Ode to my third labor...

Ode to my third labor...

I held a baby today and was reminded of what was to come in the next 3 months.

First, soft and fun contractions.
Grabbing the to-go bag.
Smiling at my husband, who says, “We’re gonna meet our baby!”

Next, a small wave of heat to my face.
I inhale, remembering all too well the feel of that first “real” contraction.
I exhale, my eyes now wide, a hint of fear crosses my mind.

I shake doubt out of my mind and oops, there goes my mucus plug.
Ick.

“Should we time these contractions?” my husband wonders aloud.
“Wha-YES!” I reply in a strange voice I have never heard.

The discomfort, or so they call it, subsides and I feel excited again.
I will hold my baby soon.

I quietly pace the floor of my living room and pray to the birthing gods to let me have a short labor this time.

I use the bathroom and rise from the commode. Pulling up my size 22 pants, I hear a pop and then, “Crap, I peed in my pants!? I just went...”

Water breaking, mind unnerving, heart sometimes swelling, breath gasping.

Nurses coaching, husband cheering, me - pushing, pushing, pushing.

“I might die today,” I think and whisper to my husband, “I don’t think I can do this anymore. You take over.”

More pushing, more cheering, “JUST ONE MORE!”

Then, relief. And smiling. Crying. Holding. Kissing.

I held a baby today and was reminded of what was to come in the next 3 months.

 

*Please note, I am not a poet. I repeat, I am not a poet.

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