The big day. The day we’d been waiting for had arrived. Tuesday, November 9, 2010. The day we’d marked on the calendar as our new baby’s birthday. The day we were heading to the hospital so I could be induced. The day we’d planned for, arranging child care for the big kids, and preparing them to meet their brother later in the afternoon. Nana was on board to watch the boys, and we planned to leave for the hospital after getting Gracie on the bus at 8:00. But at 7:15, the phone rang.
It was the doctor on call at the hospital. She was calling to double-check my due date, which was November 17. There was a problem: today’s date, November 9, means that I am only 38 weeks, 6 days pregnant. What’s the big deal? Hospital guidelines, which follow American College of Obstetrics & Gynecology recommendations, state that inductions cannot happen before 39 weeks of gestation. No baby for us today.
It’s hard to put into words my frustration during those first few minutes after getting the phone call. I’ve spent the past week being really uncomfortable, with almost-constant contractions that were strong enough to make it difficult to get stuff done, but not strong enough to call the doctors or qualify as active labor. The one thing that got me through the week was counting down to Tuesday, the day it would all be done; the day it would all be worthwhile; the day I would finally meet and hold my precious baby.
We were so ready this morning: the house was clean, laundry caught up, bags were packed and waiting to be loaded into the car. We’d talked to the kids and prayed with them, and they were so excited about meeting their new baby brother this afternoon. I had a decent night’s sleep, but spent a few hours awake with anticipation (and discomfort, and using the bathroom, again). All my ducks were in a row, and we thought we were ready to go.
I got the final word at about 7:45, just minutes before we were supposed to leave for the hospital. The on-call doctor wanted to speak with my regular doctor to find out if there was a reason to bring me in a day early. I still held out a little hope that my gestational diabetes might work in my favor and “count” as a good enough reason to stick to the plan. But no luck. If they brought me in before I was officially 39 weeks, it would require a consultation with a Maternal-Fetal Medicine doctor, who would then require an amniocentesis to check the baby’s lung maturity. None of that was worth a day’s delay, so we broke the news to the kids that today isn’t baby day.
Grrrrr. That’s about all I had to say. My husband offered to walk Gracie out to the bus, but I needed some fresh air. We walked down our long driveway hand in hand, and talked about the fact that we’d have to wait one more day to meet our new baby. Gracie was disappointed, but I tried to keep my own disappointment in check and be positive for her. She was pretty cheerful when she got on the bus, and then I had the long walk (ok, more like “waddle”) back up the driveway to clear my own head.
So, no baby today. Since my husband was already off work and it was too late for him to head in, we just enjoyed the day at home with the boys. The weather was beautiful, so we took a long walk on our land, played outside, and just enjoyed one another’s company. We also dirtied a bunch of dishes and laundry, so I had some more clean-up to do to be ready for tomorrow. Then we decided to get a pizza for dinner to celebrate new baby coming tomorrow, and just enjoyed our last evening as what the kids call “a Five-Family.”
Now the kids are tucked in, the bags are still packed and waiting, and we’re ready to go…again. And if they don’t get this baby out of me tomorrow, I’m pulling him out with my own two hands. I’m ready. I was ready this morning, and I’m even more ready tonight. We head in at 7:30 tomorrow morning, and hopefully by afternoon I’ll be holding my baby. I can’t wait!