Me: Whoa. That was a weird feeling.
Greg: What happened?
Me: I don’t know it felt like -
Before I could finish, I felt a feeling I had not felt since I was a child, or if I’m being honest, my college drinking days - it felt like I was peeing myself.
Me: I’m pretty sure my water just broke.
Me: Yeah I’m basically pissing myself. Can you go grab some towels before I ruin the couch?
Me: TOWELS, GREG! TOWELS! THE COUCH!
Greg came into the bathroom with new clothes for me to change into.
Greg: What are you doing? Did you call the doctor?
Me: No. Can you call them? I’m confused.
Greg: What? What are you confused about?
Me: I DON’T KNOW GREG MY BODY IS LEAKING CAN YOU PLEASE CALL?
We finally managed to somehow call the hospital and ask for a doctor to call us back. While this was happening I went through about three outfit changes before I realized it was pointless and just accepted that I was going to look like a swamp. The next logical thing was, of course, for me to shave my legs and do the dishes. I’m pretty sure Greg circled the house in an endless panicked frenzy while I did so. Still no contractions, folks. This birth thing was obviously going to be a breeze! Ha.
We arrived at the hospital about an hour after my water had broken. Since my water had broken like in the movies, I assumed my entry to the hospital would follow suit. Ya know, the doors flying open while I breathe deeply and scream on a stretcher, medical staff pushing me at either side while yelling "OUT OF THE WAY SHE'S IN LABOR, EVERYONE!!" Not the case. In reality, I waddled into the reception room, nervously looking around to see who was going to notice the woman with the soaked jeans first. I even had Greg take a picture of my ass so that I was able to judge for myself how it looked. As we all know from his stellar photography career throughout the pregnancy, the picture didn’t exactly give me a good idea. And because I obviously have zero boundaries I’m going to show you.
FINALLY we were admitted and I was sent to an intake room. I changed into what has to be the world’s least flattering robe, complete with boob cutouts. Is this really necessary? Could we not save the breastfeeding robe for AFTER birth? Because until I actually had the baby I’m pretty sure the only thing anyone could focus on were my tremendous (thanks, pregnancy) nipples poking out to say “hello".
They took my stats, checked me out, and got me hooked up to some monitors. It was at this point in time that Greg was delirious and looked at me and said, “You have never been more beautiful than you are in this moment”. Which almost made me cry but the moment was ruined seconds later as I started shouting about how I was pretty sure I was about to “SHIT ON THE HOSPITAL BED I’M NOT KIDDING GUYS”. Unfortunately I was strapped to a monitor and no nurse was in sight, so Greg and I just laughed about how truly romantic having a baby is and said a silent prayer that I could control my bowels for at least a couple of minutes.
Finally, we were admitted and put into a labor and delivery room, where we proceeded to take (terriby unflattering) selfies and wonder if I was ever going to feel actual LABOR.
Haha, careful what you wish for! About an hour or so later, the contractions began! At first we were all, "we got this" and that quickly escalated to "hmm, I'm not sure if we got this", quickly followed by "yes, perhaps we were a bit too confident right off the bat".
I was NOT feeling sitting down, so I asked if I could stand up.
Now, I need to interrupt this story by telling you a quick tale. There are multiple crazy squirrels living in our neighborhood. Greg once witnessed one fall out of a tree, recover, then run around in circles for several minutes before directly charging at him. He decided to name the squirrel "Gary", and came up with elaborate tales of Gary the Squirrel and his mafia-connected family. Back to the labor and delivery room: the anesthesiologist arrived in record time. His name was, you guessed it, GARY. We both laughed until we cried, then we poured some hospital ice water out in Gary's name.
Epidural went extremely well and I still don't remember feeling it one damn bit. ONE MORE TIME - PRAISE THE LORD FOR DRUGS. The good kind anyway. At this point, we figured we had a few hours to chill. So Greg scampered off to buy himself cheetos as if he had gone 18 hours without eating (it was actually just four) and I sat behind and imagined a dart board with his face on it.
When he got back, I just couldn't relax. I couldn't feel much, but I felt an immense pressure. I asked the nurse to come back into the room and check me. Imagine the shock on her face when she discovered that I was 10cm dilated as in SHOWTIME LADY AND GENTS - I WAS READY TO PUSH. One small issue. The nurse told me the doctor was at the other hospital - about ten minutes away - delivering another baby. To which I calmly shouted at her, "WELL JESUS CHRIST, IS THERE ONLY ONE DOCTOR IN THIS HOSPITAL?!". (Don't judge me for saying "Jesus Christ", we were in a Catholic hospital. I'm sure I wasn't the first person to take the Lord's name in vain). So basically, they began prepping the room for delivery and we had to wait around for what felt like a year, when in reality it might have been ten or fifteen minutes.
Anyway, the doctor showed up ALL BUSINESS and ready to get this baby out. Honestly, the rest was a slightly-scary blur, but less than 30 minutes later, Riley Rose entered the world at 5:00am on April 3rd, 2016.
And just so you know, the couch survived and lived to tell the tale.