A Long December

At 7AM I gasped, then moaned and rolled to my side. For the first time ever, a contraction had woken me up. I wanted to feel hopeful, but I couldn't find the ability. I went back to sleep and ignored them again when I woke up for real and showered and got ready for church. I thought about how perfect it would be.

Though I'm not due until December 30th (January 4th if you ask my OB), last month I arbitrarily chose December 17th as the desired birthdate of my daughter. And I had just spent two-thirds of a lovely weekend catching up with my husband. We went on a date Friday night, back to the old standby, the location of our first date. As I struggled to find something to wear, I complained to Tara over the phone. "Let me tell you how difficult it is to look cute when you're 9 months pregnant. My main goal now is to keep the belly covered." She laughed sympathetically. A few minutes later I found a low cut top that made use of my pregnancy-enhanced assets. "I stand corrected," I told Tara, "cleavage still works." So I laughed at dinner when The Boy said, "I love that you're 9 months pregnant and I still can't take my eyes off of you." And I loved it too. We'd had company in the form of my mother-in-law for the last week and hadn't been able to catch up. So Friday was sublime.

Days earlier, he had given me a gift certificate for breakfast in bed and three TiVo shows of my choice (also in bed), that he made good on Saturday morning. We spent the whole day and evening together, so I was feeling pretty good about feeling bad this morning. But not good enough to trust it.

In church I wasn't always able to sing some of my favorite Christmas carols; I sat down and breathed deeply. "You need to be tracking them, baby," The Boy whispered, handing me a slip of paper. I discreetly took note of the contractions, still not trusting them. After church we met friends at a sports bar, having changed into Saints jerseys in the car. By halftime, Jenn squealed and my list of contractions spanned nearly four hours and listed times no more than 6 minutes apart. We decided to call the doctor. At home we calmly loaded everything up, divided and conquered last minute issues.

At the hospital, I was disappointed by my lack of progress. Once I was lying down, the contractions felt much less severe. "Early labor," they shrugged. They said it was normal. Did not make me feel stupid. Hours later, as I lay on my couch with more contractions, my OB called to check in.

"It's not unusual for early labor for first babies to take 14-16 hours," she said. I sighed. So I'm drinking lots of water and resting on the couch, contemplating whether I'll work tomorrow, grateful for the last couple days of quiet time together before everything changes-- for the better, for good.