To read Part One, click here.
Once home, your daddy began packing for the hospital and I showered. We were mostly packed already, but there were a few last minute items to pack before the car was loaded.
The fluid would not stop dripping down my legs as I was toweling off and I was forced to put on a maxi pad for the first time in ten months!
Once we were both showered and in comfy clothes, we settled on the couch to watch a little Seinfeld - your daddy's favorite television show of all time.
We were both tired and thought about going to bed, but there was no way I could sleep with the contractions I was having. They were not bad and were not regular, but they were there and Angela told me you would probably come that night. Who could sleep under those circumstances?! I was about to meet my daughter. MY DAUGHTER!
About 15 minutes into Seinfeld, I felt a third POP!, but this time I swear Scott must have heard it! He didn't hear it, of course, but what he did hear was my gasp and subsequent panic over the amount of fluid gushing out of me!
I stood up and headed up the stairs to the bathroom when BAM! I was hit with a breathtaking, toe curling contraction.
With your daddy's help I made it to the bathroom and called Angela. I began explaining what had just happened, but was unable to finish my sentence due to BAM! another contraction. They were coming back to back and the fluid was still gushing so that I could not stay dry.
Angela was on her way and I spent the next half hour on my knees, face buried in the rocking chair in your room, rocking back and forth through each contraction. Between each contraction I would change into dry clothes.
At some point I realized that I had chills and wondered if I was already in transition...10 minutes or so after my water broke. Was that even possible?!
My breathing soon turned to moaning and by the time Angela arrived, it was time to go to the hospital. She came upstairs while I was glued to the rocker and then helped me get to the toilet once again, this time to poop.
Only, I didn't really have to poop, that was just your head. The pressure down there was unreal and almost as uncomfortable as the contractions. It felt like I needed to poop a bowling ball. Because people poop bowling balls, right? Right.
Angela helped me get dry clothes on (again!) and this time I put on one of your brother's pull ups, rather than a maxi pad. Don't believe them when they say they're Super Absorbent. They ain't.
It took for.ev.er. to get to the car. Contraction = drop to my knees + breathe in + mooooaaaaan out. I remember having to stop, drop, and breathe at the bottom of the stairs and then again on the front porch. It was close to 11 PM at this point, so luckily no neighbors saw me.
Once in the car I sat facing the back of the passenger seat - on my knees, arms and head draped over the head rest. Your daddy said I turned into a black church lady with all my praying out loud for Jesus to come down and rescue me from THE PAIN! I remember praying for Him to help me have you naturally and for the staff of the hospital to help me too. There might have even been a prayer about getting there before you came out!
Angela and your daddy had previously worked out all the logistics of dropping me off at the Emergency Room and parking, so all I remember is walking in and dropping to my knees. Between contractions Angela helped me shuffle over to the desk to check in, and by check in I mean answer a million ridiculous questions. One of them being, Are you scheduled to be here?
Um, yeah. DO I LOOK LIKE I'M SCHEDULED TO BE HERE? Give me a break! I'm literally dropping to my knees every minute now and my moaning has morphed into other-worldly, gut wrenching sounds that I had no idea I knew how to make - yeah, I'm here for a scheduled induction. NOT.
Meanwhile, all the patients and their people are staring at me like they've never seen a woman in labor before. (Okay, maybe they had never seen a woman in labor before.)
Finally a calm, quiet young nurse offers me a wheelchair, which I decline, because OH.MY.GOSH. who could sit with a baby's head THAT low? No thank you. Besides, I needed to be on my knees to survive each contraction and we all know that our butt is not our knees.
The calm, quite young nurse leads the three of us down the longest hallway of my life and into an elevator. Of course, this adventure took for.ev.er. as well because, you know, I'm dropping to my knees every minute or so.
Each time I drop, I lean onto the birthing ball and rock while Angela is on her knees, facing me, holding my hands and talking me through the breathing. I think your daddy is behind me with our suitcase, but really, I have no idea.
The elevator doors finally open, DING! and we bound into the closest hospital room. In that room stands Ornesha (or-nee-sha), or as I like to call her, the answer to all my black church lady prayers.