On November 21st, we accidentally had our baby in our small NYC apartment. Which is something I didn't think happened to real people. But it can and here's how.
This was my last bump shot, a selfie, taken at exactly 36
weeks. On both that day and at my appointment two days later, there were zero signs
that anything was imminent. I felt great.
Then in the middle of my 36th week, I came down with a fever and my stomach was painfully tight. A day and a half later the fever went away but I felt like I was having contractions. So I timed them. One minute long approximately every five minutes. Which is when I thought I was supposed to go to the hospital, so we Ubered our way there. The hospital staff triaged me, hooked me up to all the usual stuff, and we waited. The contractions got worse so, despite the early due date, it seemed like this was "it."
I'm no expert, but this graph looks like a contraction mountain range to me.
Then the bad news. I wasn't in real labor and had to go home. I was told it was prodromal labor, or fake labor, which can really mess with a person. That could have been good news since I was three weeks early but I was in so. much. pain. Not labor? I sure must be a wimp. The doctor told me I would know when the contractions were real and that they'd see me in two weeks.
Warning: if you muster a smile between contractions, you might be sent home. A “thumbs up” is no way to act when in fake or real labor!
My future from there looked pretty bleak. The combination of regular contractions plus facing an hour
of public transportation during Friday night rush hour is a pretty rough spot to find yourself in. A taxi made even less sense given this unfortunate timing.
We made it home, went to bed, and my fake contractions continued all night (Tylenol does nothing for labor, y'all) and got pretty intense in the wee hours of the morning. By daylight on Saturday, things were feeling kind of serious but I was no shape to process the logistics of childcare and transportation and Randy was too busy with Tiger Cub duty to realize that things had escalated. Also, we had just been sent home from the hospital the night before and told it was NOT real labor. So we were trying to be chill about the whole thing in a I-feel-like-I'm-dying-but-don't-mind-me kind of way.
About 9 am my water broke and I ran to the bathroom. For a fleeting moment I felt elated that 1) I was in real labor so take that you naysayers and 2) the hospital would have to take me now. But that was short lived because within minutes things got a little out of control.
If you want to see all the blood drain out of your husband's face, I highly recommend standing
in the bathroom while enormously pregnant and saying, “I see the baby’s head!” Randy threw a towel on the floor, I got down, pushed once, and the baby "shot out like a cruise missile" according to the father who also served as an untrained baby catcher.
I have said, many times, that if I ever give birth without
an epidural, it’s because something went terribly wrong.
THIS is what I call
terribly wrong. Sitting on my living room floor holding a baby that just
came out of me. Whaaaaaat???
At this point, life as I knew it stopped making sense.
Randy, who is so cool under pressure that it earned him a
career in air traffic control at one of the country’s busiest airports,
attended to the formalities. He swabbed the mouth, rubbed the chest, tapped the
feet, and tied off and cut the cord – with a shoe lace! Thanks Dr. R (Randy’s dad) for
helping to deliver a baby over a long distance telephone call and walking us through
all that! Randy also alerted a neighbor who called 911 and would stay with
Tiger Cub until our friend arrived.
At some point I looked up and Tiger Cub, who had been eating breakfast at the kitchen table, had scampered down and was standing a few feet away. All I could think to say was, "do you want to meet your little brother," and Tiger Cub said, "a baby came out of mommy's tummy."
I hope we saved money doing this ourselves, because hello therapy bills!
The firefighters and paramedics who arrived thought they would see some action on a
Saturday morning. We had to disappoint them with the news that the baby was
delivered, breathing, and had a severed cord. They offered a reflective warming
blanket but otherwise milled around our living room looking bored.
If the paramedics are smiling, everything must be a-okay,
right?
I've never had two ambulances and a fire truck arrive on my behalf before. And I hope I never do again! Thank goodness it was Saturday morning and there was hardly anyone around.
Our good (very, very good) friend Lacy arrived on the scene to
take over Tiger Cub duty, did a little photo documentation (including the hallway shot above) for posterity's sake, and even performed some hazmat cleanup. Seriously, I told you she is an amazing friend.
That's how we know that Tiger Cub and Randy sat down to this adorable daddy-son breakfast just a few minutes (seconds?) before you-know-what hit the fan. You know things got crazy fast since Randy left eggs on his fork.
Mercifully I didn’t tear, for those of you that care about
such things. I couldn’t have been happier about this because I’m pretty sure tearing
and the subsequent repair would’ve put me over the edge with the whole experience.
Once we were properly hospitalized, the medical staff did all their hospital-y stuff like weighing, cleaning, Vitamin K shots, etc. The little guy was even post-diagnosed with a 9/9 Apgar score because he was in such good shape. He was born at 36 weeks + 6 days. We were all healthy, although quite traumatized as you might expect.
I’ve never been real clear on my level of pain tolerance prior to this fun event. My
current stance is that, after laboring in various parts of NYC – Uber car, hospital,
Wendy’s, the subway, walking down the street, in a small apartment with my
2-year-old running around (in that order) – all while
trying to look like a normal person who is not in the worst pain of her life (i.e. grimaces only, no screaming),
is that my pain tolerance is flipping fantastic!
I'm still a fan of epidurals, sterile fields, white bed sheets, and even those gowns that never quite conceal your backside. But mostly epidurals.
We're lucky that Grandpa came all the way from Georgia on a moment's notice to help out. Tiger Cub wore scrubs to visit us because he's basically a medical professional now (if a somewhat skeptical big brother).
And there you have it, folks. Not everyone gets to emerge
from the labor experience with blood under their fingernails. But we're thrilled to have a perfect and beautiful 6 lb baby boy to add to our family.
