Feeling lost? Catch up on what you’ve missed:
Ariana’s birth story | part 1
Ariana’s birth story | part 2
Ariana’s birth story | part 3
5:00pm
Shuffling my feet down the hallway, Andre’s in the kitchen. “How ya doing, Clairey?”
“Terrible.”
Poor guy has a look on his face like oh, I was just trying to be nice.
“Here, put pressure on her lower back,” Kaitlyn tells him. He applies pressure.
“Well, don’t knock me over! Geez!” I snapped at him. Yikes, this woman is mean.
I know that’s what he was thinking. And I was mean. Mean, and in miserable, unbearable pain.
5:15pm
On the way to the hospital, all I could think was how I just wanted to be there. I didn’t want to have to sit in the truck anymore. I just knew we would hit red lights that would never turn green. {For the record, David ran one yellowish/red…ish light and the rest were green.} Oh my gosh, I was so miserable. Somehow, I had my wits about me enough to tell Kaitlyn {who was sitting in the backseat because she had the very important job of parking the truck} to text my assistant principal and maternity leave substitute teacher.
I also told Dave to call the hospital so I could have a wheelchair. Because if fear number one was David leaving me to go park the truck, fear number two was having to stand or walk for any length of time.
5:30pm
Luckily, there was a wheelchair there. At this point, the only thing I remember was having to sign about 17,451 forms and the lady taking forever to get them ready. Longest three minutes of my life. That, and being miserable. Maybe even more miserable than I was in the car.
When they finally were ready to bring me to the room, I told them I was about to vomit and needed a bag.
5:45pm
“She’s 9 centimeters; prepare the table. Call Dr. Highland!”
to be continued…
