As December quickly flashed by and we got closer and closer to Christmas Day (my due date), I began praying that the baby would not decide to make an appearance on Christmas. I didn't want to spend Christmas in the hospital and I also didn't want the poor kid to have a Christmas birthday. A few days before or after-- great. But as someone with a birthday three weeks before Christmas who *still* sometimes got shafted on gifts, I had some compassion for having a birthday right on the holiday itself.
As Christmas approached and nothing seemed to be happening, I relaxed a little bit and started to plan for having a late baby. The Pretend Husband and I started discussing whether we would want an induction or membran stripping, and I began hoping to go into labor on my own sometime in the week between Christmas and New Year's.
Christmas Day came and it was perfect. We had decided to keep the holiday simple, not knowing if it would even happen. We set out a bunch of food, told family when we would be home and sat back to wait for them to visit. FunnyKid alternated between riding his new backhoe, jumping on his new trampoline and snuggling up with grandparents. I alternated between talking and eating, mostly while cuddled up on the couch.
Everyone left in the evening and within two hours, I started having some cramping and then contractions, which were not at all regular (and had started and stopped before, so I didn't get too excited about them). That evening, I had the PH take a photo of me at 40 weeks pregnant, not knowing how little time I had left.
We put FunnyKid to bed and the PH and I watched some television while I timed the contractions, which were anywhere from 12 to 20 minutes apart. As we got into bed around 10:30, my water broke. And that's when things got real. The PH (who had a really bad cold) tried to grab a little sleep while I went downstairs to pace and time contractions, which got stronger and closer together but since I was still able to walk and talk through them, I figured I was still pretty early in the process.
As the contractions got down to 3-5 minutes apart, I jumped in the shower and the PH started preparing for a trip to the hospital while family members started to make their way over to our house to stay with FunnyKid. After getting dressed, I was fine with chatting with my dad in between contractions, but the PH started to get nervous ("I am not delivering this baby myself!") and started to rush me out the door.
We got to the hospital and, although I was having really, really painful back labor, everything was still manageable. In fact, the nurse told us later that she almost didn't admit us because I didn't seem like I was very far along. In fact, I was already 7 centimeters dilated when they checked me and that's when things started moving fast.
There was some really loud moaning (me) and some slightly scared looks (the PH) and some casualness from the midwife as the told the nurse to call my doctor, but tell her there was no need to rush to the hospital. As she was saying that, I could feel the baby moving down and started having the urge to push, but who was I to argue with the expert?
Which is how it came to be that I gave birth 15 minutes later without a doctor in the room. The baby basically flew out and was placed on my chest and I said, "it's a boy?" Then I said, "Brothers!" A little FunnyBoy to torture and tease and love and admire my FunnyKid, who I'm sure will do the same in return.
And so, three hours after Christmas Day had ended, that's how our FunnyBoy, Finnegan (we'll call him Finn), came into this world, in his own time in his own way and with a full set of lungs that reminds us he's here on a daily (and nightly) basis.
So many books...
2 years ago