How to Have a Baby in a Blizzard: A Step-By-Step Guide

So, it turns out the watched pot can boil after all, though perhaps not exactly at the most ideal time. When I woke up Saturday morning I really thought there was no way I was going to be having a baby that day. I felt great. No contractions all night, so I’d had a good night’s rest. I took a shower, ate breakfast and watched the snow come down, preparing to stay inside all day (and perhaps watch Brad shovel several feet of snow from the comfort of my heated home). After lunch Brad took the boys outside to play for a bit. I stepped outside to snap some quick pictures before scurrying back indoors. The contractions began shortly after that, but I still wasn’t alarmed. I decided to take a nap while the boys slept. The contractions, however, wouldn’t allow it. Every ten minutes or so I would wake up to another painful tightening in my belly. After nearly an hour of this I gave up and came downstairs. My husband urged me to call the doctor. Why, I’d asked, since I wasn’t in labor and there was a blizzard taking place outside. At best, they’d laugh at me and tell me to drink water and lay on my side. He insisted and I sighed, a longsuffering sigh. Fine.

I called my doctor and told her the situation, fully prepared to share a chuckle with her over my husband’s senseless worrying. Men, we’d say, and roll our eyes. Not so. “Can you get in?” she asked. Sure, I thought. It’s only three feet of snow. I’ll hitch up the dogs and be there in a blink. “Just call an ambulance,” she says. Great. I hang up and tell my husband the news. He launches into a flurry of activity, gathering supplies like we will, in fact, be escorted by Saint Bernard to Howard County General. I feel pretty silly. Here I am, calling an ambulance to take me to the hospital where they’d most likely keep me for a day and send me home, still pregnant. I didn’t want to waste their time (or taxpayer money) on a false alarm.

As I sat on the couch waiting for the paramedics to come, however, the contractions that were once 10 minutes apart closed the gap to 7. Before I knew it, four strapping young men in handsome EMT uniforms and big manly boots came stomping through my door (maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all). Contractions every five minutes now. Hmmm. They told me to relax while we all waited for the snow plow to come make a path for the rescue vehicles to come through. These brave lads had walked through the snow to be by my side so that I didn’t deliver a baby in my living room unassisted. How gallant! They even asked for towels so they didn’t track snow in my house. Swoon.

Once the snow plows came through, they whisked me away to the hospital. The streets were deserted but for a few brave SUVs and one confused little PT Cruiser. The roads had barely been plowed and we rumbled most of the way to the hospital. Contractions every three minutes, gentlemen. We zipped into the emergency room where the receptionist informed us that I had to be evaluated by the triage nurse before they could take me upstairs. They said, “Sure thing,” and whizzed past her, whispering in my ear that they had no intention of stopping until they deposited me safely in the arms of a labor and delivery nurse. I owe these guys some baked goods, at least.

I said a tearful goodbye to the EMTs and got into my gown, ready to meet my son. As the nurses cranked up the warmer and laid out all the necessary gear I started to get excited. In a short time I would finally meet the little man who partied nonstop in my belly. I’d get to see his face and hold him in my arms. Smell that glorious, freshly-born smell. I found myself giggling, like I’d never done this before. The doctor pronounced me ready to push and though the epidural had worn off (seriously?) and the contraction pain was blinding, I knew that in a few short moments I would meet someone who would hold my heart forever. Pain is temporary. Love is forever.

Before I knew it a slimy, wiggly bundle was placed on my chest and I laughed out loud. The joy was too much to contain. They cleaned him up, pronounced him to be a giant among infants and gave him back to me. The new love of my life didn’t exactly pick the easiest time to arrive, but I have to admire his flare and style. What an entrance! I can only wonder what a lifetime with him will bring. Welcome to the world, my beautiful son.

The Waiting Game

Have you ever felt like a watched pot? You think you're ready to boil, everyone around you thinks you're ready to boil, but for whatever reason...no action. I'm starting to feel like a bomb. Everyone eyes me nervously, gasping at every cringe on my face. Every bubble of gas and muscle spasm is greeted with expecting glances and questioning stares. Is this it? Does she need to go the hospital? Do we need to boil water and rip towels into strips like they do on TV? There is even a bet taking place on when I will pop. While I suppose all this attention should be flattering, it's enough to make even the most patient of people a little irritable - not to mention what it does to a woman jacked up on hormones, filled to her eyeballs with a kicking baby, and plagued with heartburn so bad no amount of Tums or Mylanta can provide relief. To say the least I'm a bit edgy. It's really too bad that I have to wait until I'm in labor to get medicinal assistance. It would be nice to spend this time of waiting, anxiety and painful contractions that never seem to go anywhere in a state of loopy bliss.

I'm four centimeters dilated and having contractions every twenty minutes or so. It shouldn't be long now. One would think. However, this has been going on for a few weeks now. After giving birth several times before, this process should move along a little more quickly. Alas, not so. Waiting isn't so very difficult. There's always something to do in a busy house with toddlers and the days pass quickly enough.

This situation is not without its own serving of drama, though. Maryland is expecting its biggest snow in nearly a hundred years this coming weekend. The forecast is calling for FEET of snow (possibly close to 3). So, if I go into labor in the next day or so, there will be the added adventure of digging out of a mountain of snow to make it to the hospital. No biggie, I shrug. We have an SUV. All is not lost. And on the bright side, having a baby in a blizzard will be an entertaining story to tell. However, I have been without sugar and junk food for nearly ten weeks (I have big babies). I have been fantasizing for some time now about the post-delivery meal: A bacon cheeseburger and (more importantly) a cookies and cream milkshake from Chick-Fil-A. Should I go into labor tomorrow, in the midst of the blizzard, these establishments will most likely be closed, crushing the dietary dreams of a woman too long deprived of processed foods. If I go into labor on Sunday, the roads may be cleared, but Chick-Fil-A will still be closed, mocking me.

So, I wait, like everyone else, wondering when the gas bubbles will give way to active labor. Anticipating the Big Event with bated breath and the thrill of the unknown. I tell myself that this time (even with its constipation and hemmorhoids) is actually the easy part. The hard part will come AFTER the baby is born and I have to figure out how to care for three boys at once. They'll outnumber me. Someone (I know from experience) will always be crying. And just as a bonus in the first three months, I get to do all of this on five or less broken hours of sleep a night. Did I mention that I also homeschool? Nevertheless, I still find myself excited about my new arrival. I can't wait to see his little face and hold him in my arms. And, sigh, the new baby smell. Nothing beats that. So, even though I know it will be hard I find myself excited for the challenge. Within the deafening noise there is joy and laughter. For every day that I think I'm not qualified for this job, there are moments that take my breath away: when The Bug snuggles next to me and says, "I love you, Mommy" or when The Bear comes to me and says "Kiss." These moments make everything else worthwhile. Even being watched liked the proverbial pot.

Why Am I Here?

I ask myself that question all too often. Especially on days when it seems everyone in the house is screaming and no one can be made happy no matter what I do. On those days I live for naptimes so I can bask in the quiet. Thankfully, that's not every day. More often than not there is a lot of laughter from my boys and every day they seem to do something new. And if I weren't here at home with them I'd miss out on a lot of treasures, like how The Bug (my nearly four-year-old) trapped The Bear (my nearly two-year-old) under a toy bucket and sat on top of it or how The Bear signifies he's done with a meal by crumbling his food into microscopic pieces and tossing them to the floor. I think often of how I went into Motherhood willingly (rose-colored glasses firmly in place). I think with a bit of nostalgia (and a touch of mockery of my younger self) of how I would fold and refold baby clothes, dreaming of how perfect being a Mommy would be. In my daydreams, Mommy would spend her days watching her angelic infant sleep and gaze lovingly at him while he cooed at his vast menagerie of pastel-colored stuffed animals. The reality was a bit different however, as my precious bundle cried ALL THE TIME. He did offer a fair amount of predictibility for his crying fits: if his eyes were open, he was crying. And the stuffed animals fell victim to disinterest and neglect. Here I am almost four years later and Motherhood continues to be other than what I expected. It never occured to me that I would have to say "Don't sit on your brother's head" more often than a person ought. Or that I would know the instant I locked eyes with each of my boys that they would have my heart forever.

But why am I HERE? Why have I decided to share with you good people the daily travails of my life (and the staggering amount of poop I see in a single day)? Confession is good for the soul, they say. They also say misery loves company, so perhaps I'm simply aiming to share my burdens with a sympathetic ear. For what mom sees another mom struggling with cranky toddlers in a grocery store and doesn't think, simultaneously, "I've been there" and "Man, I'm glad that's not me today." In this blog, The General, will talk of her troops, keeping the living quarters clean, how we dodge bullets and put out fires, and what it takes to survive in the thick of the fight. It isn't always pretty, but the challenge is the food of life.