Six years ago today I was laying on my couch, roughly the size of a sumo wrestler, praying for it all to be over.
I was 39 weeks into my pregnancy and well past the point of cherishing the experience. In general I love being pregnant. I love knowing that I have the ability to grow a person, to keep them safe and provide them with everything they need to exist. I love feeling them move and squirm and hiccup. I love that for those nine months in my life it is okay to be roughly the size of a house, wear stretchy pants and waddle.
But this pregnancy had betrayed me and I knew that I was in for it with this kid when he finally came out. We knew we were having a boy and the name we chose for him meant 'Beloved' but at this point in our journey together I was seriously thinking of a name that meant, 'Trouble' or 'Mischief' or 'Pain in the Ass.' I was experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions for the first time ever in the 122 weeks I had been pregnant in my life.
Every time I sat up, stood up, walked or moved I would experience the most useless, frustrating and painful contractions ever. The pain would stretch across my sizable belly and into my back and the only way to stop them way to lay on my side. Laying on the couch, being waited on hand and foot sounds like a sweet deal but when you have a four year old and a two year old and you've been out of commission for six weeks let me tell you, the Cleopatra gig gets old.
So on October 22, 2004 I sat, well...laid, beside the phone all day, obsessively picking it up every ten minutes or so to make sure it was working. I was waiting for the call. It had taken tears, pleading, hours of conversation and reasoning but I had finally convinced my OB to induce me three days before my due date. Today was supposed to be the day but the hours were ticking by and I knew from previous experience that the hospital would not admit non-critical inductions after 4pm on Fridays.
When I called him to ask what was going on he told me that he was very busy and had not called the hospital yet. He hung up and I burst into tears. This was my last chance to get induced before my doctor headed north for a week and I knew what I had to do to get this done. I had to play dirty.
Friday afternoons Mrs. OB Doctor went into the office to help with filing. I was friendly with Mrs. OB Doctor from all the hours I had spent waiting in her husbands office over the years. She was a compassionate efficient woman and I knew she was my best shot. So I picked up the phone and asked for the Mrs. An hour later I was in the hospital and seven hours later I was holding our little piece of Mischief.
Happy 6th Birthday Mischief!