5:30 AM: Waking up early to check in to the hospital. I’m a couple days away from my due date. Last week I was at 4 doctor fingers dilated. I’m carrying more amniotic fluid than normal and it’s causing extreme discomfort and pain. Baby is also measuring big, around 9 lbs. Doctor approved an induction for today and my “so large and immobile I’m one day away from needing to use the motorized carts at Target” ass jumped all over it.
6:15 AM: My mom has arrived to watch Lucy, Rob and I are loading the car. My phone rings - it’s the hospital. They had a huge influx of women come in during the night and fear if I showed up then they’d have to send me home. I threatened to send them all home to Jesus. Quietly. In my head. They said they’d call when they’re ready for me.
6:30 AM: Taking a nap with my phone clutched in my hands. Get up to pee for the one millionth time. Worst nap of my life. Feeling bitter.
1:00 PM: Hospital finally called me in. Checking into hospital. Rob looks like a bell hop with all my bags. I’ve somehow managed to overpack more for the second child like I’m going to a tropical vacation. Little do I know I won’t use 99.9% of everything I packed.
2:00 PM: Nurse checks my cervix. Don’t let her dainty fingers fool you, it feels like the Incredible Hulk is up there with a steak knife. She says I’m 5 cm dilated.
2:10 PM: I’m starving. Rob agrees he’s hungry too - then orders a burger and fries and continues to eat it right in front of me. Like a real buttface.
3:00 PM: I gently recommend the nurse calls in for an epidural. I’m no hero.
3:30 PM: A man walks into my room with a halo hovering above his head. I hear harp music as he enters and I’m at a level of peace I can’t fully put into words. Is he God? An angel? No, he’s an Anesthesiologist named Tim.
3:45 PM: Bored.
4:00 PM: Fixer Upper marathon is keeping me slightly distracted. Just found out the people don’t get to keep the furniture. FIXER UPPER IS A LIE.
5:00 PM: Epidural is working. Too good. I feel like a dead beached whale, except I’m alive and can move my arms. Just had my hand on my leg and thought it was lying on a goose down pillow. Nope, just my fluffy, fluffy thighs.
5:15 PM: Current emotional status: stopped worrying about labor. Started worrying about crapping all over my doctor.
5:30 PM: Still starving. Rob is now ordering a Philly cheesesteak. I’m killing him with eye darts.
6:00 PM: Another cervix check. I’m texting while it’s happening this time instead of screaming and bucking my leg like a pissed off horse. Thanks epidural ::wink::
6:01 PM: Asked nurse how my vagina looks since I haven't seen it in 6 months. She laughed. Awkwardly. BAD SIGN.
6:02 PM: Rob just chimed in - says it looks like it transported back to the 70s since the last time he saw it.
6:20 PM: Just checked in with my mom at home with Lucy. She asked me to explain how the AppleTV works. Considering she doesn’t know how to get pictures off emails - I DO NOT HAVE THAT KIND OF TIME.
6:45 PM: Just asked nurse to like the HaHas for HooHas FB page. Stared at her until she pulled out her phone and liked it against her will.
7:00 PM: Nurse shift change. My new nurse looks like she’s 14, but she’s married and had a kid at home. OMG, I AM advanced maternal age! These medical professionals are babies delivering babies!
7:30 PM: Kinda looking forward to the mesh panties after we’re done with this.
7:45 PM: Holy crap, IS SOMEONE GOING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS BABY?
8:10 PM: BOOOOORING!
9:40 PM: Time to push! My doctor’s here! Thank you sweet baby Moses!
9:46 PM: I’m pushing a bit frantic, feeling wild. Doctor keeps telling me I’m doing really good and to push again, “just like that.” What does “just like that” even mean? I’m just grunting like a wild woman. What did they see that makes her feel good about my skills? I’m confused and convinced I’m pooping.
9:50 PM: Some nurse in the back (baby’s nurse maybe? I wasn’t paying attention) just said, “Good! Good! Again, just like that?!” WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE WANT FROM ME?!
9:52 PM: I feel my doctor move something, maybe a towel, near my butt. Did I poop? TELL ME, DID I POOP? My doctor says no, my husband says nothing. They’re all assholes.
9:55 PM: Baby’s head is out. I want to finish pushing, but I’m told to wait until my next contraction. I’m desperate just to push her out. This is torture. Everyone is casually talking about the baby’s hair. “Does that look red to you? Looks red to me. Anna, you’re going to have a red head!” EVERYONE SHUT UP UNTIL THE BABY IS OUT OF MY VAGINA.
10:00 PM: Penelope is here! She’s on my chest. I call her Poppy. My husband and I cry. She’s screaming in my face and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. She looks like me, I think. She’s perfect. We did it. She’s finally here. As a bonus and non-bonus depending on your perspective, I can finally shave my legs again.