I was wide awake. It was 4:30 in the morning and I had to get up to go the the bathroom, AGAIN. I laid back down, and couldn't get comfortable. But that wasn't unusual. I hadn't been comfortable in about two months. I lay there thinking about the pedicure I had scheduled in a few hours when it hit.
A sharp pain in my lower back.
"This is it." I thought. I looked at the clock. 5:00 am. Okay. Seven minutes later, another one. And another one. There was no more sleeping. Seven minutes apart. I should have plenty of time. I headed to the living room and turned on Scrubs. We were almost through season 3. I couldn't concentrate though. They were getting closer.
"I should call my mom. She should start driving down here. I wonder if I can wait for her to get here before we go to the hospital?"
I picked up the phone and called. My dad doesn't handle 5:00 am wakings well. Especially when his oldest daughter is in labor 40 miles away.
I laid back down on the couch. As soon as the next one hit, I knew. We needed to go. I walked into the bedroom and shook John awake.
"Honey, it's time." Such a cliche, but really, concise.
"Do I have time to get in the shower?" he asked. Thinking that he would realize the gravity of the situation and take a quick one, I agreed.
I waddled around the bedroom, putting last minute items in the hospital bag. On a whim I threw in an extra pair of socks and made sure that I had my pillow in a cover I don't care about. I headed back to the kitchen to call my neighbor. She'll stay with the girls until my mom arrives. We just couldn't wait for her to get here.
I pace the living room. My neighbor arrives and sleepily plops down on the couch. She watches my impatient waddling. "You're not going to make it." She insists. They keep getting closer and closer. And I'm about to break down the bathroom door when John comes out. He helps me to the car, but for some reason, has to bring his golf clubs along. Despite my assurance that there wouldn't time for golf.
We race through town. We don't have to run the lights, thankfully, but only because no one else is on the road. 6:30 on a Saturday morning? Who would be? Once we are on the freeway though, John hauls. As we drive past the University Parkway exit, going over 80 mph, we see a police car on the side of the road, and I am almost in tears. I am convinced that if he pulls us over, this baby will be born in the car.
Angels are apparently watching out for us, because the cop car doesn't move. I heave a sigh of relief and beg John to go faster. They are about one minute apart now.
John drops me off inside of the women's center of the hospital. The nurses take me to triage while John parks the car. I am at an 8. I can barely make it down the hall to our room. (The biggest room in the birthing center, might I add.)
The nurses call the anesthesiologist, who just happens to be at the hospital for an emergency surgery. He rushes in to administer the epidural. About half way through, I feel the baby drop. I need to push. The nurse holds my face in her hands and makes me focus. Blessed be the nurses of the maternity ward.
The epidural is in. It works. I can breathe again. We wait another 30 minutes for a doctor to arrive. The wall of my room is lined with people. I still don't know why. Ten minutes of pushing later, a perfect little boy with a full head of dark hair is born. My first little boy. The boy I have been waiting for. He is perfect.