Last year around springtime, I was going through what I like to think of as a fallow period. My work-in-progress was writing itself into one dead end after another (at one point I considered killing my main character just out of spite) and my day job was feeling slow and repetitive. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I was inexplicably exhausted, and gaining weight fast—almost half a pound a week. Almost every day I would sit down to work on my laptop, feel my eyes growing heavy, and conk out. When I woke I would eat enormous sandwiches, cookies, and more sandwiches and then feel like taking another nap.
And on top of this Oprah had announced she was ending her show and I was mourning the news in perhaps a slightly exaggerated way. As in, with seven stages of grief. It was a dark time.
Reader, in case it is not perfectly obvious by now, what I am describing was being 45 (or 8) months pregnant. And I knew, based on long family history, that I had at least another month or six to go. My mother had frequently told/warned me that I would be late, very, very late, that I would be a living, breathing, waddling impression of a beached blue whale before this baby came. That was just how it was. I could fight it, or I could accept it. No matter what, this baby was going to be inside me for a good long time.
So I napped and ate and ate and napped and prayed for death, or barring death, at least something decent to watch on TV at 4 pm.
Then one day, just after elevensies and just before lunch, I peed my pants. A lot. It was weird. I didn’t feel like I needed to use the
bathroom, not even slightly, which was odd considering there was a watermelon-sized monkeybaby kicking me in the bladder four thousand times a day. I didn’t feel I could stop the pee once it started, either—also weird considering I had taken a lot of prenatal yoga (for those of you who have taken prenatal yoga, you know what I am talking about). I waddled to the bathroom, peeing all the way, mystified at the whole thing rather than grossed out, because after all, at 45 (or 8) months pregnant, gross takes on a whole new meaning. I got to the toilet and sat down and instantly the pee stopped. Like shutting off a faucet.
Again, I will say it was weird. I cleaned up the floor (the rare occasion where I could justify the use of a disposable pad for my spray mop), took a quick shower, and went back to my jam-packed half-working half-napping schedule.
About twenty minutes later, as I stood up with the intention of fixing myself a midday snack of an entire box of macaroni and cheese, I started to pee again. And this time I noticed another weird attribute of this mysterious body malfunction.
The pee was warm. Like, just got out of the swimming pool warm.
I had not been swimming. I hadn’t even been bathing (the sort of torque you needed to get me in and out of the bathtub at this stage was not easily attainable). And the leakage seemed to be tied somehow to whether I was sitting or standing.
And then it hit me. This wasn’t pee. This was amniotic fluid. My water had broken. I was in labor. Early. Labor. Oh MY GOD I AM IN LABOR.
I was very surprised.
There are probably those of you who wonder why I was so surprised. After all, as I was just starting to remember at this moment, I had been feeling rather intense cramps in my sides and back for about two days, and those cramps had been growing in intensity and frequency. Sort of like, um, labor pains. And I had had the labor flu we’d learned about in birth class, just a few days prior. And I had noted that the baby had been less active than usual over the last 24 hours, switching from full on gymnastics to more mild rhythmic dance.
And, yes, my water had broken. Which, as you may know, often indicates labor.
But still, I was surprised. I called to my husband and said, “I think my water may have broken…”
“Oh wow!” he said, or some varation of oh wow. I mean, what else do you say? He was surprised.
“…A half hour ago.” I added.
And I think, at that moment, he was surprised again. Surprised that he was married to a moron.
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Stay tuned on this blog for the next part of the story (which ends with me holding a perfectly healthy little baby boy who is just now munching on a delicious blue crayon a few feet away), just as soon as I can find a way to work it into the weekly topic. Shouldn’t be long, what with my gift for the violent non sequitur.
Now let me turn this around on you, dear Reader, so you can help me feel less like a dimwit. Have you ever been surprised by something that was totally obvious to everyone else?
Too funny! My water broke early in the morning while I was in bed. I thought I’d peed in the bed and got up to use the bathroom and noticed the pink tinge so knew my water had broken. I went back in the bedroom and said something like, “We’re going to have a baby,” to my husband. Talk about profound.
I need the next part of the story! For many reasons!
I’ve definitely been surprised by obvious things, but I’m also the type who will assume the worst when it’s only something minor. “OMG, I’m being attacked by flesh-eating bacteria!” when it’s just a scratch or mosquito bite.
Dana, you’ll just have to wait 🙂
I’m definitely an Overreactor most of the time but generally in medical scenarios I go the other direction. Like when I broke a bone shard off of my kneecap but kept walking on it for, um, weeks? I kept thinking “this doesn’t feel quite right but I bet I just need to stretch it.”
I’m pretty sure I have these two types of reactions completely backward.
I too was unaware that anything was happening at 38 weeks. Went in for the scheduled appointment and the doctor said, “Guess what–you are having a baby today!”
Doesn’t it make you understand why women are always having babies in taxi cabs in the movies?
Oh, Kelly, I love this surprise story. AND it doesn’t feed my nightmares like Kerry & Dana’s stories have, so you get bonus points for that.
But I think what’s most surprising about this account is how much this line spoke to me: “as I stood up with the intention of fixing myself a midday snack of an entire box of macaroni and cheese.” Pregnant or no, you are my people.
LOL! Sounds like a classic case of being labor denial to me. 😉
Kelly, the point is that it makes a darn good story, lady! Labor denial, as Deb Linda says, is a powerful thing;)
What a great surprise – and a fantastic story, too. One you can no doubt use to great advantage when said crayon-munching toddler starts dating. Oh yes…much mileage to be had from this one.
I was hospitalized with pre-term labor (and a kidney infection) at 32 weeks, and my water broke in the hospital five days later. I was having breakfast in the hospital bed and suddenly felt like I wet the bed – A LOT. Like you, I was more mystified than embarrassed, especially because my mother was sitting there beside the bed with me. She helped me get to the bathroom and then said “you didn’t wet yourself – your water broke!” She called the nurse, who proceeded to tell me that since it was my first baby I didn’t know what I was talking about and I probably just wet the bed.
My mother looked at her and said “Well, it’s not MY first baby, and I’m telling you that you need to call the doctor.”
Gotta love it. I’m glad my mom was there, though, or I’d have done exactly the same thing you did! Go back to my breakfast, confused but totally unaware.
I love your mom.
What an awesome tale! I used to be an OB nurse, so I’ve seen and heard all sorts of wonderful scenarios. One of my favorites was the husband in denial. He came out into the hallways and said, “My wife claims she has to push.” I went into her room and delivered the baby! No time for the doctor on that one. As for me – I was on bed rest for premature labor. When my water broke at 35 weeks I was on the phone with my mother in law. I didn’t want the extended family to know until AFTER the baby was born (worry and all) so I calmly excused myself and went and took a shower before informing hubs that we needed to go visit the hospital.
Wow, I have to say the best part of this post today was the fabulous comments it brought about. Kerry, can I just say for the umpteenth time it is NO WONDER you became a writer. “My wife claims she has to push”!!??!! Snarf.
Water breaking stories! I came home from work at 36 weeks pregnant and after walking around and putting things away, I noticed the floor was wet. I stood there in shock because I wasn’t feeling anything. There was more and more water. And then I realized then dishwasher broke and flooded my kitchen. That baby hung on for five more weeks…
Best. Water breaking. Story. Ever.
OH YES! Wins the prize for sure!
Yep, the BEST story I’ve heard!