When my oldest was six months old, I found out I was expecting my second. It was an emotional experience for all of us. We hadn’t yet adjusted to having the current tyrant in the house, and the thought of adding another brought me to my knees. I was in my first trimester and had an infant still waking 6-10 times a night from ear problems. But we survived. Barely.
Fast forward to the third trimester. The baby’s tubes fell out. He was in great pain again. And his favorite form of self-expression was throwing himself on the ground. This left me very pregnant and having to physically remove my chubby 12-13 month old from most all things. I kept telling my husband that I wasn’t well. I told him I needed more help wrestling the baby. I’m not certain what men hear when we say those things. Like I said before, he is wonderful and amazing- aside from these situations. I do know he didn’t hear the sense of urgency in my voice. I even went as far as to say I felt like I had made progress toward delivery. And I was still four weeks away from the safe zone.
I had a monthly appointment scheduled for the next day. I went in. I was 4cm. My body was trying to go into labor. My husband only took me to three doctors appointments. One per child. Those were the days we found out the sex. So I went to the hospital with the girl who rode to the appointment with me. The doctors and nurses were wonderful. They administered meds and told me to go home and rest. And to stay off of my feet. My husband did come to the hospital. We got into the truck to leave and head home. He needed coffee. So he went to Starbucks. But he wanted to know what they were brewing fresh, so he parked the truck, left me sitting in it, and went inside to get his coffee, and I’m fairly sure NATS.
I ended up having to return to the hospital that day or the next because the meds weren’t holding off my contractions. In the four days I spent in the hospital, my husband asked every new nurse that entered the room if she had read 50 Shades of Grey. He hadn’t read the book himself. But he had heard all of the talk about it and was intrigued to say the least. Not only that, but he didn’t understand when I told him that it was severely innapropriate to ask strange women that question, especially while I was in the state I was in. So, he continued his quest to discuss the book with every nurse, tech, and phlebotomist that darkened my door. At some point he convinced all of the nurses to move a bunch of stuff out of the shower they were using as a storage closet so he could shower. People aren’t generally long term customers in labor and delivery. After I was discharged and the labor had been stopped, Griff got in the hospital bed, put on a paper hat, hooked the monitors to his stomach and insisted I take his picture.
Moving on into the safe zone, I was still unsure that I wanted him in the delivery room this time. After what happened at my last delivery, I wasn’t too sure. He promised to do better this go around. When it was time to go to the hospital, I packed the bags, the baby, and myself in the truck. I sat in the truck waiting for him to make his appearance. My husband put himself in the car. Nothing else. Big surprise. We dropped the baby off at my sister’s and headed to the hospital.
My mom had to stop and get dinner for my poor hungry husband. This labor went fast. Luckily, this time around my sister came in to check on me. I sent her to find someone because I was certain it was time. She left and came back in. My nurse was at Subway. I told her not to come back without someone to deliver the baby. She walked out and reappeared with my doctor. Task completed. My husband did put down his cheeseburger long enough to hold one of my hands. He was quiet. The room smelled of McDonalds. But my sister was silently holding my hand, giving me strength. And Griff, well he was there. And this time I remembered to tell him to take my picture with my new baby boy. Then I’m pretty sure he finished his supper.
❤️ Shalom
