labor and de(live)ry

I will probably twitter about my labor.

“Heavens to Betsy, you’re going to what?!“

Please don’t judge. We have loved ones spread throughout the country who I know want to be informed of the ons-goings of my womb and the Nugget it contains.

I just haven’t nailed down how much is appropriate to share yet.¬† I mean, I have my own boundaries; “UUUUGH you guys, I’m STILL only dilated to 5!!!!!” will not be flashing across anyone’s internet browser on account of me. Plus I don’t think I will be using every break between contractions to whirl my thumbs around my phone’s keyboard.

Maybe just one or two.

Is that weird?

What I’m really wondering is, does this make me that lady?

I am going to do my best to locate that “crazy, over-sharing, attention-hog of a blogger” line, so as to not over-step it, but I do love that my blog is a candid journal and authentic record of our life. I was never any good at keeping a diary (probably because I got frustrated with how my handwriting looked so I would tear out the page and re-write it… neater. If that’s not an insight into my personality, I don’t know what is. But I digress.) but since beginning this blog I’ve been able to go back and read what I was thinking a year ago when we were closing on this house (hi, was that really only a year ago?), or remember what we did for our first wedding anniversary.

I imagine any description or updates that I have of this birth, whether recorded during or shortly after, will mean the world to me as an anthology of one of the most painful beautiful things I have ever gone through.

My plan is to just go with the flow. Update as I feel the need or want to share the joy and excitement of what’s happening. For Nugget’s sake, I have no intention of sharing things that will incite cruelty from other kids on the playground.

“HEY YOU’RE THAT KID WITH A PSYCHO BLOGGING MOM WHO TOLD THE WORLD ABOUT HER [insert medical procedure here]!”

I would like to avoid that.

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Speaking of cruelty, I found a new curse to call down on your enemies if you really wanna get ‘em good. It’s called FALSE LABOR. It looks like this:

Allison and DanO are watching Andy Roddick in a nail-biter of a Wimbledon match. Allison’s abdomen hurts, real low and achey, then it gets SO TIGHT she can actually SEE the outline of Nugget… DanO’s curly hair and everything (pretty much). Allison decides that was not the same as all these tightening ‘fake’ Braxton Hicks contractions. She looks at the clock.

The fourth set goes into tie breaker. Roddick is serving well. Then, there’s that pain again, and I swear you can tell that Nugget has all 10 toes in there. The clock says it’s been 6 minutes. The British kid hangs on for dear life with a couple of impressive returns to impressive serves. 6 minutes later, Allison abdomen hurts and contorts itself again. Roddick (finally) wins and crumples up into the fetal position (how appropriate) at center court.

There’s that pain again.

Allison remembers that taking a shower, going on a walk, drinking, and eating are all activities to try when thinking you are in labor. If the contractions stick around, it could be the real deal. If not, better luck next time. Allison hops in the shower after two more 6 minute spaced contractions. (We’re up to 6 if you’re counting.)

Allison is realizing that packing a hospital bag when she reached 38 weeks would have been a rather good idea.

Allison has 3 more contractions in the shower, 5, 6 and 5 minutes apart.

“This might be it! This might be it!” plays like a broken record in Allison’s mind. To test further, DanO and Allison go for a walk, since the contractions are still an achey pain and nothing to write home about. Contraction #10 occurs after 6 minutes, #11 is 9 minutes later, and #12 occurs as they are rounding the block for home – 11 minutes after the last one. For the next hour they continue to space out until they are gone completely.

Then that’s it. They’re gone. G-O-N-E.

I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE THE ANGUISH!

“This might be it! This might be it!” … “Nope. Just kidding. Carry on.”

But hey, our hospital bag got packed.