of apple juice when I asked (about every other time she came to check in on me).
This whole time, first Cortnie then Karen had been slowly upping my dosage of Pitocin, increasing the frequency and intensity of the contractions. By mid-morning, they were more painful than menstrual cramps (and my period cramps can be seriously intense). Karen asked me to rate them on a scale of 1 to 10, but I felt like I didn’t have a frame of reference. I’d always thought that 10 should be “I Feel Like I Want To Die,” but Karen said to rate my 10 as the worst pain I’d ever felt.
What was my worst pain? Back pain? When was the last time I cried because of pain? I couldn’t remember, so I figured that I might be at a 4 or so. I guessed that a 7 or 8 would be where I’d start crying, so that became my arbitrary reference point.
Back in our childbirth class, the nurse had taught us different breathing and massage techniques to manage the pain of contractions. Finally, I reached the point where I needed to use those techniques. Aaron massaged my leg (the easiest part for him to reach) while I did some deep breathing. I experimented with the Lamaze breathing patterns, but found (as I’d expected) that counting my breaths Zen-style, one to ten, was my most effective method of pain management. I also used the focal point idea that we learned, either staring at one particular ceiling vent or at the whiteboard where Karen had written, “Congratulations Connor!”
Anticipating the contractions became sort of a game for Aaron and me — we’d be listening to the monitor, to Connor’s heartbeat, and we’d hear the signal grow not so much faster as stronger. A few seconds later, the tightness would begin. At some point, I started identifying the contractions as “surges,” like the more, shall we call them, earth-mother-y types do — and it actually helped change my attitude toward them. They became less painful and more straight-up intense. I visualized my cervix pulling open with each one — not blooming like a flower, mind you, as that’s way too hippie an attitude for me, but I’m all about the visualization concept. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn’t, but it was a nice distraction for my mind.
Around 11am, Aaron called his dad and my mom to let them know that I was in labor. We hadn’t wanted to call too early, especially since Aaron’s dad (now retired) used to work nights, so we’re not sure what his sleep schedule is like, and my mom lives one time zone to the west, so we didn’t want to call too early. No one was expecting us to be in the hospital already, three weeks early, so there was some confusion on the other end of the line (and concern on my mom’s part).
It’s a good thing we called to give them a heads-up when we did, because my contractions really ramped up around noon. I’d requested a birthing ball a couple of hours earlier, and I asked Karen to help me onto it the next time she came to check on me. I felt like it was time to get serious, like something had changed. I would realize later that this was transition.
In the childbirth class, I’d found that leaning over the ball with my butt sticking out was the most comfortable position; here, though, Karen actually sat me on the ball, leaning my head and shoulders forward onto the labor bed, which wasn’t nearly as comfortable. With each contraction, I felt like I needed to raise myself up off of the ball because of the pressure it was putting on my nether regions.
Each contraction got more and more intense. I started hissing through my exhales, then moaning, then nearly crying. Aaron tried rubbing my back during contractions, but I had to ask him to stop because it wasn’t nearly as calming as the leg massage had been. I also started forgetting to count my inhales and exhales, which made the pain seem worse.
At one point, while on the birthing ball, I felt a contraction coming on sooner and stronger than I’d anticipated, and I let loose a frustrated, “Oh, fuck!” I immediately followed it with, “Sorry!” It was an automatic reaction, but it amused our nurse Karen to no end.
Eventually, I came to a realization: I had a shit on deck. A particularly loose one, I could tell. It was distracting me from the other sensations down below, so I asked Karen if I could go take a BM between contractions. She very gently told me that it would be OK if I had a BM while I was pushing, that the nurses had seen it all before. I explained that it was really just RIGHT THERE, and it was really loose, and if I could just move my bowels, I’d be able to concentrate better on what was going on down there.
Karen agreed to let me go take a shit. “Just let it fall out,” she advised, obviously not wanting me to push quite yet. I stood up from the birthing ball, let her unhook me from the monitors, took two steps toward the bathroom — and a contraction hit. Dammit. I doubled over, clutching my IV pole for support. I was concentrating on standing up, so any pain management techniques were long forgotten. Once it subsided, I made it into the bathroom before another one doubled me over — this time, my yells echoed in the bathroom, prompting Aaron to call through the door, “Are you OK, honey?” I had another contraction on the john, another after I stood up, and another on the way back to the bed.
At some point during this insanity, Karen left to get someone to check my cervix, realizing that something had changed. When I got back to the bed, Karen asked me to lie on my back so the other nurse could check me.
That’s when the REAL pain hit.
The nurse had her gloved hand spelunking around in my parts as I yelled, and she got a perplexed look on her face.
“You’re complete,” she said, meaning that I was fully dilated and effaced, “but I’m not sure that what I’m feeling is a head.”
Oh, no. My heart sank.
One of the nurses in the room called Dr. Ward, the OB on call from my practice, for her to check me herself and confirm whether it was Connor’s head that was presenting, or something else. While we were waiting for her to arrive, I had another contraction, and I suddenly felt an immense pressure “down there,” and had a very definite urge to push. I let the nurses know, and they very vehemently told me NOT to push.
When Dr. Ward checked me, I swear it felt like it took forever, and that she had to have been wrist-deep up my vagina. That was the most pain I’d ever been in up to that point; I was clinging to the bedrail and yelling uncontrollably, almost screaming. Finally, she confirmed that, no, his head wasn’t presenting — that was his scrotum.
That’s when things got crazy.
(Continue to Part Three)
It’s hard to imagine, but Connor could have still been on the inside this evening, instead of having just turned three weeks old.
It’s been a whirlwind — the learning curve of just caring for a baby; dealing with the standard sleep deprivation; having family and friends visit (a welcome distraction); and other non-baby stuff, like expensive plumbing problems. I haven’t even finished writing out Connor’s birth story yet, and he’ll be turning a month old soon!
My Mom (aka “Grandma”) has been visiting from Texas for the past week, and will be staying through the end of this week. It’s been so helpful to have another pair of experienced hands around, especially in the evenings after Aaron goes to work. Once she leaves, I’ll definitely miss having her around, but I’ll also feel like it’s my “stepping out” as a real Mom: taking care of Baby with no one right there to fall back on. Time to figure out our own schedule, mine and Connor’s.
And how am I feeling physically? Sleep deprived, still a little tender in the abdominal area, but otherwise OK. I’ve lost all but a few pounds of my baby weight, and am looking forward to getting the OK from my doctor in a few weeks to start exercising again. Also looking forward to making an appointment with my chiropractor at the six-week post-partum mark, as my back has been killing me. I’m pretty sure my Percocet was intended for relief of incision pain, not back pain, but it does the job in a pinch…
Now comes my valiant attempt to avoid becoming a typical “mommy blogger.” Not that there’s anything wrong with mommy bloggers; it’s just not my style. I don’t think. At least, I never thought it would be…
I had my 36-week OB appointment on Friday the 2nd, in the afternoon — I’d opted to take a half day off of work and make my Labor Day weekend just a little longer. This was the first visit where my doctor would check my cervix for dilation and effacement, to see how far along I was. She almost didn’t even check; she asked me if I wanted her to check me, and I asked in return, “Depends: do you want to check me?” So, she did, and she was surprised to find that I was already 2cm dilated and about 60% effaced.
Apart from that, everything went as expected: got my Strep B test (standard procedure at 36 weeks), got to hear the heartbeat (standard for every visit), got to ask all my weird questions (this time, I asked whether I could just have IV access without having to cart an actual IV pole around with me just for the hydrating solution). Left with everything looking awesome and on-track, scheduled the remainder of my OB visits, and proceeded with my long weekend.
Spent the late afternoon at home with Aaron, until he went to work. Spent the evening chilling out and watching Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives on the Food Network — actually took a nap through a couple of episodes around 8pm. Woke up hungry, so I warmed up a frozen meal and had second dinner before getting ready for bed.
Around 10:30pm, as I was about to undress for bed, I felt a small gush of fluid. Nothing big, but enough to make me take note. I got ready for bed and laid down for 20 minutes to research “amniotic fluid leak” on Google and BabyCenter. When I got up again, I got another small gush. This time, I called the OB on call for my practice, who was particularly unhelpful — “If there’s any question that your water has broken,” she advised me, “definitely come in to the hospital and get checked. Otherwise, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Gee, thanks. I told her I’d just take it easy and see what happened, then.
I gave Aaron a quick heads-up via our Words With Friends game, just in case, and agreed to text or call if anything major happened. Then I went to bed.
But I didn’t really sleep. I was on high alert for leakage. I kept thinking I felt something, but didn’t want to get up for fear of making things worse. Finally, at 12:30am, there was no question: my water broke. It soaked through the maxi pad I was wearing, through my underwear, down to the sheets. Despite my knock-kneed break for the bathroom, it still spilled down my leg and onto the bathroom floor.
Yep, no questions now.
I was on the phone to Aaron within minutes, once I’d collected myself. I told him what had happened, and his response (after the initial “What do you want me to do?”) was, “So, this is really happening!” I was still in denial somehow, thinking that they’d check me and send me home on bed rest — I was still a little early, after all, not yet having hit the official 37-week full-term mark. But I asked Aaron if he could come home and take me to the hospital. No problem — he told his supervisor after we hung up and was out of there in no time.
Meanwhile, I had only just started packing our hospital bag earlier that week, so I started gathering what we’d need. Toiletries, clothes, a magazine to keep me busy (which I never did crack open), iPhone chargers, the sorts of things one might need for an overnight stay away from home. I’d never written out a formal birth plan (which was just as well), so I didn’t need to remember to pack that.
It didn’t take long for Aaron to get home. After our initial hellos and hugs and minor excited freak outs together, he went to get a shower while I called the OB on-call again, just to confirm that, yes, my water had really broken, no question, and to let them know that we were coming in. This time, I got a more definite response: yes, come to the hospital now. We’ll be expecting you.
So, we did. Aaron got his toiletries and a change of clothes into the hospital bag, and off we went. At this point, it was just before 2:00am. I hadn’t really researched and remembered how to get to Toledo Hospital from our house, since I wouldn’t be driving; maybe I should have, since Aaron experienced a minor anxiety-induced brain fart en route, and I had to whip out my iPhone to confirm which way we needed to turn to get to the hospital.
We tried to be as calm as we could as we parked the car and walked into the hospital — and promptly went the wrong way, going up the parking garage elevator instead of proceeding to the lobby and taking the visitor elevators. No problem; back down to Floor 2, to the lobby, then past the reception desk, past the Mom And Me Boutique, around the corner to the elevators, up to Floor 3, and follow the signs to Labor and Delivery.
“Hi!” I said to the ladies at the nurses’ station. “My water just broke.”
An RN named Cortnie took our info: name, OB’s name, gestational age (36 weeks 5 days), that sort of thing, then escorted us down to L&D Room 1. Our official check-in time was 1:58am.
Room 1 was actually pretty swanky, as hospital rooms go: much larger than the one we’d seen on our tour, with a dresser and a portable CD/cassette player (aka “boom box”), a loveseat, a recliner, and some unintrusive art on the walls. Of course, there was also a fetal monitor and a warmer contraption for after Baby’s arrival. I got changed into the gown that Cortnie had left for me, and Aaron and I got used to the idea that we weren’t being sent home, after all.
This was really happening.
(Continue to Part Two…)