This morning, we eyed each other with a sort of mutual respect.
And then she kissed me. A good kiss, right on the old smacker, letting me know that she begrudgingly admires my tenacity. It was a sweet moment, albeit awkward - There was a lot of weird eye contact, she lingered way too long and there was a lot of slobber, but you know what? I love you too, Bug.
This time last year I was over baked by three days and so ready to pop but as usual, the baby terrorist was on her own schedule. Then, as I was on the phone to my mother dramatically complaining about how I was probably doomed to be pregnant for all eternity, my water broke.
Only, I didn't believe that my water broke.
It wasn't dramatic, and if you know me, you know that I have a flair for that kind of thing, so I just didn't believe it could actually be happening to me. You know, because I wasn't 9 months pregnant and carrying around a gigantic belly that contorted constantly thanks to the in utero terrorism of a certain baby. So, rather than believe that I could possibly be in labor, I instead decided to watch a little Real Housewives, put on some makeup, wander aimlessly around the house and wait for a sign from God. Again, because you know, he hadn't already given me a huge sign.
A couple of hours later, I started thinking that maybe I should call my husband. It went a little something like this:
Me: "Hey, I think my water may have broken. But I'm totally not sure. I mean, it's probably nothing. In fact, forget I called."
Him: "Oh my God! Are you serious? Should I come home? I'm coming home."
Me: "No, don't worry about it. It's probably nothing. It's nothing. No, come to think of it, I'm sure it's nothing."
Him: "Ummm...."
Me: "Okay, bye."
About 30 minutes later, I thought, well self, it's probably nothing but maybe you should go to the hospital just in case. You know, because you don't want to be one of those women who birth a baby while thinking it's just a routine trip to the toilet. But self, you're so crazy, you know it's nothing, they are going to send you home.
So I waddled out of the house, got in the car without my hospital bag, certain I was overreacting, and drove myself to the hospital. I have never been in such a state of denial in all my life and let me tell you, it felt good! I called my husband on the way, and had a conversation that went a little something like this:
Me: "So...I am on the way to the hospital but it's nothing. It's totally nothing. Don't even worry."
Him: "OH MY GOD! Are you driving? I'm on my way."
Me: "No, no, that's the last thing I want. They are going to send me home. Don't even worry about it. And please, please don't tell anyone. I don't want everyone to be saying Oh that Brooke, such a drama queen."
Him: "Ummmm....."
Me: "Okay, bye!"
So into the hospital I strolled, with the swagger of an over due water breaking in some serious denial pregnant lady and announced to the front desk clerk with some bravado that I think my water might have broken, but it's probably nothing, I'm sure it's nothing.
She looked at me with a raised eyebrow and hustled me to the third floor Triage unit, where I giggled as I told them it was nothing, nothing, totally nothing.
And with that, my whole world changed. I was informed that it was something, something, totally something. That conversation went a little something like this:
Nurse: "Your water broke. We are going to need to admit you."
Me: "Oh, okay. Well I didn't bring my hospital bag. Or my husband, come to think of it. So I'll need to go home and get both and then I'll be back."
Nurse (in a slow voice she obviously reserved for small children and crazy people) - "Honey, that's not how this works.You can't go home. We are going to move you into a room."
As she finished that sentence, I simply stared at her - and then suddenly the sweet high of denial wore off and I was spun into a frantic frenzy of emotions. And, wouldn't you know, there wasn't any cell service on the floor I was on so I couldn't call anyone. Nine months of baking hadn't prepared me for the fact that I was having a baby and now here I stood, all bravado gone, shaking with a new kind of fear I had never before felt and, as a result of my own doing, I was alone.
But that husband of mine, the guy I sometimes want to punch in the face, the man I fell in love with even after he stole a steamroller, the boy who hoards rocks and hides them in the strangest of places...He deserves more credit than I give him. He knows me. He knows just how this twisted mind of mine thinks, and he was one step ahead of me with a hospital bag and fist pump. We were having a baby.
But not so fast...The baby terrorist wasn't going to arrive in this world without first trying to kill me. After almost a day of labor, 2 hours of pushing and finally a C-Section, at 10:17 a.m. on August 29 we first laid eyes on our baby girl.
And just like that, everything changed.
Happy Birthday, Bugsy May. You might be a baby terrorist, but I wouldn't expect anything less from a child of mine. And I couldn't possibly love anything more.
