I woke up that morning at 4 am, having to pee. This was a perfectly normal for my almost-nine-month-pregnant-self. A small human was bear-hugging my bladder (or at least that’s how it felt).
Heaving myself out of bed, I hobbled over to the bathroom (my back always ached, even sleep not offering a respite from feeling constantly assaulted by my new rotund shape) and slid closed our squeaky door.
After, I made my way back to sleep. As I started to lower myself down to the bed, I felt a warm gush of liquid down my legs. I jumped back out of bed and into the bathroom. Fluid poured down my legs for a little bit and I stared at my wet underwear/ sweats with disbelief.
Was this it? Was it really starting? The moments I had been thinking/ hoping/ wishing/ dreading/ avoiding thinking about/ dwelling on since that second line appeared on the stick?
Was I having a baby?
I walked back into the bedroom and shook my husband awake (not an easy task) and told him in a shaky voice:
“I’m pretty sure my water just broke. I’m not having any contractions yet, so you should go back to sleep. It could be a while yet.”
He nodded at me with half open eyes, rolled over and went back to sleep. I crawled into bed next to him.
And then they started.
They would plague me for the next 25 hours. They would reduce me to a weeping, hysterical woman begging them to stop, swearing I couldn’t go on.
Of course, at this point, they weren’t bad. Not at all. They didn’t even hurt yet. Just pressure/ discomfort, but not pain. But they were strong enough to keep me awake. I kept moving in the bed and worried I was bugging John. So I got out of bed and went to the couch.
I sat on the couch for the next three hours. I was so excited. This is happening. This is happening. This is happening.
But I was also a little bored.
I’m such a product of the social media generation. Was this really happening if no one knows its happening? I mean, really, the only person who has any clue besides me that my son had begun to make his way into the world was in the next room staring at the back of his eyelids.
So, I texted my sister. She happens to be married. Her husband happens to be the president of the ministry that John and I both work for.
Around eight in the morning, John came out of the bedroom with his phone in his hand.
“So Brian texted me. I guess your contractions have started?”
to be continued.