It was a dark and stormy night when my body went in to labor for my third baby.
My husband was asleep, but I’d been up and down calling the midwife, going to the bathroom, generally restless. I’d had pains off and on all day, but never gave them any credit.
This had been a surprise pregnancy. Not planned or wanted by me. I’d struggled the whole nine months with emotions, crying to God, and smiling on the outside when people talked about the new baby. It was okay with me to finally get this baby out.
I’d been induced for my other two births so I wasn’t panicking at the contractions. I figured it would slow or stop soon. The midwife told me to go to the hospital so I was reluctantly getting ready.
The next person I called was my mother because she had been present for the births of each of her other five grandchildren. I left a message since there was no answer. Mildly concerned, I set the phone down and put my shoes on.
My labor was getting pretty ouchie by this time. Still deluding myself that my body wouldn’t go into labor by itself, [It didn’t before why should it this time?] I brushed my hair and made sure I had the music I wanted for the hospital.
Our then 21 month old girl and 3 ½ year old boy were oblivious to everything but sleep at this time. Since we couldn’t get through to my parents my husband called his to come stay with the kids.
I wanted the baby’s birth date to be in 2 more days. Not tonight, even though it was the due date. My other babies paid absolutely no attention to their due dates.
By this time we had made many calls to my parents and were increasingly worried about them not answering. I was ready to go and was trying different pain relief techniques as I waited.
My husband was not nearly as nervous for this birth as compared to the first one; He proceeded to talk to his parents when they arrived. His father volunteered to drive the five minutes to my parents and see what was going on. I was glad to hear it. If my mom didn’t make it to the birth it would be okay, but why didn’t they answer the phone? I kind of wanted to go there myself, but the midwife was waiting.
I was rocking in the glider with my coat on when my mother-in-law told my husband, “You need to get going.” Thank you, I quite agree.
The midwife was waiting for us at the hospital when we checked in at 12:30am. “Wondering where you guys were!” We filled her in on the situation with my parents as she led us to the room.
My father in law went to my parents and banged on the door. Still no reply. He was now calling them while he sat in the driveway honking the horn.
The midwife said that I was 8 centimeters. That meant that I couldn’t get an epidural! Oh my! “What can you give me? Anything? Please!” They got me hooked up to the IV, and administered the Statol through that.
Finally we had contact with my parents! They’d had a window air conditioner running in their room so their room was shut up tight. The ringer on the phone in their room was turned off. The noise of the storm had muffled the sound of the other phone ringing. Some particularly loud thunder finally woke my mom and she got up to check on the other windows.
My mom was surprised to see and hear someone in the driveway. Then she heard the phone and noticed a bunch of messages on the machine. My dad drove her to the hospital to where I was crying in the bed from the pain. Yes, I’m a pain wimp.
They broke my water at 1:40am and my third child was born at 2:39am after a tremendous pain with much gripping of hands and bed rails. It was over. Just about.
My husband wondered if I would resent the child as much as I resented being pregnant. I replied, “Not at all. She had nothing to do with it. I’m just glad to not be pregnant any more.” Boy was I ever!
My third baby weighed in at 8 pounds 3 ounces, 19 inches long. Right in the middle of what my other two weighed.
The three of us left the hospital in a day and a half.
She didn’t have as much fanfare and visitors as the other two, but she had more experienced parents and 2 siblings to love her to death. At least until she got old enough to take their toys…
That’s her first studio picture at the top of this post; taken when she was 2 months old.
I wrote this because Michelle invited me to join in to her contest/carnival on her blog, My Semblance of Sanity.