It was the broken water that first woke me. Not mine, but the sprinklers which at 1:36 am were still running. I wasn't paying attention to the time, only that the running water outside was taunting my bladder more than usual. I pulled myself out of my rented Orthopedic bed and made my way down the hall to the bathroom... except...
What the fuck?
I was... dripping something. My first thought "Oh, great. I'm peeing myself." I figured exhaustion had robbed me of all bladder control. I
scampered waddled briskly toward the toilet to relieve myself like a proper adult. Except after I peed, I was still... peeing?
Five minutes later Hal knocked on the door. Apparently I'd been pacing, banging around and talking to myself. (Exhaustion robbing me of all sense, too.)
"Are you okay?"
"I'm not sure," I answered.
I pointed to the towel between my legs and mumbled something about water pouring out of my vagina but not to worry because I'm on WEB MD, ready to diagnose why I'm hugely pregnant AND leaking water.
This is going to sound totally crazy to you I'm sure, and trust me, it feels INSANE typing it, but I honestly hadn't the faintest clue I was in labor. I had never broken my water before. My last two labors consisted of doctors sticking long, sharp tools up inside me in order to "puncture my bags" because at five and six centimeters, my water refused to break on its own.
I assumed if my water were to ever break on its own it would be like in the movies where "pregnant actress in a business suit" steps onto the New York sidewalk and BAM! Cue: bucket-sized gush of water followed by "flagging of taxi," followed by entrance into taxi, followed by the line: "Mount Sinai and please step on it, sir!"
... This was not a gush. This was a trickle. A trickle that didn't intend to stop but also, maybe this was normal? What the fuck do I know? Nothing. So I sat on the edge of the bathtub and googled.
"You know you have an ACTUAL DOCTOR you can call, right? Instead of sitting on a towel on a toilet with WEB MD?"
This is the thing about me. I am a reverse-hypochondriac. I assume everything is fine and normal and hate bothering anyone with anything. Especially in the middle of the night.
"But it's 2 am!"
"WHAT IF YOU'RE IN LABOR!?"
"WHAT IF I'M NOT IN LABOR AND I WAKE UP THE DOCTOR!"
"THAT'S HIS JOB!"
That's when my trickle turned into a stream and...
I straddled towel #2 and got on the phone, apologizing fourteen times before explaining to the doctor that I had soaked through two towels and yes, the fluid was clear and no, I didn't feel like I was in labor but I might be? Maybe? I don't know?
I was told to come to the hospital right away.
Hal was already packing his bag. He kept asking me what he should bring and I kept telling him "I don't know" and we both kept bumping into each other, rounding up various items we would never in a million years need.
Him: Four pairs of jeans and an electric shaver.
Hal and I had yet to put a plan in place in case of this kind of middle-of-the-night-have-to-go-to-hospital-but-kids-are-asleep situation. Luckily, my friend Danielle was awake when Hal called and was able to get from Silverlake to West Hollywood in a miraculous seven minutes.
very flattering photo via Dani's phone.
Hal and I woke the kids to tell them we'd BRB, gotta go have some babies, called my mom to tell her to come on down (up) and after pacing the house for twenty more minutes for no good reason, Hal grabbed our bags and we fled the scene.
Outside, the sprinklers were still on, a broken pipe was shooting a geyser into the air, and our entire yard was flooded. In our mad dash to the hospital, we barely noticed. I pressed the towel between my legs and waded through our swamp of a front yard on my way to the car.
By the time we got to the hospital I was on towel five and Hal was on the phone with the water company trying to figure out how to turn the fucking water off.
"This break is going to cost us a fortune!" he said.
I told him we'd bill the full moon...