Warning: the following series of posts will be long and detailed and entirely for my own benefit.
I owe it all to a pedicure, Taco Time and a gigantic shot of morphine.
Allow me to explain.
Last Monday, Reece, Lola and I headed up to see my OB for what I was hoping and praying would be my final visit before baby. The weekly commute to Salt Lake was beginning to wear on my very pregnant body and our bank account (seriously, gas prices?), and quite frankly, I was ready to hold my kid.
I was dilated to a 2-plus (I really think the "plus" part is just a doctor's way of pacifying a grumpy pregnant woman) and more than 50-percent effaced, which was good, but not good enough for me. Thus I begged Dr. Laine to strip my membranes, drawing strength from the fact that the procedure sent one of my best friends into labor just a week before.
I left the office with naked membranes, an induction date set (for Sunday, my due date) and an unbreakable conviction to have my baby that very day. After all, a woman's will is a powerful thing, right? Especially when she's carrying around 28 extra pounds and a perma-bad mood.
We headed to Bountiful to bide our time in case anything started happening on the baby front.
We put Lola down and I took off for a Rolo McFlurry (SO disappointing, by the way) and a pedicure, which I've heard can induce labor. Because naturally, I couldn't give birth with ugly toes.
It's against some law. Or something.
I began cramping as the pedicurist (?) was rubbing sea salt scrub on my swollen legs. I nearly jumped for joy, because people, it was something! And something is better than nothing, right?
Before heading back to my in-laws' house, I stopped by Cindy's to whine about how much I wanted to go into labor. She listened and sympathized, as she always does. Best friends are awesome that way.
By the time I returned to my husband and daughter, the cramping had worsened, but I was feeling doubtful that anything was going to happen. We decided to head back to Lindon and hope for some action within the next few days.
I begged Reece to stop at the Gateway first -- we needed to find a few birthday and Father's Day gifts. We walked around for an hour or so, and I began noticing consistent cramping that wouldn't seem to go away. Up until this point, I'd only ever experienced back contractions (that's all I felt with Lola), so this abdominal phenomenon was completely new to me.
I tried to ignore it as we munched on a double chocolate chip cookie from Bear Country, but was quite unsuccessful.
Not even the wonders of Anthropologie could distract me from the pain, so I knew something was up. We went to the food court to get Lola something to eat, and the pain just got worse and more consistent.
After eating a few bites of Reece's Taco Time bean burrito, the contractions became almost too intense for my wussy little self to endure. Luckily the Maudsleys had dropped by to say hello, and Cindy helped confirm that what I was feeling was, in fact, labor. They kindly strapped our girl into their car and took her up to Reece's parents house so we could go to the hospital.
I get emotional just looking at the following picture.
It's the last one we have of our little family of three.
I sobbed as I kissed my girl goodbye.
She laughed at me, bit my lip and tickled my chin.
Oh how I love her.
As we made the quick drive to LDS Hospital, I couldn't help but consider that at around the same time on a summer night not too different from this one two years ago, we made the same trip. I believe I was even wearing the same dress.
I remember feeling so terrified on that drive, so unsure of what was going to happen and whether or not I could handle it.
This time around, I just felt peace.
Well that and a few really nasty contractions.
And on that note, I'm going to bed.
I'll pick up this story when, by some miracle, both my children are sleeping at the same time.