The day I went into labor, I finished all the laundry, packed my bag, made sure everything was in it’s place. When Josh got home from work, I let him know ever so calmly that I had been in labor all day, and with a peaceful smile, that we should probably start getting ready to go. We ate a small meal (steak, potatoes and veg... ha), packed the car, and then Josh mentioned that he forgot to get a haircut, so I thought we should just go ahead and go to the barber shop. I sat in the chair shifting and breathing through contractions that were about six minutes apart - never telling Josh of course. This was such a beautiful moment. Ha. Insert rolling eyes here. Then I had another brilliant thought, we should get the car washed before we go to the hospital. I like my life to be clean and sparkly folks, and that means my car too. So as the sudsing rainbow of bubbles washed away the dust and water marks, I sat. In pain. Through another contraction. One last stop on the crazy train - to tell my mom that I was in labor, but not to worry, “I’ll call you when I get to the hospital and let you know if they admit me”. Remember what I said about worry?
I mean. I had this $^!t on lockdown! Right. The hospital was an hour and fifteen minutes away. My contractions were three minutes apart. It was the longest ride of my life. Josh looked calmly at me and in the gentlest voice he could force out said, “I love you, but I am really mad at you for waiting this long - because if we have this baby in the car I am going to freak the f--- out.” Which was promptly followed by “love you.”