If you missed part one and its cliffhanger ending, check here. Otherwise, the saga continues.
I'm lying in bed, warm water soaking me, and I can't believe it. Tonight, of all nights! I'm home alone, and Jimmy is three hours away. I got out of bed, grabbed my phone and walked like a bow legged cowboy towards the bathroom. Because in my mind, walking like a bow legged cowboy was somehow going to keep me from getting myself and the floor wet. Oh-kaaay. I clearly wasn't thinking straight at this point. I sat down on the toilet and dialed Jimmy. It went to voicemail, so I hung up. I couldn't string the words together in order to leave a comprehensible message. I was shaking like a leaf and could barely hold on to my phone. Jimmy, woken up in his hotel room in Calgary, of course saw that I had just called, and probably wet the bed a little himself. He immediately called me back and I told him we may need a new mattress. I clarified and said that my water had broken, but that I was fine, and wasn't feeling any contractions yet. He told me he hadn't even unpacked just in case and that he'd be in the car in minutes.
Next phone call, my mom. Having been told that my water had broken, my mom uttered words that shouldn't be retyped on a family blog. Something that rhymes with "Oh, spit, spit!". I remember that calmed my nerves, because it was kind of funny to hear my mom swear. She assured me that as soon as she located some pants, she'd be on her way over. I hung up, still unable to move myself from my perch on the porcelain throne. As I was trying to gather my resolve, I got a text from Mama Hughes, PR agent extraordinaire, wishing me luck. Clearly, Jimmy had notified her that he was leaving Calgary for the big event. (On a total tangent, you could watch this interview with Jimmy's assistant coach early in the day that I went into labour. Neither Jimmy or I knew about it until after Gracie arrived, so knowing how things turned out, it was funny to watch.)
My mom arrived at my house around 1 am, and I was still feeling fine. I waddled around, checking my bags and packing the last of the snacks, talking a mile a minute, my mom all the while trying to convince me that I should lay down and get some rest. Finally I relented, and laid down on Jimmy's side of the bed since my side was a little damp. Not long after laying down, the contractions started. I remember thinking, I can handle this! This was also the beginning of the kazillion trips to the bathroom that continued through the night. I've never had to pee so much in my life! Not even after drinking a Big Gulp while 9 months pregnant. So. Much. Peeing.
Jimmy arrived home after I had made the thousandth trip to the bathroom, right around 3 am. Things were getting more intense. He promptly tried to use the hypnobirthing techniques we had been practicing, and I told him to cut that something-that-rhymes-with-spit out. One of only two times I swore in labour. It wasn't the hypnobirthing itself that was annoying, it was his voice. Not his real voice, his hypno voice. We agreed he could still say the hypnobirthing stuff, just in his normal voice. Having solved that matter, we moved on. I tried laying down, and that was a no. I tried sitting on the exercise ball, and that was a definite no. Finally, I found a comfortable spot sitting back on the couch, Jimmy rubbing my shoulders, and my mom rubbing my legs. We had called our doula to come over, and I remember thinking, thank goodness she'll be here soon, because I need a drink, and if either of these two move from their posts, I'm going to get cray up in here. Because when I'm in labour, I get a little thug like that. I told the porter at the hospital who was ordering me to sit. in. a. wheelchair I was going to bust a cap in his something-that-rhymes-with-glass (second time I swore in labour. True story. Or is it?).
The doula arrived and I got my drink, scotch on the rocks. Or just cranberry juice. On the rocks. The contractions were definitely getting more intense, but I wasn't watching the clock. I let other people do that for me, because A) it's hard to tell time on an analog clock on an ordinary day, and B) I didn't want to be clock watching. I'm not even sure how long I pushed for, but I do know that it was not a short amount of time. But I digress. More on pushing later.
This was the point at which I declared loudly that I didn't want to do this anymore. A classic hallmark of transition. Things were gettin' serious, yo. It was about 6 am and our doula suggested we start making our way to the hospital. But I didn't really like the sounds of that either. Getting properly dressed and having to be in a car sounded about as appealing as spending an evening with at karaoke with the Chipmunks. But I did it, and we arrived at the hospital, me moaning and swaying through each contraction, ready to be checked in at Emergency as it was around 6:30 am.
So there I am, gracefully swaying and moaning not at all like a cow, and the teenage girl already being checked in looks back at me, terrified that I'm about to deliver this baby in front of her.
"Umm," she stammered, glancing nervously at us, "I think maybe they need your help!" She exclaimed to the woman behind the desk.
"No, no," says the kind emergency desk woman without even looking up, "I'll finish checking you in first."
"No, I think she's in LABOUR!" Say the panicked girl, pointing out my bovine song and dance.
"If you're in labour, you go to that desk there," says the ever helpful emergency desk lady, pointing towards a desk where there are no people and no lights on.
Jimmy did tell her there was no one at that desk, but she cared not and told us to wait. Yes, wait.
As you will have to do for the third and final installment in this epic tale!
Soonish, I promise!