We woke up around 11am, and I rolled over to Declan and in a cruel tone of voice I said something out of frustration that I wish I never said...."It's Mother's Day...I bet you didn't even think to get me a card since I'm not even 'technically' a mom. Oh, and take the dog the out."
He said nothing, and got up to take Mac out.
When he came back up to our bedroom, he handed me an envelope that read, "To the best mother-to-be ever". He said something to the effect of "....and I've had it for a week."
I felt like crap.
Dog poop to be precise.
In the midst of what I felt was misery...I was cruel to the one person in this world that always has my back...my best interest at heart...the man who loves me for me. What a jerk I am.
Since we had missed church due to the much-needed sleep, we decided to head out to get some late breakfast or lunch...whatever it ended up being. My contractions started coming back again, but they were still a good distance apart, but painful nonetheless.
We ended up at a little diner...not our typical diner--a different one. Luckily, they were able to get us in right away. [I was shocked how many people eat at the diner on Mothers Day...just sayin'.] I ordered a simple BLT, as my appetite wasn't too big.
However, something crazy started happening as we sat there in that red-patent-leather booth. Those contractions...yea...they were coming now much harder and closer together now. I thought "Hmmm...maybe I should time them....", but it was such a mind-battle because I truly felt like this wasn't.ever.going.to.happen. My hope had been shot out the window.
When I finally did time them, they were coming at 6 minutes apart....5 minutes apart....heck, sometimes even 3 minutes apart. I had to stare out the window of that little diner and breathe. Like, really breathe. I barely ate any of my sandwich.
When the bill came to the table, I told Declan to pay it and I'd meet him in the car. I couldn't stand another minute being in there trying to hide my pain.
I had determined that when I got home, I would call the doctor to let them know the contractions were coming steadily again and anywhere from 3-5 minutes apart. I was pretty sure now that this was "it".
We got home, and I called into the office. Unfortunately, it was that same doctor who made me feel this small earlier who returned my call. I quickly said, "Umm. Hi. It's me again. The contractions are back at anywhere from 3-5 minutes apart now and it's been that way for the last hour and a half". She quickly said, "Okay. I'll tell the hospital and you can head into L&D."
It was official. I was going to the hospital.
Declan packed up the car with everything including the dog to take to my parents where he was going to be staying.
We were ready.
But yet a g a i n...on the way to my parents house, I felt my contractions slowing down again. They seemed to be more like 8 minutes apart now. What.the.heck. So I did what I do best...and I cried. I said lots of things to Declan like, "Maybe this isn't it..." and "Will you be mad at me if they send us home and tell us this is false labor...?"...."Promise me you won't think I'm an idiot because I have no idea what my body is doing!"....
Of course, he thought none of those things. He wanted to do whatever I felt was most necessary. He obviously hasn't been through this before either.
So when we got to my parents to drop Mac off--I insisted that we take a walk around the block to get those contractions moving closer together again. We hooked him up on the leash and off we went. [No one was home at my parents...so it was just us.] During the walk, I had been keeping up with some people via text on my status. My sister-in-love, Kesh being one of them. I texted her something about how confused I was, and I'm not sure what I should be doing...and how dumb I'll feel if I get sent home from L&D with the big "LOSER" sign on my forehead and a "This isn't it" tap-on-the-butt out the door.
Instead of receiving a text back, she called me.
She told me a story about her sister and how she went to L&D twice in one day and got sent home, and then ended up back there that same evening and had the baby within the next hour or so. She reassured me that if I did get sent home, it was no.big.deal, that I didn't have to even tell anyone....and that no one would judge me or make me feel dumb if that happened to me. She made me feel much more at ease about at least going in to be checked out...and heck...if I get sent home, so.freakin.be.it. Life goes on. At least this way I would know if there is any dilation going on or what the crap my body is doing afterall.
We said goodbye to Mac and off we went to the hospital. The whole way there I prepped Declan that we would definitely not be staying, and that we were leaving our stuff in the car. He was fine with that.
I walked into L&D (at 2:30pm) and the nurses at the front desk said, "I'm guessing you're Katie"
"Yep, that's me." Before I could even stop myself I started word vomiting, "I'm sure this isn't it. But I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm so confused. They come and they go. They come fast...then they stop. They hurt. But I'm seriously confused--I've never done this before."
Those poor nurses.
One sweet nurse piped up, "Well, we'll just get you checked out and see! You look like you're uncomfortable. Let's get you to your room."
Into the room we went, and right away I got changed into my gown. I told the nurse who was assigned to me that, "I'm sure I'm going home...but, I'm here now...so what the heck, check me". She hooked me up to hear the babies heartrate, and Emeline was doing great and in the 140's as normal. She put me on the monitor to see what my contractions were doing, and sure enough...they were coming at only 3 minutes apart.
Turns out, I was having the big contractions, and then a smaller one in between that I hadn't been counting because it wasn't as intense.
The nurse checked me, and I was 80% effaced and only 1 cm dilated. When she said that I was only 1cm dilated, I was in shock. FOR REAL? All those contractions did NOTHING?? For sure, we were going home.
She told us to go for a 1-hour walk around the halls of L&D and that they'd check me when I got back to see if I'd progressed. If I was progressing, then this was real labor.
Off we went for our boring walk around the halls. I was definitely struggling when the contractions came, and they were getting much more intense...like oh my gosh, worst.pain.everrrrrr (and honestly, NOTHING in comparison to the contractions I was feeling the last 24 hours). When one hour was up, we went back to my room and the nurse checked me.
"You've dilated to a 2! That's great news. Now, I want you to go for another 1 hour walk."
The progression was good news...but another hour walk? NotSoMuch.
Believe it or not...this walk was 192908x worse then the previous. The contractions were oh so much stronger, and coming so frequently. I felt like I was hobbling around like an idiot...Declan had his hand around my back, and I held one of his hands and squeezed the heck out of it when the contractions would come. He tried to help me breathe through the pain. While I tried...most the time I just said, "Ow..ow..ow...." and "all that 'going to your happy place' stuff is CRAP." He was such a good sport and kept encouraging me that I was doing a great job.
Not only was I dealing with contractions so bad I had to keep myself from crying (for fear the tears would NEVER stop), I was dealing with extreme hunger. I was kicking myself for only nibbling at my BLT earlier. I was s.t.a.r.v.i.n.g. Once you're in the hospital, they don't let you eat--only munch on ice chips or a popsicle--and possibly hard candy if you bring it along. So, on this hour long walk everytime I would pass an ice-machine I would put my hand under and grab a few ice-bits to keep me going. Declan was a good, good man and also brought along some jolly ranchers for me, too.
That jolly rancher tasted like heaven itself, let me tell you.
Once that walk was over, back into the bed to be monitored I went. The internal exams were getting horribly painful as the contractions were just coming so much more intense at this point.
The sweet nurse, Jen, said...."Hmmm....well, looks like you're now 3cm dilated! I'm going to call your doctor and see what she thinks."
A few minutes later (around 7pm) she came back into the room and said...
"So...how do you feel about staying and having this baby?"
I was thrilled.
I went at the right time.
I followed my gut (with the help of my sweet, sister-in-love--)...and it was right.
This was "it".
I'll finish the rest of the story in Part 3. I don't mean to drag this