Or at least I thought it was.
That Friday, one day before I was 39 weeks, I went to a Christmas party and chased BG around and down the stairs 100 times. I joked with the other moms about how she was helping me kickstart my labor. That night, my in-laws got here and jokingly congratulated me on waiting for them to get here.
At 4 AM, I woke up with contractions again. Only this time, I had no question as to whether they were real contractions. I was in a lot of pain, even between contractions, like I was with BG when I got to the hospital at 8 cm. I needed to go.
Only, first I needed to call my doctor. Since my water hadn't broken, I would need to give him a reason why I wanted to go to the hospital, so I started timing contractions. And got on twitter.
I timed about two contractions at 6 minutes apart and decided I had enough evidence (in related news, I think I must be really bad at timing contractions). I woke up my husband and called the doctor who told me "Well, if you really want to you can start heading over. They might send you home though." I was in the car seconds later.
We were out the front door by 5, and at the front door of the hospital by 5:45.
I walked up to the labor and delivery department, clutching the wall as I went, and trying to remember to breathe. When the secretary told me to have a seat and someone would come get me, I almost cried.
In the triage room, I barely managed to get my gown on before announcing to the nurse "Umm, I'm in a lot of pain."
"Okay, I'll get the doctor right in to check you. Actually, I'll go ahead and start your IV first. Were you planning on getting an epidural?"
"Yes? ... Oh, I'm feeling pressure."
And then my water broke. All over the room. Exploded really.
The nurse ran out of the room and ran back with a terrified looking resident.
The poor scared little thing checked me and practically yelled, "She's complete and plus 2."
My nurse was already strapping monitors on me and doing 3 things at once as she leaned over my bed and calmly said "Let's go have your baby. Grab all her stuff, dad, we're going to move fast."
When I got to the labor room, the nurses there were ready to go. They looked at my face and laughed "You look pretty good for being complete. You look calmer than they do," they said, indicating the triage nurses and residents.
I half smiled. I mean, what else was I supposed to do?
Bless the heart of the on call doctor who was there a moment later. "This is why I sleep at the hospital. You ready to go?" The very relieved resident quickly left the room.
"Umm, yeah. I need to push. Now."
And then people were holding my legs and I was having my baby. Three contractions later, at 6:30 AM, she was on my stomach (well, right after they suctioned the meconium out of her mouth. Why do my babies have to poop so much?)
They cleaned her up and took her to the warmer to weigh her. I think people around me were congratulating me, and saying things like "that's the way to do it" and "good job, mom!" but at that point I was kind of in a daze.
"Congratulations, mama, on a healthy 9 pound 5 ounce baby."
Excuse me, say what?
I turned to my husband. "By the way," I said, "this was not my birth plan."