So, I had taken the Am.bien, The Castor Oil, and shoved the Evening Primrose Oil up there. And all I had to show for it was flushed away in an instant. After dosing myself with some more Evening Primrose Oil, I went back to bed.
I woke up two hours later, a little after 5 a.m. And I hurt. I felt like I was coming down with the flu or something. My back hurt. My belly hurt. My legs hurt. My... well, that hurt, too.
I heaved myself up, rolled out of bed, and tripped to the bathroom. Apparently the effects of The Castor Oil Treatment were over. Nothing was happening.
But I really, really hurt.
I thought about calling my midwife to tell her I was really, really hurting, but seriously? I truly believe that if you call your midwife at 38 weeks, at five in the morning, to tell her your vagina hurts? It's like hiring a hit man. FOR YOURSELF.
So I took some deep breaths, and tried to relax my hurty self, and it was 100% ineffectual. I went back to bed, but it hurt to lie down. So I heaved myself back up, rolled out of bed, and went back to the bathroom, because leaning over the sink and swaying back and forth felt a tiny bit better than laying down.
Have I mentioned I am occasionally stupid?
I was there, swinging on the bathroom sink for a few minutes, and I stopped moving, because I was hearing a really weird noise. I listened hard, trying to figure out what in God's name was making that noise.
Ummm, yeah. It was totally ME. I was moo-ing.
It was at that moment, when I heard myself baying like a freaking cow, that my light bulb blazed on.
I was having a baby. RIGHT EFFING THEN.
I stood there and made two plans. Plan A: I would wake up The Mister. If he jumped out of bed, I would call his mother to tell her to run up the street to stay with the children. If she answered the phone, we would go to the hospital. Plan B: If The Mister did not jump right out of bed, I would get in the tub and call our neighbor who is the OB Nurse Manager and tell her to let herself in.
We went with Plan A. The Mister and Miss O got up, my MIL charged up the street, and we flew to the hospital. I tried again to reach my midwife so she could, you know, be there for the delivery. It was the longest car ride of my entire life. And I've made the trek to FLORIDA from here, people.
It was 6:00 a.m.
The Mister raced into the hospital to get a wheelchair for me. And he even had the nerve to make me sit down in it. I was really not excited about this, because hello, there's a baby head between my butt bones right now, dude, and sitting makes it worse.
He wheeled me to Labor and Delivery, where Nurse Sunday Driver lollygagged her way to a room. The room that was not sanitized or reset after the previous delivery. So she lollygagged her way down to the one that was furthest away.
My water broke. They hefted me out of the chair, and I leaned forward on the bed while they took my wet clothes off.
This is how we're going to do this, I said. I am going to have this baby right. NOW. Standing here. You are going to catch.
Oh, no, honey, Nurse Lollygagger Sunday Driver said. I have to check you.
You. Do. NOT NEED TO CHECK ME I HAVE DONE THIS BEFORE I AM PUSHING NOW.
Oh, no, honey, you need to get in bed. I have to check you before you can push.
And then she knocked my punk ass in bed. And she checked me. And she actually seemed surprised that I was, indeed, seconds from giving birth.
A flood of Emergency Room staff rushed the room, the same guy who had his hands in my places on my anniversary. Dude stood at the end of the bed, tilted his head to the right, stared at the gaping orifice in front of him and said the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.
Ahh, ummm, I'm gonna need you to not push.
I sat up. What?
Yeah, don't push.
I refrained from calling him Dr. Fucker because my 6 year old daughter was standing by my left shoulder, and I'm a good mother like that. Instead, I said, Right. This is me, not pushing. I took a deep breath, put my chin down, and pushed Elliott's head out. Also, I pushed out a rogue family of hemorrhoids that were residing in my ass. It was a family the size of the Duggars, mom, dad, 19 children, one daughter-in-law and one grandchild. Not that anyone counted or anything.
Then, Dr. Please-Don't-Have-A-Baby-I've-Already-Handled-Your-Vagina-Once-And-That's-Plenty-For-Me-Thanks, well that guy told me to slow down. BECAUSE LET'S MAKE THIS LAST LONGER SO WE REMEMBER IT BETTER?!?!?!
He stood there and watched my no-longer gaping orifice, which really, I don't blame him, if I were faced with a vagina with a face I'd stare, too.
MAYBE SOMEONE CAN GIVE ME A HAND WITH THIS? PULL THE BABY OUT A LITTLE?
Dr. Please said he wasn't able to do that.
So I pushed again and launched my third 9 pound baby into the world, twelve minutes after arriving at the hospital. I really hope someone caught him, and that he didn't land right on the bed, because that would be crappy. Somewhere in the three minutes between when I got on the bed and pushed him out, my midwife arrived. It was a well-attended birth.