Labor with my first child was the type of labor I will remind him of for the rest of his life whenever he thinks anything is difficult. After all, I spent 2.5 hours attempting to push him out of me – which I imagine is 10x more exhausting than running a marathon. I’ll spare the details and war wounds. Delivery for my second child couldn’t have been more different – except I went in with a few more obstacles.
You see, my husband had been in a very serious accident when I was 36 weeks pregnant (all is very well now – thank goodness- story for another day) and it was its own miracle that baby stayed in place until after 40 weeks so my husband could return from his own hospital stint. My mom came in town and at about 7:30 pm on November 14 we were watching some terrible awards show and my husband decided to get in bed and rest. He was walking with a cane and his body was exhausted. So we continued to watch and I got up to go to the bathroom for the 10th time and well I peed myself, or a trickle of pee leaked out.
Except it wasn’t actually pee. My water didn’t break the first time around so I had no idea what to expect. I sat down again and then stood up, and well, let’s just say unless I had the bladder the size of an elephant – my water started to break. I thought that was probably the worst of it so I went to get my husband and told him I thought it was go-time. We got ready to go and realized between his accident and my inability to drive while being flooded that we had to take an Uber to Prentice. By the time we even got out the door I realized that wasn’t the worst of it – I was gushing water Niagra Falls style so I quickly changed my pants and grabbed about every bath towel I could discreetly trying to lay them down under me in the Uber. Thankfully I had a women driver and this was before they instituted the $150 clean up fee for bodily fluids (that is 99.9% of the time enforced for puke). I was able to contain it all in the towels and not reveal to the driver that I was in very active labor.
When I got to Prentice they decided the first thing they need to do was weigh me. I couldn’t help but laugh that a) I was 9 months pregnant and they were weighing me b) that I had drenched and now super heavy pants on and c) that I pretty much was flowing like a faucet onto the scale. After that debacle they told me they needed to check that my water actually broke. Ha! If it actually hadn’t – I don’t want to know what the heck was going on with my body. The weirdest part about the whole thing was that I didn’t feel a single contraction until a few hours into this wet mess – a stark contrast from my first delivery.
They finally admitted me and I let my husband sleep thinking that I would be in for hours of pushing. I got the epidural and even had a chance to sort of rest. When it was time to push I woke my husband, thinking I was in it for another marathon. Eight minutes later, on November 15, out came my 8 lb 2 oz baby (my first was 6 lb 13 oz) ready to meet the world.