(In case you missed it, I wrote about my pregnancy with A. right here!)
That night, my water broke. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. You see, given the fact that most women’s waters do NOT break spontaneously, I assumed mine wouldn’t either. Also? I would have expected a big gush. Instead, I pointed accusingly at a trickle of clear liquid sliding down my calf and asked my husband, “What is THAT??” He, of course, did not know.
I called my OB just after midnight and got to the hospital just after 1 am. And it was there that I was asked the question I will never forget:
“Are you sure your water broke? Is there a chance that you maybe just wet yourself?”
And, folks… I was so close to sure that NO, I had NOT wet myself. But can you imagine how embarrassing it would be to say you were sure and then have them announce, “Nope! You just peed on yourself! Go on home now!”
So, I stammered around. And, finally, a nurse laughed and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll do a litmus test.”
My water had broken. I was admitted. Less than seven hours later, I gave one final push and heard…
“It’s a boy! And he’s BIG!”
This surprised everyone, given how tiny I had carried… and is just more evidence of what I always say- they can’t predict a baby’s size with any real degree of accuracy, in my experience. Now, I was expecting to hear that I had just given birth to a 10-pounder or something at that point. I had not. A. weighed in at an even eight pounds. Twenty-one inches long.
They stitched me up and cleaned him off. My husband asked how I was doing. I replied…
“I cannot WAIT to do it again!”
I was Mommy. I had a son. I was in love for the second time. All was right in my world.
to be cont…