We knew, we knew, we knew we had to wait. We needed to graduate from college, get married, get jobs. All that other lifey stuff. But that didn't stop us from staring at babies in the grocery store and asking the other, "Why not me?" Or discussing parenting styles and reading books about raising children and deciding on baby names. Our ultimate goal in life was to have a family together.
So finally, seven years after our first date and three weeks after our wedding, we looked at two little pink lines and realized that hey! You can get pregnant in a hot tub! I mean, we realized we were going to have a bouncing, baby, bundle.
So fast-forward nine months of puking, and preparing, and puking more. Our estimated due date was the day before the last day of the fall semester. We were both teachers, so that date was just a wee bit inconvenient. In the weeks preceding birth, we talked to our little fetus about when the most convenient time for his arrival would be, expecting him to completely ignore our preferences and come whenever he damn well pleased. We did refer to him as "the demon seed," after all (see above: puking more).
I'd heard that first-time moms usually go late, which was both a relief and a uh, non-relief. I wanted to finish up the fall semester before going on maternity leave but I also wanted the little to come as soon as possible so that Husband could spend the full two week Christmas break getting to know his baby (read: catering to my every whim).
I managed to make it to the last day of school, joking with parents that I might go into labor at our winter party, laid out plans for my long term sub when school started again in January, and finally left school at 3:30 that afternoon. Husband and I went home to the Great House, our communal family home, checked out each other's teacher-gift hauls. Eventually my dad came home from work and we decided to go out for Mexican food to celebrate the start of our winter break. I remember being just starving - I ate my fajitas and then worked on my mom's tostadas. We enjoyed our family dinner and headed home. I'm ten months pregnant by this point and exhausted from a semester of seven-year-olds, so Husband and I said goodnight to la familia and headed upstairs.
I smelled like fajitas so I
So I get out of the shower and waddle back to our bedroom, climb into bed with Husband and we start watching a movie. Another contraction comes on and I groan in complaint and roll over, thinking a change of position is in order. Instead I hear and feel a POP! and a stream of water comes gushing out between my legs. And then I realize hey, this is labor! And I tell Husband, "Either my water just broke, or I wet the bed." Unfortunately, both were equally likely. But don't worry, we were covered in amniotic fluid, not tee tee.
I stand up out of bed and another gush of water ruins the carpet. My mom and sisters get wind of the goings-on and come in, Husband calls the midwife, it's all very exciting. I'm shaking like a leaf because my brain knows that pretty soon a whole baby will be making his entrance to the world by way of MY 'GINA and also, he will be our baby and we'll have to take care of him and stuff and it's like you know that time you wanted a hamster and you were going to take care of it and feed it and play with it every day, but by the end of that second month, you're just kinda like, oh yeah, the hamster, and four months later you're like why do you only want to exercise at night?!? and eventually when it escapes you're all, well, hamsters need freedom. Godspeed, little friend. And what if it's like that? But then that thought-process is over (get a grip!) and the midwife tells us to get some sleep. Sleep? At a time like this? But surprisingly, we do.
And that's just the start.
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