The short version: Labor started on the evening of Tuesday, May 27th.  It picked up throughout the day on Wednesday and we found ourselves in the hospital Wednesday evening.  We labored through the night and the stubborn boy finally made his appearance at 2:53 p.m. on Thursday, May 29th.  He weighed 7 lbs 5 oz and was 21 inches long.  We stayed at the hospital that night and, since both George and I were checking out wonderfully throughout the day on Friday, we were able to go home on Friday night.  The end.

The longer, juicy version…

This birth story is a two-parter because we first must rewind and discuss the waiting game.

I was not ready for the waiting.

We spent the whole pregnancy praying that the baby would not come until his due date so I could finish most of the school year that I never even thought about the baby being late.  Much less twelve days late.

Friends, I struggled through the waiting.  So much.  Looking back, I don’t know why it was such a burden on my heart, but it was a real one.  I was begging for prayers and praying every novena under the sun and employing all my known labor-inducing tactics and for the most part there was … nothing. Crickets.

the yummy food platter my mom made for me in attempts to console my frustration. it worked temporarily.

To say I was discouraged by the time Tuesday, May 27th rolled around is an understatement.  I had given up all hope.  I declared to Dave that this baby was never. going. to. come. out. Of course, I knew he was, but we were staring at a looming induction date and with each passing day with no signs of labor, I got more and more nervous.

Early Labor

Finally, it happened. Those pesky braxton-hicks contractions finally started to increase in both frequency and intensity on Tuesday evening and I was pretty confident that this “was it”.

We ate a quick dinner with my parents that night and scurried home to get some rest. Because labor is so unpredictable, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to sleep through the night, so my goal was to relax as much as possible for the next few hours. Dave made sure our bags were all ready, and I went to bed … and slept through the night. Darn. I woke up half bummed that my contractions hadn’t woken me up and half relieved that I was able to get a full night’s rest (which would prove to be extremely beneficial in the near future).

Although there wasn’t an enormous amount of action, we were confident enough that this was the real thing. So Dave called work and let them know he wouldn’t be making it in that day. Dave and I spent Wednesday morning walking around the neigborhood, spending time bouncing on the ball, doing more squats than I ever care to remember, and watching Downton Abbey. My contractions were still picking up, but I didn’t have to struggle through them yet.

My mom brought us lunch during her lunch break (sushi and hibachi – yum), and once she left, we decided to call our midwife. You see, at one of our last prenatal visits with our midwife, she told us that, if I ended up being in early labor during the day, to call the OB’s office and come in to see her. That way, she could check me to see my progress without us having to go to the hospital just yet, because we really wanted to labor at home for as long as possible.

So I jumped in my last can’t-see-my-feet-much-less-shave-my-legs shower while Dave called the doctor’s office to inquire if we could get in to see our midwife.

Their response? “Sure, if you can come right now.”

We quickly got ready and headed off to what we thought would be a short and uneventful appointment. I knew I wasn’t very far along; thus, I anticipated being checked and sent back home to labor some more in our own place.

I was happy to see our midwife. We get along very well with her, and she brought a lot of comfort to an unfamiliar situation. After some chit-chat, she checked my progress.

Verdict? 3 cm.

I wasn’t surprised. Nor was I discouraged. At least something was happening and this baby had possibly decided to begin making his grand entrance. The midwife then told us that she wanted to see how the baby was doing, and strapped me on to the fetal monitor for about an hour. When she read the strip at the end of the hour, her face looked a little concerned. She explained that, for the most part, the baby was doing great. But there were a couple of contractions in which the baby’s heart rate decelerated instead of accelerating. We were told not to worry, but she wanted us to go ahead and go to the hospital to be put on their newer, more accurate monitors just to get a better idea of what was going on.

I didn’t like that one bit. I hesitantly asked if we should first go home and bring our things to the hospital. She affirmed that we should … just in case.

We sped home and grabbed our bags. I was worried out of my mind, of course. No time for a cute “last picture of this pregnancy” pose before we left the apartment; all my energy was focused on not freaking out and letting my mind run wild with all the “what-ifs”.

When we got to the hospital, we were admitted to a tiny room where I was given the nasty hospital gown (nor did I like that) and hooked up to their fetal monitors for another hour. At least they had a TV in that room and we distracted ourselves with HGTV. Praise God.

At about 5 p.m., the nurse came in and stopped the session. Our midwife came to the hospital immediately after her office hours to read this strip. The same thing had happened again – there were a couple of contractions that baby seemed to struggle through.

She then delivered the news that I was so afraid of hearing.

Part II