In the end though, her birth went about as smoothly as possible and she was perfectly healthy and I only had to push out a 6 1/2 pound baby.
So yeah...I guess maybe I was kinda hoping to do that again.
Except without anything being wrong, of course. I just wanted to deliver another 6-pounder.
This waiting game at the end, especially when you've heard from a couple of doctors the whole pregnancy long that it's very possible your baby will be brought early again, is kind of a doozy. I had no idea. Here I am having my second baby but with no idea what it's like to go into labor on your own. I've had constant Braxton-Hicks contractions since about 5 months, but in the past two weeks I've had 5 times of real contractions that started making me think, "This is it!" Then I panic a little/want to cry a little/want to throw up a lot and after about two hours they've completely stopped and never got regular enough to call the doctor.
It's kind of like being slapped around a little but anticipating that at any second you're still going to get punched in face. Except after getting punched in the face everyone will say "CONGRATULATIONS!" and you'll feel like you're on top of the world, which I guess is actually why MMA is so popular?
Or it's kind of like waiting for any second to be Christmas morning, except first you have to carry a torpedo-shaped baby elephant around with only your pelvic joints and hip ligaments and before anyone gives you a present you have to get punched in the face first.
Or kind of like the second time you ride a roller coaster. The first time you're so brave and you're all, "Oh man, what have I gotten myself into??!" but you're not going to miss it for the world because everyone says it's so awesome so you just jump on and try not to think about it and it's horrible and awful and even better than you thought. So you get in line to go again and this time you decide to sit in the very front because you're super brave now but as you're about to go over the top the ride stalls and you have to go all the way back down backwards and start over and your hands are all sweaty and you're like, "Oh man, what have I gotten myself into??!!!??!!"
Like that, except the person next to punches you in the face the whole time and at the end they give you the awesomest present ever as a prize for making it through the ride.
So we're 38 1/2 weeks give-or-take and it could be any second or it could be like two more weeks. Every tiny little pattern of my bodily functions, from being tired to having energy to how hungry I am or what I'm craving or how much I'm peeing, could somehow be a sign that I'm about to go into labor any second. Or that I could go into labor next week. Or in two weeks.
I was super encouraged a few days ago to look in the mirror and feel like I'd dropped. I said to Hubby, all excitedly, "Does it look like I dropped?!" and he looked at me blankly and said, "Uh...yeah! Definitely! Definitely dropped."
Then two hours later he asks me sheepishly, "Babe...what does dropped mean?" and I glared at him.
Last night my girl and I finished reading our first "big girl book" together, Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. We were so snuggled and I was having a million contractions and the end of that book is so sweet and the whole moment was so significant to me that I was sure I was going into labor and it was going to be perfect. She went to bed and we made sure everything was packed right in between contractions. I even did my hair! Then they stopped and I slept until 6:30 when they started again but stopped at 7:30 and today I'm just exhausted.
Stop being the baby who cried labor, Baby!
And please, while you're so comfy in there and making me crave brownies all the time, try not to get to be 10 pounds, okay? Thanks.