Having already birthed a child, I was, of course, a complete and total expert on pregnancy. Or at least I would have been, if only all pregnancies were the same. Despite a very different pregnancy, I dreaded most the worst part of my last labor: the pushing.
A little over two weeks before I was due I went in to a doctor’s appointment and was pleasantly surprised to find I was dilated to a 2 and starting to efface. Since I had been nothing with Elise at the doctor’s appointment the day before I had her, I took this news to mean I was seconds from labor. Seconds. Any idea how many seconds are in 2 weeks? Enough to feel like an eternity or two.
Two days before my due date I was miserable. Dilated to 3.5 cm and seemingly 150% effaced, it felt like the baby was ready to drop out. I was busy watching a terrible Sylvester Stallone movie( I know, I know describing Stallone movie as terrible is redundant) when my labor FINALLY began. We dropped off Elise, grabbed my bags which I had packed and ready to go weeks ago, picked up my parents and sister and headed to the hospital. I was still dreading the pushing phase.
And then my husband slept through my labor. Or at least that is how I like to tell the story…
Trying to save enough energy for that detested pushing, I quickly decided I wanted medicine, unfortunately, not quite quick enough. Too late for an epidural, I was able to get a sedative of some sort that allowed me to sleep between contractions. I woke for the actual contractions, though! I remember distinctly waking during one and looking to my husband for comfort only to find him snoozing in the chair beside me, his head resting on my hospital bed. I almost killed him! He claims something about working a night shift the night before, already late into the night, me already asleep, blah, blah, blah. I just remember myself in pain and him in dreamland. I try to never let him live it down.
Like my first baby, this one was posterior. I spent transition on my side trying to get him to turn before entering the birth canal, thoroughly unpleasant, but effective. After what seemed like forever, it was time to push; I had been dreading this time for 9 months. It took all of 15 minutes and only a few pushes. I was greatly relieved.
Ryan was born on a Friday (I think). On checkout day, which was a Sunday, I requested my church clothes brought in so I could change before leaving. We went straight from hospital to Church. Two weeks later we moved half way across the country for Peter’s medical school. Apparently I enjoy moving while pregnant or with a less than month old baby. I’ve done it thrice.