6am. Repetitive pain. I am dozing in and out sleep, vaguely thinking that I should get up, but still wrapped in a cocoon of warmth.
A little head comes bopping into our room at 7am. “Hey Mom!!”
A stuffed animal is thrown playfully at my head. Immediate contraction. I carefully roll out of bed. Luke is smiling widely at me. I don’t return the smile.
I go over to Zach’s side of the bed. “Honey? I think I’m in labor. I’m having contractions every 4-5 minutes. They’re not very long but they’re super painful. I think it’s been going on for an hour.”
He eyes me suspiciously.
“Do you think we should call your mom?” I continue, “Or should we, um…”
He replies, “Go to church?”
“No. No!! NOOOO!! Are you crazy? We’re not going to church. I meant should we wait a little.”
This is our third baby. With each one, Zach has never thought that a baby was on its way, until it was literally on its way. As in, here’s your baby. Do you want to hold him?
This time it’s a baby girl and she’s unfortunately breech. Our last baby was breech as well, and I went into spontaneous labor at 32 weeks. When we were at the hospital, they tried stopping the labor, but my water broke and the baby literally fell out as they were performing a C-section. The doctor said that he performed the C-section, and the baby was already descending down the birth canal, feet first. The doctor could not pull the baby back up, so he just pushed on the baby’s head, and the baby slid right out, feet first.
It was far from ideal, and I was completely petrified of having another “double whammy” (what all the nurses called it) where I had a dual recovery from one birth. We had a scheduled C-section for this breech baby, but if I did go into labor before that time, I wanted to head to the hospital the moment I knew positively that I was in labor.
Zach rolls out of bed. “Let’s see how you feel after I shower.”
He hops into the shower and I start timing my contractions. Yup. 4-6 minutes apart. I start texting and calling in the calvary.
Zach’s brother shows up to watch the boys and I give him random instructions just to make myself feel better about calling him over so early on a Sunday morning.
We get into the car and Zach turns towards me. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
It’s my turn to eye him suspiciously. “What?”
“How do you feel about an Egg McMuffin?”
“I’m in labor. Are you serious?” I frown at him, knowing that of course he is serious.
He gives me a charming smile, “I’ll get you one too.”
“I’m in pain.”
“It’ll make you feel better.”
I sigh. He correctly argues that if he doesn’t get food now, he probably won’t get a meal until dinnertime. I let him make his McDonald’s stop.
We arrive at the hospital a bit past 9am. I politely tell the check-in lady that I’m in labor. The last two times we did this, Zach told me that I was being mean to everyone. Being in labor entitles you to be mean, but I suppose I can attempt to be nice.
They hook me up to the monitors and nothing is really showing up. I don’t care. I’m having a baby and I want to see a doctor.
The doctor checks me. More blood. 6cm dilated. Transition happens around 7cm. Ultrasound shows that the baby is still breech. They start to prep the Operating Room.
I have my second emergency C-section. We chat with the anesthesiologist about the number of husbands that pass out during surgery. He says it happens about once a week. The baby does not attempt to pull a “Benjamin” and the doctor is able to retrieve her before anything crazy happens. No double whammy.
We end up with a beautiful baby girl at 38weeks gestational age. She barely beat Luke (37 weeks) and massively surpassed Ben (32 weeks).
And I got a Sausage Egg McMuffin to go with the deal.