Penelope's Birth Story, Part 2: Mother Knows Best

5:45 pm: I wake abruptly from my nap. Oh boy, the label on the Castor Oil bottle was wrong. I guess 12 hours actually means 45 minutes. Really?? That quick? Maybe it has something to do with having not eaten much all day? I don't know, but here we go. I spend a good 45 minutes of quality time in the bathroom. And let's just say: I wasn't doing my makeup. As strange as this sounds, at least I'm finally feeling the welcome ache of labor pains I've been longing for. Or are the pains just the unsavory effects of the Castor Oil? I can't really differentiate at this point, but I'm hoping for the former. In any event, I have never been so grateful to be stuck in the bathroom. I just really wish I'd installed that darn magazine rack that's been sitting in my basement for 6 months.

6:30 pm: My contractions are 10 minutes apart and it's official: I'm in labor. What a thrill! I call my mother and ask if she can come over, pick up Leo from my neighbor's house, bathe him and put him to bed. Which is what I want to do every night, but tonight I have a pretty decent excuse. I'm afraid if I try to do any of Leo's bedtime routine on my own it won't be pretty, since my new best friend Castor Oil is still hard at work. Thankfully, my mom lives nearby so this isn't a problem. I lay down on my bed and begin taking inventory of my body–reviewing some of the stuff Paul & I learned in our Bradley Method classes, though mostly I just want the free back rub. The labor pains aren't too uncomfortable at this point, so I don't worry about technique and focus quite yet. In fact, the pains feel more comforting and reassuring than anything else, so I lay there in bed feeling happy that things are progressing. After all, 9 months and 8 days is a long time to wait. Imagine those poor elephants...

7:00 pm: My contractions have progressed from dull aches to more intense and very regular little bombs. I start clocking them more diligently– about 8 minutes apart. I should call Paul. No, I'll text him.

ME: (type, type, type) What time do you play your set? It has begun. Come home as soon as you're done.

PAUL: What? Are you in labor?

ME:

(type, type, type)

Yeah, I think so. But no big deal. Play your show and come home. I love you.

PAUL: I go on at 8. But I will skip the show. I'M COMING HOME.

ME:

(type, type, type)

No, no. It's just the beginning. Play your show.

PAUL: Are you crazy?

ME:

(type, type, type)

Maybe, but I'm fine. Play your show. I'll call you if there's a problem.

7:45 pm: With Leo in bed and my mom by my side, I'm feeling pretty good. The strange thing is, my contractions have ramped up quite significantly but they still don't feel unbearable. I start wondering if this whole Castor Oil thing makes you FEEL like you're in labor more than actually PUTTING you into labor. I can't tell, but having my contractions almost 3 minutes apart now, I calmly decide I need to make a couple phone calls. My mom, on the other hand is LOSING HER MIND, worrying that I'm progressing as quickly as I am but not doing anything about it. She is strongly encouraging me to go to the hospital (turns out mother knows best. who knew?), but I really don't feel that it's quite so urgent. I mean, everything I learned in my classes reassured me that I will KNOW when it's time to go:

– I won't be able to talk through contractions.

– I will feel overwhelmed by the smallest thing.

– I won't be able to walk around during a contraction.

None of these things are true at this point, so I'm pretty confident I have time. Nonetheless, I call Paul just to make sure he knows what is happening and to help my mom calm down a bit. You'd think she was the one in labor. Ok, not really, but she was seriously stressed.

8:00 pm: My phone call with Paul:

ME: Hey. So, when do you actually go on stage?

PAUL: Hi. In 5 minutes. Are you okay?

ME: Well, I think so. It's just that my contractions are like 3 minutes apart but I don't feel like they said I would. I feel pretty good.

PAUL: THREE MINUTES? Aren't we supposed to go to the hospital at FIVE minutes??

ME: Uh, yeah. Generally speaking. But I really feel ok. I'm thinking maybe this is just the Castor Oil. I don't know. I feel fine. I think it will be ok.

PAUL: I'm coming home.

ME: No, seriously, play your show. I'll be fine. Just come home RIGHT afterwards.

PAUL: Don't be a hero, Holly. I'm coming home. Ryan said he can play the show. I'm coming home.

ME: Listen, let me call Diane and if she says we need to go to the hospital right now, I'll call you back and you can come home. But I really think I'll be fine while you play.

PAUL: ARE YOU SURE?

ME: Yes.

PAUL: Ok, let me know. I will have my phone on stage with me and I will answer if you call. I love you.

ME: Love you too. Good luck.

I immediately call my midwife, Diane. I love Diane. She has been a constant and stable force during this pregnancy. Encouraging me to stand firm with my plan to have the baby naturally, but also helping me to feel ok about changing my mind if things get too hard, or if there are complications. I am looking forward to her calming influence and able hands in the hospital room with me. She answers my call and definitely sounds perplexed by how well I'm feeling, while hearing that my contractions are so close together. She says under "normal" (I never seem to fall under the "normal" category) circumstances she would tell me to come to the hospital NOW. But since I seem to be ok (i.e. talking calmly with her during several contractions over the course of our 10 minute conversation, and not being ticked off that my husband is playing a show while I'm in labor), she agrees to meet me and Paul at the hospital at 9:30 pm. Just one hour. Good plan. 9:30. See you there.

Stay tuned for the third and final chapter...

(Find Part 1 of Penelope's Birth Story here: Part 1: It's About Time)