It was early morning of February 17, and, at 38 weeks 3 days, I was one day more pregnant than I had ever been. I had fully expected to have a newborn in my arms at this point; I had assumed that the last of my progesterone shots would have worn off nearly a week earlier and was shocked when I was still pregnant into the Valentine’s Day weekend. I was uncomfortable and very ready to be done, though I hadn’t quite hit the mental brick wall of *needing* to be done with pregnancy. I just really wanted to be able to sit with my knees together again and to be able to sleep without some limb falling asleep.
It all started at 7:20 p.m. when my water broke (conveniently just as I was finishing up going to the bathroom!). I shouted down the basement stairs at Rob, who was in his office, that my water just broke. He came running up, saying, “Really?!?” I looked up the clinic number and called the answering service to notify them that we were heading in. Read more
On September 18, 2014, the day after my due date, my doula and dear friend Anne and I went to Minnehaha Falls, a beautiful waterfall park in Minneapolis. I’d heard that climbing stairs could get labor going, and it was the perfect early fall day to stroll along the river and climb the stairs that lead to the water. We walked, we lunged, we hugged trees. We saw a blue heron and an egret in a dead tree together and remarked how strange it was to see the two birds together and in a tree as opposed to on water. We decided that they were my two sisters, there to encourage my baby to come out. It worked. Read more