?What are the chances you?ll go into labour this weekend"? asked my husband. He was weighing the risk of visiting his mom for a few days, who lives in a small town a couple of hours away. The plan was to take our three-year-old son with him.
?There?s, like, a two percent chance,? I replied. ?Go for it!?
Real talk: I was 34 weeks pregnant and I had no clue what the odds actually were?but I sure knew that I wanted that time to myself. And with that reassurance, off they went.
After a Friday evening pedicure, I fell asleep early, but woke in the middle of the night in sleepy confusion. Suddenly, a contraction ripped through my belly…followed by another, and another, and another. This was my second pregnancy, so I knew the difference between Braxton-Hicks and real contractions?and these were definitely not Braxton-Hicks. These bad-boys hurt! All alone and a bit scared, I called 911. At the instruction of the dispatcher, I unlocked the front door, put down towels and pillows, lay down, and took off my pants.
What followed was among the most embarrassing moments of my life, as the firefighters arrived first, then the paramedics, all apparently very confused as to why I was on the ground, pants-less and legs splayed, since the baby wasn?t actually crowning. I sputtered in confusion and mentioned something about following the instructions of the 911 dispatcher. A blanket was hastily thrown over me, and off we went to the hospital.
The doctors were able to stop the contra...