SO big.
SO tired.
SO ready to have a baby.
This is how I usually feel towards the end of my pregnancies -
big and tired.
Don't get me wrong - I've been very fortunate with my girls.
No complications and nothing more to complain about than tiredness,
but towards the end -
it just gets exhausting carrying around another person in your body.
Know what I mean?
It was a Saturday night, and I was feeling like my typical
end-of-pregnancy self.
Bill and I were asleep, and then it happened.
Contraction.
That one kind of hurt, I thought.
It's probably a Braxton Hicks.
I went back to sleep and was woken up by another contraction.
That one hurt, too.
I still wasn't convinced that it was the real deal.
I didn't want to pull another Gianna (that post is coming).
So because I'm such an expert at birthing (totally teasing),
I went back to sleep.
Contraction.
Ok, I wasn't asleep very long before that last one.
Maybe I should start timing them?
So I started timing them,
and
they started getting closer and closer together.
Well, it might really be time.
I sat up in bed and waited for another contraction.
Ouch.
There it was.
I can't remember what time it was, but it was definitely "middle of the night"-ish. Bill was still sleeping, and it was dark outside - that's my definition of "middle of the night."
I need to take a shower before we go to the hospital.
It's just one of those things.
I like to shower (don't we all??),
and I just need to have one more non-rushed, middle of the night shower before we brought a newborn home - just one.
I don't take middle of the night showers very often.
I guess my point is I wanted to shower before going to the hospital.
I'll let Bill sleep.
I know! I'm such a nice wife, right?
Don't let me fool you.
My husband is super awesome - I'm really blessed!
Before I showered, I called my parents to see if they could come over to watch the girls. That was Step One in my Birth Plan that I had all typed up when I first found out I was pregnant.
Ok, I had no such thing.
I AM one of those freakish people who likes lists, makes the bed in the morning, and can't go to sleep (easily) unless the house is "clean." I'm not as hardcore as I was earlier in our marriage, but I can definitely tell when things are unraveling
- then I go on a cleaning craze.
I digress.
I did talk to my mom and dad about watching the girls whenever I went into labor. My parents,
being the awesome people they are, agreed.
Parents called.
Check.
Shower.
Check.
Now I can wake Bill up.
GRACE
Bill, it's time.
BILL
Are you sure?
GRACE
Yes, Bill - wake up. My parents are coming over.
Silence.
GRACE
Bill? Bill!
BILL
Ok, I'm getting up.
My husband is not a morning person.
At all.
Or a wake up in the middle of the night to drive the pregnant wife to the hospital to deliver the third daughter
type of person - he's not one of those either.
By the time, Bill gets out of the shower (he's like me!)
- the contractions are starting to get uncomfortable. That's a nice way of saying they're starting to hurt really bad,
and we need to get going.
My parents get here, and as I'm talking
- I have to stop during contractions. Yeah. I know.
We get into the van and start driving to the hospital. Bill calls his parents to let them know that we're on our way. This is the point where I start disliking Bill because he has no idea what these contractions feel like. He says he does, but he doesn't. He DOESN'T.
I love him love him love him, but I don't like him when we're on our way to the hospital.
I just don't.
We made it to the hospital and got checked into the pre-delivery room, you know, the little room they put you in to "make sure" it's time. Well, they checked and agreed - it was time.
They quickly got me into our delivery room and did all those things you're supposed to do before you have a baby. All I know is I had an epidural and lots of ice chips, and I was a happy girl.
It was almost eight in the morning and a few pushes later,
there she was -
our sweet, sweet Isabella Simone.
In Hebrew, Isabella means God is my vow.
Simone comes from my dad's name, Simon.
We like to call her Isa (ee-sa), BellaBoo, and a variety of other things
- but mostly we just call her Isabella.
She is our wild child.
Our climber.
Our fearless explorer.
It's hard to believe she's two years old already.
We couldn't imagine our lives without her.
SO ready to have a baby.
This is how I usually feel towards the end of my pregnancies -
big and tired.
Don't get me wrong - I've been very fortunate with my girls.
No complications and nothing more to complain about than tiredness,
but towards the end -
it just gets exhausting carrying around another person in your body.
Know what I mean?
It was a Saturday night, and I was feeling like my typical
end-of-pregnancy self.
Bill and I were asleep, and then it happened.
Contraction.
That one kind of hurt, I thought.
It's probably a Braxton Hicks.
I went back to sleep and was woken up by another contraction.
That one hurt, too.
I still wasn't convinced that it was the real deal.
I didn't want to pull another Gianna (that post is coming).
So because I'm such an expert at birthing (totally teasing),
I went back to sleep.
Contraction.
Ok, I wasn't asleep very long before that last one.
Maybe I should start timing them?
So I started timing them,
and
they started getting closer and closer together.
Well, it might really be time.
I sat up in bed and waited for another contraction.
Ouch.
There it was.
I can't remember what time it was, but it was definitely "middle of the night"-ish. Bill was still sleeping, and it was dark outside - that's my definition of "middle of the night."
I need to take a shower before we go to the hospital.
It's just one of those things.
I like to shower (don't we all??),
and I just need to have one more non-rushed, middle of the night shower before we brought a newborn home - just one.
I don't take middle of the night showers very often.
I guess my point is I wanted to shower before going to the hospital.
I'll let Bill sleep.
I know! I'm such a nice wife, right?
Don't let me fool you.
My husband is super awesome - I'm really blessed!
Before I showered, I called my parents to see if they could come over to watch the girls. That was Step One in my Birth Plan that I had all typed up when I first found out I was pregnant.
Ok, I had no such thing.
I AM one of those freakish people who likes lists, makes the bed in the morning, and can't go to sleep (easily) unless the house is "clean." I'm not as hardcore as I was earlier in our marriage, but I can definitely tell when things are unraveling
- then I go on a cleaning craze.
I digress.
I did talk to my mom and dad about watching the girls whenever I went into labor. My parents,
being the awesome people they are, agreed.
Parents called.
Check.
Shower.
Check.
Now I can wake Bill up.
GRACE
Bill, it's time.
BILL
Are you sure?
GRACE
Yes, Bill - wake up. My parents are coming over.
Silence.
GRACE
Bill? Bill!
BILL
Ok, I'm getting up.
My husband is not a morning person.
At all.
Or a wake up in the middle of the night to drive the pregnant wife to the hospital to deliver the third daughter
type of person - he's not one of those either.
By the time, Bill gets out of the shower (he's like me!)
- the contractions are starting to get uncomfortable. That's a nice way of saying they're starting to hurt really bad,
and we need to get going.
My parents get here, and as I'm talking
- I have to stop during contractions. Yeah. I know.
We get into the van and start driving to the hospital. Bill calls his parents to let them know that we're on our way. This is the point where I start disliking Bill because he has no idea what these contractions feel like. He says he does, but he doesn't. He DOESN'T.
I love him love him love him, but I don't like him when we're on our way to the hospital.
I just don't.
We made it to the hospital and got checked into the pre-delivery room, you know, the little room they put you in to "make sure" it's time. Well, they checked and agreed - it was time.
They quickly got me into our delivery room and did all those things you're supposed to do before you have a baby. All I know is I had an epidural and lots of ice chips, and I was a happy girl.
It was almost eight in the morning and a few pushes later,
there she was -
our sweet, sweet Isabella Simone.
In Hebrew, Isabella means God is my vow.Simone comes from my dad's name, Simon.
We like to call her Isa (ee-sa), BellaBoo, and a variety of other things
- but mostly we just call her Isabella.
She is our wild child.Our climber.
Our fearless explorer.
It's hard to believe she's two years old already.
We couldn't imagine our lives without her.
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