And this is the story of how baby Jack came into this world.
Tuesday, January 12th. I had been having contractions on and off since Christmas, and I just knew that at this appointment, only two days away from my due date, the doctor was going to tell me I was super close to having a baby. Instead, she said that wasn't the case and scheduled me for an induction on the 21st. I cried and told Chris I did not think I could physically be pregnant for nine more days, so we went to Chick-Fil-A. We ended up having the best night ever…we got pizza and watched The Martian and just hung out. When we went to bed that night, we said that if that had been our last night just the two of us, it would have been a great one.
|After my appointment on Tuesday, I wrote this in my planner, like mayyyyybe it would make it true.|
Wednesday, January 13th. Chris made us a big breakfast and we were having a lazy morning watching Netflix. I was having contractions, but at this point, I didn’t trust them at all. I downloaded an app that tracks them, and they were coming between 8-25 minutes apart. The problem was that they started hurting way more than before. We were in the middle of an episode of The West Wing and I decided to take a bath to see if I could get my body to relax if it wasn’t the real thing, which I was positive it wasn’t. Chris was not so sure, but I chalked that up to it being the first day he’d been with me where I had a lot of contractions. I was sure my body was still lying to me.
I could tell that he thought something was happening because while I was in the bath, he took the dog out and refilled his food and water, which was something on our list of what to do right before we left for the hospital. I kept the app open on my phone and just pressed the button when I had contractions, not really paying attention to the timing.
When I got out and went to lay down, Chris picked my phone up…and saw that my contractions were 4 and a half minutes apart. He told me I needed to get dressed because we should probably go to the hospital. The problem was that they were only lasting about 40 seconds each, and I was sure that I was going to get sent home from the hospital, which I had made a goal to NOT happen. Now, I’m pretty happy with who I am as a person, but even I have to admit that I am incredibly stubborn once I have something in my mind. At that point, I had in my mind that I was not in labor, and going to the hospital would only get me sent home with a bill. Let us also take a moment to remember that I am married to a man who will be a doctor in May. And still, I'm so stubborn.
The following conversation took place between contractions.
Chris: Hey, why don’t we just go to the hospital? Just for kicks.
Me: I don’t think we need to.
Chris: Why don’t you get dressed, just in case?
Me: Okay, but it’s not time to go yet.
I wander around the house, trying to decide what to put on and if I want a snack.
Chris: Chelsea, why don’t you get dressed?
Me: Because I don’t want to go to the hospital yet.
Chris: Okay, so why don’t we do this: You get dressed, and we’ll go to Chick-Fil-A, and while we’re there, we’ll decide if we should maybe go to the hospital. And we’ll take our stuff just in case.
At this point, Chris has gotten all of our stuff together, packed all of the last minute things from our list, and I am literally just standing there in a towel telling him my contractions are fake.
Chris: GET DRESSED.
Me: You know what’s funny? All this time I’ve had to plan, I haven’t thought at all about what I wanted to wear to the hospital.
Chris: You haven’t—what? Okay, no. Just get—
Chris: You are going to get dressed before your next contraction, or you are going to the hospital in my boxers and a t-shirt. Your choice.
So I got dressed, hugged Gatsby, told him we’d be home soon, and had about three more contractions while grabbing random things I thought I might need at the hospital before Chris made me go stand outside so we could actually leave.
On the way to Chick-Fil-A, I told him that I felt stupid because I was pretty sure they were going to send me home. He said not to worry about it, and then said something that struck fear into my heart.
“It’s better to get there too early and get sent home than it is to get there too late to get an epidural.”
We pulled into the drive-thru at that moment, because I wanted to eat a meal before checking in, and the mother of all contractions hit. While Chris was paying for the food I checked the app and saw they were coming at THREE AND A HALF MINUTES APART. I managed to eat exactly one chicken nugget and two French fries before starting to sob that I had waited too long and now wasn’t going to be able to get an epidural and that was going to be the end of my life.
We got to the hospital, where we had preregistered so we wouldn’t have to wait. I guess when I imagined not waiting, my imagination did not include a grumpy nurse at the front desk.
Me: Hi, we preregistered. Gives her information.
Grumpy nurse: Why are you here?
Me: Has contraction.
Chris: She’s in labor.
Grumpy nurse: You don’t look like you’re in labor. You look like you could go jogging right now.
Me and Chris: …….
Grumpy nurse: Well...come on back, I guess. But I don't think you're in labor.
To be continued!