But y'all need to hear this, because it's GOOD. Yes this is a long post. It's like a chapter book instead of a picture book. But the story is good and I think you'll be entertained if you can hang and read it out with me! Let's wind back to 2:30am on December 1:
I wake up to pee for the 3,498th time that night. Come back to bed and
Hubs jumps out of bed. I didn't wake him, he did it on his own. He grabs the baby monitor with a camera on Henry and checks on him. This stupid contraption is bright enough to guide planes in on a landing strip, and our whole room becomes illuminated. "Do you think it's cold in here? Henry is sitting up! I think he's cold" he says to me. "No; I'm 9 months pregnant and having a hot flash. If you're worried about him, go give him another blanket!" and I roll over, annoyed and contracting.
I decide, hey, maybe I should time these things. Maybe these aren't more practice contractions - I was 1cm dilated at my last prenatal appointment which, because of Thanksgiving, was over two weeks ago, and I wasn't going in to be seen/checked again until December 7. So I pull the iPhone closer and start keeping tabs on these things. Hubs didn't give Henry another blanket, he just laid back down and fidgeted before he started snoring softly. I'm convinced he was actually sleep walking and not fully awake and with the program.
The contractions didn't slow, but didn't pick up either. Just every 2-3 minutes. For an hour. "Crap! It might be time. Lemme Google when you're supposed to go in..." You know, because I had Henry early and via emergency c-section, I didn't know these things! Most online sources said to go in when they were every 5 minutes for one hour straight, lasting a minute or more. Ok, I thought, time to wake people up!
Hubs was NOT impressed. When I got out of bed, he asked me what I was doing. "Um... putting on clothes to go to the hospital?" I replied. "What?!" he asked. Oh lord, I thought, he's still sleepwalking and I'm going to kill this man before we even leave the house... I just looked at him and said very clearly, "I'm having the baby now." To which he replied, "But I don't want to have the baby right now..." and I had to walk away before I decked him.
I head into my closet. I swear, the contractions took any and all limited brain power I had in the middle of the night, shat on it, and put it back in my head. I stood there for a solid 5 minutes, wondering what people wear to the hospital. I looked for some yoga pants but couldn't find any I liked. So I gave up and started to pick out what JEWELRY I was going to wear. I mean, what?! Then I realized I was still naked and actually getting cold in our home I keep at 67 overnight to ward off hot flashes...
So what do I grab to wear? My pre-pregnancy, decidedly non-maternity size 26 skinny jeans. Y'all, I couldn't get those over my big toe if I wanted to at this point, but that's what I thought I should "wear into labor and delivery." C'mon Paige. Luckily, I realized how dumb I was before I even attempted to put them on (and therefore start to cry because no 9 month preggo is a skinny jean size 26) and put them back for a pair of leggings, tank, cardigan and Uggs.
Hubs got my mom up, and she came to see how things were going. She told hubs to call either the hospital or my OB to see what they or she would want us to do about going in (FINALLY, someone with a brain to offer good advice!) Hubs asked me for the phone number. "I don't know the hospital's phone number or my doctor's after-hours number! Google it!" What does he do? He goes off in search of a packet they give you when you have your first prenatal appointment. Who knows where that is or how long that would take him vs. pulling up Safari on his phone and making a quick search of it; no, he wanted a paper-source number.
Like it was 1946 and we needed a yellow pages to find this information or something.
But hey, that was cool, because I was busy trying to pick out what jewelry and non-maternity designer jeans to wear to labor and delivery. We each were our own brand of stupid.
|Not this time, little Otto... I had to wait over two more weeks to finally meet you!|
Finally, my mom gave up on him and called the hospital herself. They said to check with my OB. I called my OB, and she said I should come in to get checked since I have a history of early labor and a previous c section. We load up the car, and as we kiss my mom goodbye at around 4am, hubs still says, "I just don't want him to come right now!" Get it together, buddy, you don't get to chose!
We get on the freeway. I ask hubs if he knows where he's going. He casually says (you know, like most men do when they have NO IDEA where they're going but don't ask for directions either) "Um, what's the exit I should take again?" So there I am, contracting and navigating for my dear husband. I get him to the hospital campus, but don't know exactly where labor and delivery is. He decides the most prudent route to take with a wife in labor is to just drive around until he sees it.
This is one of the biggest hospitals in the fourth largest city in America folks. The hospital is... Oh, I don't know... NOT SMALL.
After a full circle of the property, I tell him to pull over and GOOGLE IT. My answer for everything while in labor, I guess. See, the thing is people (and by people I mean my family) always ask me the questions and come to me for answers; I was smart enough to know I was too dumb to know anything and therefore should delegate to Google.
Hubs searches for the address, and we take off in what we think is the right direction. Except... The building is under construction. "It's the same building we were at last time, right?" he asks. "Yes, it's where we had Henry. That doesn't even look familiar!" I reply. "Well, this is the address it's giving me so let's park and find a way in."
NO. I knew it wasn't right. They have VIP parking for women in labor, and it was brand new when we were there last May, so it wouldn't be under construction. I pull out my phone and search it. I got a way different address. "THIS is where we need to go babe!" He still thinks his idea is a good one, and that we should park and walk to the address he found. It was all I could do to keep from ejecting him from my car and driving to the address I had found myself...
So obvi, we go to the address I found and it was it.
We park and hubs tries to get me to go in a door I knew wasn't labor and delivery. "See that sign? That says LABOR AND DELIVERY. That's where we want to go!" and I walk off and leave him in the street, miffed that he was still being so hardheaded and stupid at 4:30am. I thought, "I don't normally want to kill him, so I must be in labor..."
We go in and they give us our own room right away. The bonus about a middle-of-the-night-labor scare is no triage! It's straight to your own room. I had a lovely nurse who asked me 1,283,947 questions. Then the resident came in and checked me. She told me my stats, and said she was going to call my OB. By this point, I'm noticing my contractions aren't 2-3 mins apart anymore. She comes back with the news I expected: I'd be much more comfortable at home, because I could end up being there for a good while, and would likely face interventions that weren't necessary because of it.
No baby this time! In fact, I wasn't even in real labor. Early labor yes; but not active labor. I had to wait 18 more days to meet Otto. His REAL birth story is forthcoming!