Hold the Elevator

So, you know how in the movies people have babies in places like elevators and the back-seats of cars? Well, apparently it happens in real life too. Because it happened to me... sort of. Actually only the head came out in the elevator. I managed to wait on the rest until we got into an actual room. I blame my lack of promptness in arriving at the hospital on two things: 1. My labor with Asher was ridiculously long and this one was, well, not. 2. Having had a partially working epidural with Asher, I imagined that each of the stages of labor was nastier than it actually was (not that the whole thing wasn't plenty painful and nasty), leading me to believe that I was less far along in the process than I actually was.


I woke up at 2:00 AM or thereabouts with some pretty strong contractions. I'd been having some very unpleasant Braxton Hicks contractions for the last while, though, so I just tried to go back to sleep. I dozed in and out until about 4:00 when things had gotten bad enough to convince me that this was the real thing. I got up and took a warm shower (with my blown-dry and straightened hair carefully tucked into a shower cap so that I wouldn't look like Medusa in the look-at-me-I-just-had-a-baby pictures) and packed my hospital bag. Yes: I waited to pack my bag until I was already in labor. At 4:00 AM. This I blame on stupidity... or maybe denial since I was determined not to have a baby until I was ready, which meant not yet. That done, I climbed back into bed and tried to get some more rest since I figured I still had plenty of time, so there was no reason to wake everybody up. I did alright resting between contractions for a while. I tried several things to take my mind off the pain, including relaxing all of the muscles in my body and thinking about something pleasant, like was suggested in my natural childbirth readings. The only thing I could come up with that actually seemed pleasant was the idea that sometime later in the day I would be in a hospital bed, lying on my back, doing nothing. (Do you have any idea how delicious it is to lie on your back?)


Around 6:00, I entered what I now realize was the transition phase. Before long, I was making enough noise to wake Hugh up. I was convinced I was going to die. The worst part was that I was also convinced that it was going to get much, much worse. I asked Hugh to fill up the tub for me. Getting in the tub did not make me feel any better. It did ruin my hair, which I managed to be sad about in the midst of it all, which I figure either means that I was remarkably with it, or that I am horribly vain. It also provided a relatively non-messy place for my water to break, after which I was very suddenly struck with the urge to push. This led me to the marvelous realization that this whole labor thing would be over soon... and the less marvelous realization that it might be better to finish it at home. After a moment's consideration, I decided that I was uncomfortable with that idea, so I forced myself to get up and put the clothes back on that I severely regretted having removed in the first place. I didn't tell Hugh how quickly things were moving because I figured it wouldn't help the situation. He gathered enough, however, to get Asher out of bed, call a friend to come get him, and get our stuff out to the car as quickly as possible while I dragged myself out to the car, clinging to my pillow in an attempt not to give birth in the driveway. 


I did all I could not to push the baby out in the car, intermittently moaning and screaming into my pillow in an attempt to fight the urge. I felt badly about the noise I was making because I was sure it was distressing Hugh, but I was pretty certain that if I stopped I would either explode or give birth on the highway, so I kept it up. After approximately an eternity, Hugh informed me that we were halfway to the hospital. I did not find this reassuring, especially a few minutes later when I started to feel the baby's head moving down. 


Miraculously, however, we eventually arrived at the hospital. Hugh gave the car keys to the valet while I got into a wheelchair and we headed up to labor and delivery. As we were moving down the hall, I realized that I could feel the top of the baby's head with my hand. In what I hoped was a calm, but urgent voice, I said that I thought the baby was coming right now. It must have at least sounded urgent, because Hugh and the nurse directing us started to run. We got into the elevator with some nurses and started up. One of the nurses asked if I was wanting to push yet. (Haha!) I could not wait any longer. I said that the head was going to come out and the nurses hurriedly moved my pants out of the way. I let go long enough for the head to come out. I had never felt such relief in my life. I felt better enough to wait until we got to a room for the rest, and to start feeling guilty for making a mess in the elevator. Once we got to the room, I relaxed and let the rest out.  


The nurses were afraid that I might be traumatized by my experience, or embarrassed about the fact that between the elevator and the room I was not, technically, wearing any pants, but I was way too busy feeling relieved about not being at war with my body anymore. So, we all survived, but all things considered, I wouldn't recommend doing it like that. I think the results were pretty good, though:
8lb, 7oz, 20 1/2 inches long. (pictured here with the little giraffe given to him by the ER nurse who held his head from the elevator to the room) Now all he needs is a name.