Smooch's Birth Story - Part 2

This is a continued story of my second daughter's birth story.  Part 1 can be found here.

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Then I took a bath. After all, if I was going to bare my pale, veiny legs, they were certainly going to be shaved, pale, veiny legs. Let's not be silly. Upon entering the tub, however, my relief from pain was so great that I began to panic. I shaved as quickly as a whale possibly can and stumbled out, obsessively timing contractions all the while. They weren't as strong as they had been before I got into the tub, and they weren't quite as close together. I wondered out loud to My Stud if he should recant his request for his mom to arrive early. Instead of doing that, he double-checked our bags, and repacked our toiletries. I walked. I was determined to kick those labor pains back into high gear.

It worked. And I will happily tell you that there is nothing that makes a woman embrace pain like a good, long pregnancy. I wanted everything to hurt and pull and ache. Today pain meant that we were getting somewhere. And for reasons that I will not write on my blog, I knew we needed to get to the hospital soon. I hoped my mother-in-law was speeding...just a little.

She arrived. I paced. Then to prove that I'm still slightly neurotic while in labor, I gave instructions like "this is where we keep Princess's gigantic stash of underwear." I paced some more. I could no longer talk during contractions. They were (still) 7 to 8 minutes apart, not close enough to go to the hospital in my opinion so I thought that maybe we would walk around near the hospital, but not actually in it.

On our way, My Stud wondered if he could stop and get coffee. You see, the last time we did this with Princess, it was an all-night ordeal, and I am married to a morning person. Of course we could get coffee. We had tons of time. As I sat waiting for My Stud and his coffee in the car, I couldn't help but notice the disgusting couple making out in the small pickup to my right. Like really nasty making out. As if the baby was as repulsed as I was, my contractions suddenly got stronger. I so badly wanted to get out of the car, tap on their window, and invite them to watch me labor in case they were thinking of doing more than make out in that parking lot. Before I finished contemplating the heroic implications of  carrying out such a civil duty, My Stud was back with his coffee, I was having another contraction  (now 6 - 7 minutes apart), and we were off - straight to the hospital.

We arrived at about 9:00 p.m. Triage impersonated a waiting room. I contracted in a bed, and controlled my desire to start demanding things like wireless monitors and a room. I asked over and over and over when I could get on antibiotics (I tested positive for group b strep, and you're supposed to recieve two full doses of antibiotics before the birth which requires four hours of time.) We must have been there for an entire hour before anyone bothered to check my cervix. It was only at that point that they declared I was in labor. Interestingly, the nurses finally felt motivated to stick an iv in my arm and begin my first dose of antibiotics.  I had some choice words in mind regarding their speed and lack of attention that begged to come out of my mouth, but I bit my tongue.  After all, that particular nurse was about halfway through a pregnancy herself and that was enough retribution to satisfy me.

I was dilated to 6 cm. For the first time, I actually began to truly, honestly believe that I could do this thing without medication.

An hour and a half after checking in at triage, I was finally wheeled into my room. Guys.  I want to walk!  I later discovered that they were trying to slow down my labor to ensure that I was able to receive both doses of the antibiotic before baby time. They did this by keeping me immobile.

To be continued...