Remember the popping sound and the “Oh shit” that came out of my mouth at the stroke of midnight that I happened to mention in part one of my labor?

Here’s what happened next-

I get out of bed and hobble into the bathroom but nothing’s coming out so I figure I just have to pee.

I peed for 45 minutes.

Somewhere during that time my husband heard the panic attack I was having.  I didn’t think I was in labor but I could NOT stop peeing.  After an hour and a half, he suggested we call the doctor but I said I didn’t want to be one of those women who just called and went in for no reason 10 times.

After almost two hours of peeing, I strapped a baby diaper to me under my jeans, walked to my parent’s door and immediately started crying.  Something about mothers, you can be as strong as you want but when you need your mommy, nothing can stop those tears.

I composed myself as best I could and popped my head in (about 1:15AM now) and said “My water might have broken but I’m sure it’s nothing at all so I’m just gonna head on over to the ER real quick and I’ll call you if I need you”.  After I was asked if I needed company that I declined, I grabbed my packed bag (that was useless, by the way) and headed out the door to sit in the car while my husband took the trash out (Classy).

It wasn’t until I was about 2 minutes from the hospital that I had my first contraction and it was NOTHING.  I scoffed at that contraction like so – *SCOFF*

I walked into the ER and did it again.  “My water might have broken and there is the slightest possibility that I’m in labor but if you have something else to do or need me to wait I understand.”

Hey, they thought I was cute.  I thought I was courteous.

They put me in a beautiful room, so beautiful I cried when I left.  There’s nothing like a maternity ward.  After having two kids, they were all I knew.  When I had to stay in a regular hospital I was shocked!  Freakin’ nasty!

I get to my suite and put in bed.  Shit’s getting hooked up and swabs are coming out and I’m told that my water did indeed break and then I got nervous.  Have I mentioned what I do when I’m nervous?

Bless those nurses hearts, they had to come in and take out every wire until they finally just showed my husband what to unplug to help get my nervous ass to the toilet.

Let me put it this way, I didn’t shit on the table.  There wasn’t anything left in me by the time I got on the table.  In fact, there was no table that I recall, They just pulled him out where I was.

After about 2 hours of going to the bathroom until there couldn’t possibly be another thing left in me, I started peeing constantly.  I’m hospital pee-er.  I’m a hospital pro, so I know that I can not physically go more than 30 minutes without peeing.

At three centimeters, I was asked if I’d like an epidural.  Hell to the yes, I would!  I was having contractions but they were nothing.  What an easy friggin’ time I was having.

Then comes the doc.  He warns me that I might feel a “shock” when he pulls the thread out but he did not tell me it would compare to the full on electric blow out like the one I got off the lite brite in third grade.

Holy shitballs.  That hurt.  This was at about 7AM and I had my catheter in and my turds had ceased, so I was a happy girl.  For a solid hour, I felt amazing so we called everyone we knew and told them the baby was coming.

So I start hearing this sound.  It’s driving me crazy.  I’m in labor, famished and I can’t find where it’s coming from and am getting pissed.  In walks a nurse, where my husband and I are talking about this annoying sound and I mention it to the nurse.  Suddenly, we hear it again.  “That’s it!”, I exclaim!  That’s the friggin’ sound!

Her reply?

“Oh, honey, you’re just passing gas.”

In and out of my room, dozens of people walked to hear my farts and either didn’t know it (maybe epidural farts are different) or chose to ignore it but that has to be one of my favorite stories to tell.

Then my butt hurt.  Just one side.  Then my leg.  Then my back.  For some reason, if there is ever a possibility of something going wrong, it’s going to go wrong with me.

Turned out Dr. electric shock fucked up my cath and by the time my Mother walked in, I was 7 years old again.  My eyes welled with tears and I called out for her.  Being the direct woman she is, she got a new doc to insert a second cath (FUN) into my spine.  This was at 1:30PM.  My doc poked her head down there and told me I had about three hours so I sat and watched my family eat Quizzno’s as I starved on the table shoving jello in my mouth.

My awesomely fantastic doc comes on in just thirty minutes later and tells me it’s pushing time.  HELL NO.  I had three hours.  It had not been three hours.

Then she tells me another gal next door also started pushing and it was on.  I’m just a teensy bit competitive so I was ready to go.  I had an epidural that worked.  I can take her.

First push popped his head out.  Second his shoulder (which tore m’lady) and by push number three, I had a baby boy.

I have two funnies to tell.  The first was that when he crowned, the hubs touched his head he tells me “Ha, I touched him before you”, to which I replied, “Look where he’s coming out from dumbass.”

The second and thing I’m most proud of is that the second he popped out I started screaming “Rock-n-roll”, my husband seemed to black out and then I screamed (loudly) “Look at the size of his balls!”  I was told that they’d shrink to normal.  He’s five and hasn’t yet.  Well done, my child.

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