9pm: "Honey I think you need to pack your bag. I am having a lot of contractions."
11pm: "Still having them, I am calling the midwife."
1am: "Let's go. They are still happening."
This is how it went on Wednesday night. I was having contractions 2-3 minutes apart. They hurt but were bearable, and did I mention they were 2-3 minutes apart? So we went to the hospital, so sure this was it. Baby time. I was in labor.
They hooked me up to the machines and yup, I was having contractions (thank god, because I was so worried that they would stop as soon as the midwife started watching.) I stuck my tongue out at Hubs and said some variation of "I told you so" and then she checked to see how dilated I was. I mean, I was a 3 on Monday and this was Wednesday, so I was expecting I was AT LEAST a 4. (For those not in the know, you have to be 10 for the baby to come out). And I was still a 3. Translation, I was not in labor. Translation, the baby was not on his way.
Midwife gave me the options of walking around for an hour then being rechecked or going home to get rest. I am fairly sure option number one is given because they know pregnant woman are a volatile bunch who don't want to be told they are idiots. When she offered it, her face was totally saying, "don't bother." She strongly suggested I go home and rest with the option of coming back when the contractions got worse. I am not entirely sure how she said that second part with a straight face since I know that she knew that I was totally not going to be coming back anytime soon. One look at my husband's face at 3am told me it was time to go home. No matter how much I wanted, needed, or pleaded, this child was not coming out. Because of where the triage room was, I got to do the most embarrassing walk of shame at 3 am ever, right past the nurses station. I gave a half hearted fist pump and said "I'll be back," while they all smiled sympathetically and went back to chatting, knowing that I would indeed not be back.
On the way home I went back and forth between laughing and feeling like I was going to cry. Hubs dropped hints that he tried to tell me before that I was not really in labor and that next time maybe we should wait until I couldn't actually function the contractions were so bad. I dropped hints that his hints were unsupportive, unappreciated, and he may get punched.
As many of you know, I am overdue. A week on Wednesday. That is like four weeks in pregnancy-time. I still can't believe this guy has not arrived. His sister, who functions on a plane where she is the sun and all else revolves around her, was even quicker out the gate than this. I can only assume he is like me...can't find his way down a one-way street and slow to motivate. Not to mention when we are nice and cozy it is hard to move. So. We sit and wait. And I try crazy things to get him out, like bouncing on the yoga ball for several hours, and eating dates. I can't say I recommend either--the yoga ball workout was in hindsight excessive, and caused me to tear up while I walked around like a cowboy for the rest of the night, and the dates are not tasty despite the fact that they are known as the dessert of the desert. I am scheduled for an induction day after tomorrow, so if he has yet to show his face yet, he is going to get shown the door. I fear that he has been in there so long that he is going to come out with a full beard and a liquor drink.
Despite my husband's fantastically unrealistic idea of just laying low and waiting for my induction (*eyeroll*) I will continue to pray every second that Little Dude gets the memo that it is time to arrive. Please send me whatever kind of good juju/prayers/rain dances that you believe in. We are accepting any and all help to move this along. My sanity may depend on it.