Also known as the birth story, in installments because it’s a bit wordy. Nothing went right and yet it all still turned out okay, with a little help from our friends. And family. Okay, lots of help from lots of people.

So, I didn’t prepare for the little bug’s arrival until rather late in the process. Mostly because I fully expected it to go completely, horribly wrong. We eventually found some furniture for the nursery we liked and ordered it. Picked a color to paint the room and a theme (classic Winnie-the-Pooh), even finished registering for baby gear. We made the decision to replace the flooring upstairs with hardwood when I was around 4 months pregnant, and through one delay or another, it didn’t happen until the end of February. My dear husband also decided to do it himself (I told him he was batshit crazy, but he never listens to me), with help from a friend and my father-in-law. Needless to say, the project was a fucking pain from the beginning. We had laid the floor in the nursery, half of the hallway and most of another room when my FIL had to leave, with the promise to return to help in a couple of weeks. With his departure, all work stopped since it was Sunday evening and the Olympics were on and we were both tired as hell. I grazed my way through the kitchen, took a bath, slathered my itchy self in lotion and went to sleep tired, reasonably comfortable and happy. Woke up around 1:30am when D came to bed, realized I’d forgotten to do my heparin shot and took care of that (remember this, it’ll become important later). Then I went to pee and got a whole lot more liquid than I bargained for. Well, that’s odd, I thought. I asked D if that could be amniotic fluid, he said if it was the flow wouldn’t have stopped. Reassured, I trotted downstairs for a cheese stick, like ya do. Went to the bathroom again to check things out, more liquid. Feeling a bit unsettled at this point. Got a towel to lay on (just in case) and went back to bed. Was dozing off when there was another steady trickle which turned to a gush when I sat up. D had been asleep for 5 minutes. I poked him and said, “I think my water just broke”. He groaned, cursed, pushed himself up to a sitting position and crooked his neck to look at me and the towel, prepared to tell me I was crazy. Instead, he sighed deeply and said, “Get your clothes on”.

To which I replied, “No”.

He said, “We have to go, your water broke. The infection risk is huge. We have to get going.” I said “Everything I have is dirty. I only have two pairs of pants, no clean panties and I don’t know where a shirt is that will fit me. The house is a wreck, I don’t have a clue where to look for anything. I have to at least put laundry in, I didn’t do it all weekend because we were too busy. I’m not ready for this, I’m only 35w3d, and this is bullshit.” He put his hands gently on my shoulders and said, “Honey-baby, the very last thing you need is panties. The baby is ready, and we need to go. I can come back and get things later, we live 5 minutes from the hospital. I love you, you can do this. Now get your ass in gear, we gotta GO.” So I did the logical thing and burst into tears, dug around to find some clothes, put a maxi pad on to help with the leaking (riiiiight) and snuffled my way to the car. I had my insurance card, my phone, a charge cable for it and gum. That’s it. D had the keys and we drove in mostly silence, him patting me on the leg and me sitting there glazed. We get to the hospital, I get out of the car and I’m gushing fluid like the Colorado River. My legs and pants are soaked, I’m leaving a trail across the lobby to the check-in desk. I’m starting to get crampy and crabby. They finally come out with a wheelchair buried in those hospital bed pads. I plop down and get wheeled back to a room. The nurse helps me into a gown, takes some information and brings me extra blankets, pillows and ice chips. By this time it’s 4am. So it begins…..