Watch any old black and white movie when a woman is about to give birth, and there is that inevitable bimbo (usually the father-to-be) running around yelling for someone to "get hot water, get hot water."
And my question has always been, "what on earth for??" I realize there's probably a valid answer for this lurking out there in Google- probably something to do with disinfecting- but I've just always found it amusing. It's funny what the brain thinks in certain circumstances. A few nights ago, I was awakened by a horrible pain. In a sleepy stupor, I instantly thought, Damnit, I started my period.. Wait... Nope. Nevermind. This actually feels about 15x worse. It started in my back and radiated around to my front and for a split second, I wanted to blame it on the fact that maybe the baby was just in a weird position. So I rolled over. Ever so gracefully. Flopping around and gyrating the bed until Jake (who could normally sleep through a tornado) woke up and asked if everything was okay.
Yep. There it is again. Definitely a contraction- and definitely more painful than any of the others I had been having up until now. I grabbed my phone and pulled up the "contraction master" app (they really do make an app for just about anything these days) and started timing them. 3 minutes later, another one. I tapped Jake on the shoulder and said, "I think this might be it- these are actually pretty painful." He responded, "do you want me to draw you a bath?" (And for a split second, I considered the antics of the anxious father-to-be and wondered if this was his own version of, "get hot water, get hot water!") But really he had a point. God love this man. Even at 3:05 a.m., he had the presence of mind to know that getting into the tub would tell me whether or not I was truly "in labor". (So maybe those bimbos in the old black and white movies were on to something...)
Unfortunately, this was not the first time this scenario has played out in our house (although it was the first time it was strong enough to wake me up out of a sound sleep). For the past 2 weeks, I've been suffering through prodromal labor. Definition: the early period in parturition before uterine contractions become forceful and frequent enough to result in progressive dilation of the uterine cervix. Or, in non-medical terms: false labor. Or, as my doctor pointed out, "you could just have an irritable uterus." Well, I have news for my doctor: there ain't much on me that's not irritable these days. My earlobes are irritable. Let's not even talk about the muscular organ that's encasing my 7ish lb son. After several appointments at which it's been determined that I'm closed up tight, I've basically been operating under the assumption that a jack-hammer might be the only thing capable of getting my cervix to budge. So, as much as these contractions hurt, I knew not to jump the gun and waddled out to the couch to let Jake get some sleep and see what would come of it.
It's an odd place to be, really. (No, not our couch). It's the realization that hits a pregnant woman smack in the face when you reach this stage in pregnancy: you're so uncomfortable and DONE, and you complain about how much everything hurts all. the. time- and in places you never even knew existed- yet you turn into a giddy school girl, deliriously happy over something best described as "the holy mother of all period cramps," which will only escalate into the greatest pain you will ever experience. Ever.
Not that I would know anything about that kind of pain. Two years ago when I went into labor with Ella, I had this awesome plan to put our labor and delivery unit on speed dial so that I could call them on the way to the hospital to "pre-order" my epidural in an effort to ensure that I wouldn't have to wait to get it once I got there. By the time we arrived, I would've gladly welcomed a curbside injection, only to discover that I was a measly 3 centimeters. THREE. Women unknowingly walk around at 3 cm before they even go into "real" labor. Yes, it's true: a high threshold for pain, I do not posess. But then again, squeezing a watermelon through a lemon-sized hole is in a class by itself, as far as pain goes (as it should be), Instead, I will essentially be allowing them to create another lemon-ish sized hole in my abdomen (that doesn't already exist naturally) and pull the baby through that way. When I think of it in those terms, it doesn't sound so great either, it's just that I know from past experience that it's a better fit for me.
So it's on: a week to go and ultimately, my cervix will be deciding if I roll up to the hospital at some ungodly hour in the morning in full blown labor....or if I stroll in (still, at an ungodly hour in the morning- 5:30 a.m.) after a fabulous dinner out the night before (of my choosing) and a somewhat restful night of sleep. One thing is certain though, I will be more than ready. ;)
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