Friday, June 13, 2014
I was perfectly content waiting until July. It is right around the corner after all. And even as the every day aches and pain continue to grow and the waddling worsens, I was happy knowing that we had this time. This one last time as a family of three. This one last time to sleep until 8:00 a.m.. This one last time to get everything in it's place. This one last time of calm before the postpartum storm.
And then Monday happened. Something jostled me from my sleep at 2:00 a.m. Probably have to pee, again, I thought. But no, even only half awake, I realized this was different. A contraction. And another and another and another. All consistently 15-20 minutes apart. Uncomfortable but not terribly so. And they just kept rolling in. For hours. I laid in bed, keeping track, trying not to wake Jon. When the doctor's office opened later that morning, I called in to report the situation. At only 35 and 1/2 weeks I was slightly worried that this was too early. My doctor didn't seem to share the same concern and told me that if it progressed, to head on in to the hospital.
My apprehension quickly turned to excitement. And I suddenly didn't care that baby girl's clothes were still not stashed neatly in her dresser drawers. Or that half of the baby equipment still remained covered in dust in the shadows of the storage room. Or that I still had plans to buy some new pajama pants, as to not be "that mom" in the frumpy old sweatpants at the hospital. Or that Jon may still have some very important studying to be completed prior to his very important test which happens to be scheduled only one week before the due date. Because suddenly, all I could think about was finally meeting her. Seeing her sweet little face, holding her in my arms and welcoming her to this big ol' world, I could think of nothing I would rather do.
But then, 8 hours after they began, the contractions began to decrease and become increasingly irregular. And Jon sighed with relief. And I did too, but only a little.
Even though I still have 4 weeks before baby is officially done cookin', I can't help but feel that I've been jipped. Sounds silly, I know. Blame it on the hormones ;).
It's just a matter of time now, a waiting game.