July 1, 2011

Finding Love: I Will Never Feel Fully Comfortable in Anthropologie Again

My husband takes fantasy sports very seriously.
(Can I get an amen and a sympathetic eye roll from the rest of the wives in the League?)
I used to joke with him that someday I would go into labor and he would have to choose-- football draft or hospital.
I was slightly nervous about this choice.
Earlier in my pregnancy I reminded him that the league's basketball draft was normally mid-October, right before two of the wives were due.
So they moved up the draft.
Ha. Haha.
The weekend before the baby was born-- at our five year college reunion!

On October 10, the boys held their basketball draft while the girls and I went shopping downtown. Baby E (as he was known at the time) was due in twelve days.
I think we all know how this is going to end. 

It's any modern girl's dream: I went into labor while shopping at Anthropologie.
My girlfriends were looking around while I sat through my contractions on one of those cute vintage-y chairs no one ever sits on.
And now no one ever will.
(Hey-- did you guys end up buying anything? There was a lot of cute stuff there last fall.)
We cut our shopping trip short when I could no longer walk through the contractions and started needing other people to make decisions for me. 
It actually turned out to be a great rest of the afternoon!
Colette picked up Blenders for us. 
We snuggled in the guest bedroom while the guys finished up their draft.
 I timed my contractions on my iphone, while we watched Jerseylicious. 
It was great, you know, except for the rising panic that WE WERE ABOUT TO HAVE A BABY.

Somehow, on the day the baby is born, nine months doesn't seem like quite enough time to get ready.
Well, we weren't ready. I wasn't ready.
I didn't really have a bag packed and certainly didn't have a music playlist together like I had planned on.
(Incidentally, if a playlist on your ipod helped you through labor, I would like to talk with you.)

After our guests left ("We'll call you from the hospital!" we joked, still a little bit in denial), I waddled downstairs and sat on the couch, very helpfully.
I felt the need to be very calm, very controlled, and to keep timing those contractions.
Several hours passed like this, I'm sure, because we didn't leave for the hospital until about 7pm, after my contractions had been five minutes apart since about 3:00.
But I remember very little.
Abby is mere hours away from becoming a big sister, whether she likes it or not.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, I was not convinced that I was actually in labor. 
I kept delaying leaving the house, totally hung up about having a "false alarm" at the hospital. 
So, friends-- do not be hung up about going to the hospital if you suspect you may be in labor. The nurses will be really nice to you and you will probably get a popsicle for your pains.
(And by pains, I do mean the five exams you'll undergo to see if you are dilated.)

Tovi got my bag packed and convinced me that there was no shame in doing a "trial run." 
That the worst that could happen would be that we would come home, no one needed to know that we were going to the hospital, and that I could even take the next day off work if I was still having contractions.

Pat Abby goodbye.
Waddle, waddle out to the car.
Snuggle into my pillow through each contraction.
Here we go.

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