We arrived at the hospital, took the obligatory "arriving at the hospital photo" (see below) and made our way up to the fourth floor. Talk about insane deja vu.
Apparently I need to expand my maternity wardrobe.
Check out the (blurry) Lola arrival picture, circa 2009:
As we turned the corner towards the main nurse's station, we ran into the doctor who delivered Lola.
It was awkward, mostly because I decided to go with a different doctor this time around.
Remember how she didn't believe me when I told her my water broke?
We walked up to the desk (I tried to hide my face because I'm a freak like that) and told the nurse we thought I was in labor. We were escorted to tiny exam room, I was handed a gown and those crazy blue socks and right around then I started to get kind of freaked.
Because having a baby hurts.
The nurse checked me: I was still at a two (plus).
My water had not broken.
Boo and boo.
I lost the confidence I had gained with each contraction and began to realize we were probably going to be sent home, which is so depressing, because once you've changed into the gown you might as well get it all over with, right?
To make things worse, I was restricted to a diet of ice chips, which is pretty much torture.
But the good news was, the contractions weren't in my head.
According to the monitor, they really were coming at a rate of about two to three minutes apart.
But after three hours of walking the halls, watching The Office while doing jumping jacks and shouting commands to my unborn child, I still wasn't progressing.
So at about 1:30 a.m., I got a big fat morphine shot in my butt to help with the pain before they gave us the boot.
Apparently morphine makes me crazy.
My memory of the rest of the night is patchy, at best.
I threw myself into bed and slept while my husband attended to my poor, puking daughter (seriously, best night ever).
I woke up with a headache and a lack of contractions, which made me so sad.
I was still a little high from the drugs, so I hopped in the shower, got ready and tried to eat.
That's when the contractions came back, with full freakin' force.
So we packed up the car, kissed our baby goodbye for a second time, stopped by Subway for sandwiches and giant Diet Cokes and headed back to the hospital...