Two years ago today, I was very pregnant.
I told you. VERY PREGNANT. Ouch. Just looking at that photo makes my lower back hurt and my feet swell up.
That morning, I had a doctor's appointment where I was told I was 1 centimeter and 50% effaced.
'When?' I practically begged.
To which my doctor cheerfully replied 'Could be up to one or two weeks. We will induce you in two weeks if you haven't delivered.'
I have never been so irrationally angry in my life. I had high hopes. I'd had a weird crampy stomachache all morning - the drive to the doctor was particularly uncomfortable. Since I'd had no Braxton Hicks the entire pregnancy, I wasn't sure if that's what I was experiencing.
After getting dressed in my horrid gray velour sweatsuit (the only thing that fit me), I stormed out to my car and proceeded to call my husband, sobbing.
He didn't seem phased. I think he was used to his crazy pregnant wife at this point.
I calmed down, went and got a latte and a scone, and started feeling a little better. And incredibly nesty.
First stop, Lowes. I picked up light bulbs because I remembered we had a bunch of lights that had burned out in the house.
Next, Fred Meyer, where I picked up some totally unnecessary jammies for the baby, and stuff for dinner. I was making tater tot casserole (don't judge!), one for that night and one to freeze.
Once home, I proceeded to act like a total freaking nutjob and, on a ladder, 10 months (YES, 40 weeks is TEN months) pregnant, changed out about 12 can lights. Stupid? Totally. Did I feel like if I didn't change the light bulbs, the world would come to an end? Yes.
My mom dropped by with a glider rocker she'd picked up off of Craigslist, which was the final piece of the nursery. We unpacked a bunch of baby gear, put it away and she took care of the mountain of cardboard for me - cause if she didn't, I would have been outside in the freezing cold breaking down the cardboard with a box knife.
The whole time she was there, I was whining and crying to her. So pleasant!
She left, I cooked dinner, and froze the extra casserole. B was home soon after, and we ate - it was about 8 pm.
I wasn't feeling so hot, so I decided to sit in the tub. I got in at about 8:30. At 10:30, B came in and woke me up. The water was cold. And I felt awful.
Twenty minutes later, I was in the worst, gripping pain I'd ever had in my life. And the casserole? Yeah, that was spewed all over the bathroom.
By midnight, I had called the doctor and confirmed I was in fact, in labor. B did not know how to time contractions (we never took classes, doh!), but we figured the hospital was a good place to be, so he packed up the car, and we were off ...
Scary how vivid that memory is - but then again, I was embarking on the most amazing, rewarding journey.