Okay, so I know these little nuggets are really not interesting to anyone other than me, but they're the funny things I really want to remember, so, you know, bear with me. (or don't, and come back in a month;)
After Gracie was born, I said that I wanted to labor with my next baby during the day. Partly because I wanted to remember the experience, partly because I didn't want to have to use the answering service for my doctor, and partly because laboring all night long is frigging exhausting and just gets everything off on the WRONG foot. So, when I woke up at 4am with the first painful contractions with Katie, well, that wasn't reeeeally daytime, but I was excited to know I'd probably be laboring during the day.
Of course, the contractions spread out and bunched up and spread out and bunched up, and I didn't know WHAT to think. I finally called the doctor at 2pm, and was super excited to have them tell me to come in, rather than going to OB triage. (bummed that my primary doc wasn't in the office that day, but that's neither here nor there.)
Stephen and I got in the car and headed to the office, in the swanky office just a few doors down from the hospital. I was having awful contractions all the way there, and at that point, was going on eight hours of painful contractions, mostly about 4-6 minutes apart, 10 minutes apart at the most. Which is to say, I was IRRITABLE. Go to get on the elevator in the garage, where, seriously??? I can count on one hand the number of times other people have been on that elevator with me. This time? Three people and a stroller come piling on. Jabbering in some Nordic language. I was shooting daggers at Stephen across the elevator (because it was his fault? I don't know. I guess I wasn't irritable enough yet to shoot daggers at strangers.) Then, they suddenly switched to English and started talking about doing their taxes. THEN?! The elevator stopped again, and this woman piled into the elevator with her roughly ten year old daughter. (and in case you were wondering, NO, there was NOT room for them.) We complete the world's longest three-floor elevator ride, pile off, and Stephen tells me we should really wait for all those people to get on the office elevators before we get on (maybe I WAS shooting daggers at strangers? heh. he was pretty insistent.) I was trying to ignore him, because I was crabby and not interested in being helped. However, my body had other plans and slammed me with a huge contraction. I gripped the corner of the wall and steeled myself, just in time to see ALL of our elevator mates turn and STARE at me. If looks could kill, I would be blogging from prison.
Seriously, EVERY OTHER TIME I took those elevator trips, I MIGHT have seen two other people the whole time. WTF?!
So THEN, I go to the doctor, where the office was shockingly expeditious (first time for everything, I guess), and we get sent to the hospital. Going back thru the garage, we actually walk past another person on the little walkway to the car- for the record, that has NEVER happened. Of course, right as he's approaching, here comes a contraction. Being a concerned human being, he stopped just after he passed us to make sure we were okay. "Keep on walking," I snarled under my breath, FILLED WITH RAGE over his concern. Stephen smiled and said, "We're okay!! THANKS!!!"
"EVERYBODY IS REALLY PISSING ME OFF, PONES."
"I know. Let's just go to the car."
When did my labor become a sitcom? I don't know, but I guess I should be glad we didn't get trapped in the elevator, forcing my new Scandinavian friends to deliver Katie.