I am so tired. I’ve been wanting to write for weeks now, been trying to write for weeks now, but I’m so tired. Tired and hungry. So when I get a few moments to myself I usually spend them eating. I’m typing this on my phone while rocking Little E.
I’m so lucky that Big E is such a good kid. He’s grown up so much in the last couple months and I couldn’t be more proud of the boy he’s becoming. Little E is a handful – instead of nursing every 4ish hours like his big brother did, this little guy is a snacker. He nurses for about 10 minutes… every hour and a half or so. Sometimes less and even less often, sometimes up to two or even three hours. I’m buried in never-ending laundry and dishes and diapers. I have to plan ahead in order to shower.
I don’t remember the last time I was so happy.
Let me tell you the story about how our Little E joined us and turned ours into a family of four…
WARNING: This is a birth story. A REAL birth story, and while I’m going to try not to overshare I’m also not going to sugarcoat anything. There will be talk of blood and my lady parts. Continue at your own risk.
I woke up at about 3:30 the morning of Friday, May 2 to a mild contraction. I’d been having somewhat uncomfortable Bracton Hicks contractions so I wasn’t sure if it was the real thing, so I let my husband continue to sleep (especially since he’d only been home from work for a few hours). But at about 4:30 am I had some bloody show and I knew it was the real thing, so I gently woke P up to let him know what was happening.
Since the contractions were still fairly short and far apart (and Big E was sleeping peacefully), we went back to sleep to get as much rest as possible. By about 7:00 am though, the contractions had basically stopped. But, I know my body and I had a regular checkup scheduled with my midwife for that day anyway so I chose not to go into work. I went back to sleep for a little while and we went to my appointment at the regular time… and by then my contractions were getting a little more regular but still fairly short and at least 30 minutes apart. I told the girls at the front desk (with whom I’m on a first-name basis with now, by the way) that I was having contractions so they could gove my midwife and her nurse a heads up.
I don’t think my midwife believed me though, because when she checked to see if I was dilated I was at a solid 3 cm and the look of shock on her face was priceless. She continued with her regular check-up, then asked me about something we had previously discussed: “stripping,” or as she prefers to call it, “cervical stimulation.” We’d discussed it because my level of discomfort was so incredibly high and I was just so ready to have this baby. We went ahead with the, um, stimulation, then she sent us on our way with the advice to “go have sex.” That last part totally didn’t happen because we needed some things from the store and by the time that was done, I was hungry and then…
Almost nine months has passed now, so details are a little fuzzy, but my contractions were getting longer, more intense and more frequent very quickly. At this point I was text messaging my midwife, who was telling me to wait to go to the hospital until they were closer together.
I know my body, I told myself. We need to go now.
So we did.
And thank GOD. Because, as you’ll read in the next part of this story (coming soon!) we didn’t have much time to spare.