The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

Today we begin the first day of the rest of our lives.

We will be admitted at 4pm to begin cervical ripening, and then begin a very long waiting game. Our bags are packed. We have a smattering of DVDs and VHS tapes, a bundle of Parenting magazines that we never got around to reading, bags of Jolly Ranchers and succers, a book I've been meaning to read for the past year, two laptops, three candidates for going-home-outfits for baby, one 3-ring binder of neurotically-organized brochures and hand-outs regarding breastfeeding and new-parent classes, and an armful of pillows.

I awakened this morning anxious with leftover nerves that kept my eyes open until 1am last night. I know things will go fine, and strangely my worries do not lie with the actual delivery. My anxiety is composed of a combination of knowing how much our lives will change this week in addition to knowing just how long the next two days or so will be. The next day will bring an IV, at least one epidural attempt, a foley catheter, countless cervial checks, heart monitoring, fetal monitoring, and flimsy butt-bearing hospital gowns. I am not intimidated by the hospital; I have been an RN for eight years now. But when I am on the other side, though I put on a cheery face, I'm truly a wimp.

How grateful I am for Michael. I couldn't ask for a more patient, caring, attentive, calming presence. In the first weeks of when were dating, I actually had visions of how he would be as a Dad. How great he would be in a delivery room. How perfect he would look with a baby in his arms. And now, here we are. Knowing that the process of cervical ripening can take anywhere from 12 to 32 hours in the laboring room, which is the size of our kitchen and contains bedding surfaces the consistency of our kitchen Silestone counters, I told Michael that if he wanted a good night's rest at home in our own bed for the first night, I would totally understand. He answered simply, "I'm not going anywhere."

Two nights ago, I threw up. And I thought it was funny. It was like my pregnant body was bidding me adieu: "Here's a little souvenier of your past 10 months, lest you soon forget what you put me through." I won't be missing having to pee every 1-2 hours. I won't miss being unable to change positions unassisted, or needing to carefully calculate my roll into bed so I end up my my side without needing a re-do. And speaking of laying down, another thing I won't miss is refluxing so badly that I wake up sputtering and choking on the geiser that erupted into my mouth when I was in the middle of a perfectly-weird pregnancy dream.

After dancing to some tunes that we donloaded in preparation for our stay at Hotel del Abbott Northwestern, Michael and I picked out an unexpected combination of flicks (Clue meets Fifth Element, with some Ever After and Mysteries of the Pyramids thrown in). My countenance changed a bit, and I'm beginning to view our adventure today as a sort of medical camping trip.

I'm excited to be a mother. I'm so eager to meet our baby boy, and to feel what every parent tells you is indescribable. I can't wait to have weeks to get to know him and spend nearly every minute with him. I'm thrilled to watch Michael become a Dad, and for us to be a family. At some point between dancing to Jayme Foxx and learning how to swaddle our newborn son, we'll be letting you know that our lives have changed, so stay tuned.

As for now, I'm going to go feast on more Dill Pickle Chips and pick up a Coldstone to commemorate the journey.