Anyway, here is part one of the story of my son's birth :
My first child was born on September 3, 2012, a Monday, but not just any Monday: Labor Day, which anyone can tell you is infinitely better than your average Monday, as well as an appropriate day to give birth. My husband Andy and I spent that weekend trying to distract ourselves from the fact the we had reached my due date and could still have up to two weeks of waiting before we met the baby. On Saturday, we went out for a fancy dinner, took a walk downtown, and rented a movie. On Sunday, we went to church, but sat in the the back and left early because I was getting so uncomfortable. I had no desire to go anywhere or see anyone for the rest of that day, so we just stayed in, worked on a puzzle, and had french toast with peaches for dinner.
|Peach french toast and labor are now forever connected in my mind.|
|This is after another neighborhood walk taken a few weeks earlier. Notice the wet spot on my belly from where my raincoat wouldn't close.|
Around 11 a.m., Andy and I were siting back at the dining room table trying to work on the puzzle again, when I had three contractions in a row that were 2 minutes apart. Andy and I both looked and each other and said, “It’s time to go to the hospital.” My parents pulled up as we were walking out to the car and my mom asked if we were going for a walk. I just said, “We’re going to the hospital.” She jumped in the car with us and called the midwife as Andy drove.