Wednesday, August 16, 2006

A baby story, part 1

Three years ago tomorrow morning, I woke up at 2 a.m. It was a Sunday. I was 9 months pregnant and suffering—horribly—from insomnia. Knowing full well that I was not going back to sleep, I hauled myself out to the living room and plopped down on the couch. Nothing good was recorded on Tivo (late summer is the worst time for good TV) so I ended up channel surfing and came up with . . . Shark Week on the Discovery Channel.

For the next few hours I laid there learning about shark attacks and shark sightings and where sharks mate and what they do in their free time all the while wishing I. Could. Just. Sleep. One could argue that if you are trying to relax, maybe watching interview after interview of people talking about what it’s like to almost be shark food is not the best choice, but I think I was too tired to even change the channel. So, Shark Week it was.

Around 6 a.m. I got up, had a bit to eat and headed into the shower. Mark’s Aunt and Uncle were scheduled to arrive for breakfast in a couple of hours. It was in the bathroom that I realized I was going into labor. I will spare you the gory details, but let me assure you, the signs were crystal clear.

I told Mark, who absolutely did not believe me: How can that be? Your due date is not for another week and besides, Aunt G. and Uncle N. are coming this morning. You cannot be in labor when my mid-west, good Christian, salt-of-the-earth relatives are visiting. Got it? So stop saying such ridiculous, crazy things.

Poor man. He was in so far into his own denial that I really had to just let it go.

So anyway, we went on with our morning. Aunt G. and Uncle N. came and we had a lovely visit, though the entire time we sat with them at our dining room table I kept thinking about my (itty bitty at that time) contractions, and wondering how far apart are they actually? It would be rude to keep looking at my watch, so I was trying to count in my head, all the while smiling and nodding and inside thinking: HOLY FUCK THIS BABY IS COMING. MAYBE TODAY. MAYBE TOMORROW. BUT IT’S COMING VERY SOON. HOW MUCH IS THIS GOING TO HURT? WHAT THE HELL WERE WE THINKING?!?!

Later, Aunt G. and Uncle N. said they had no idea anything was up. They are either VERY good liars or I am a good actress, because I would have sworn I was sweating and surely looking completely panic striken.

After they left, I told Mark I was calling the doctor. Again, he asked me if I really thought that was necessary. This time, I was a little less diplomatic in my response, but to my credit I did not smack him upside the head with my new Diaper Genie, which is really what I wanted to do.

Fate was on my side because my OB was on call that weekend and already at the hospital. Come on in he said. And bring your bag. Woo hoo! So we called my mom in Massachusetts and off to the hospital we went.

To be continued tomorrow . . . . (don't let the suspense keep you up tonight, but if it does, I recommend something other than Shark Week). :-)


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