Put on Some Clothes, Shake Up Your Bed

The hospital bag. For some it's a utilitarian satchel of clothes and toiletries akin to an overnight bag packed for a business trip, for others it is an oasis full of reminders of home in a strange and sterile hospital environment. For us, it was largely hypothetical. L and I held a deep belief in a long and un-eventful early labor. To be honest, if I were pressed to describe what I thought early labor would be like, I probably would have more accurately described a rather bad case of hiccups. 

"The mid-wife says it's time to go." I've just gotten off the phone with the spritely, kind and energetic mid-wife I had secretly been hoping would be on duty to catch our son.

"The bag hnmn..." L has started to punctuate most thoughts with what I call "The Labor Noise." 

"Ok," I do my best to seem authoritative and cool. "I will pack the bag. You stay here and... labor."

My approach to packing the bag is chaotic. Things make it in, or not, more as a matter of proximity than any inherent virtue or use in a delivery room. Still, at least ten minutes elapse as I throw the bag together. I come downstairs with the bag, and announce that we are ready to go. 

"Hnnnmn.... Did you grab..." 

"I can't say beyond 60% certainty that I grabbed anything besides your birthing dress, your iPad or the racquetball." 

"Ok, let's go."

I pull up at the hospital. Our mid-wife is waiting outside.

"I can't believe I beat you here."

"I had to pack the bag." If you ever want to see what a look of pure pity looks like, admit to a mid-wife that you just decided to pack the hospital bag after your (overdue) wife went into labor.

"I have good news." This is why I like this mid-wife, she is full of good news and matter-of-fact optimism. "We got the tub room."

"Did you hear that, honey? We got the tub room." Another major tenet of our birthing belief system was that the tub room was absolutely necessary for L to have the natural birth she was hoping for. Her pregnancy had been greatly eased with baths and showers, and so the deep soaking tub in the tub room is a lynch-pin in our labor strategy. The other lynch-pin is the racquetball I push into the base of L's spine during contractions.

"That's ...hnnmnnh... nice"

The mid-wife pushes a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Great! Let's have a baby!"