I told everyone when I would be giving birth; not the exact day, but the week. I said I would deliver two and a half weeks before the doctor’s due date. No one believed me. No one ever does.
Living with my daughter’s father did not work out. Seven months pregnant, I packed my car and drove from Niagara Falls, Canadian side, back to New Jersey. I left him a note.
I moved in with my parents.
My mother threw her back out. She lay in her bed upstairs, receiving visitors several times a day for a couple of days. I carried coffee and desserts up to them, dirty dishes down to the kitchen. At one point, I thought I couldn’t control my bladder; I leak-peed myself more than once.
A week later, on Thursday night, I began having pains in my lower back. This went on for ten hours until finally at six in the morning on Friday, I woke my parents up. They said I was in labor. We called the doctor. He told us to get to the hospital.
I signed into maternity. The doctor didn’t arrive until nine. They couldn’t tell if I really was in labor. Around noon, they decided I wasn’t in labor but I was two and a half weeks away from my due date, so they were trying to decide if they should induce labor since I was already there.
In the mean time, my mother, two aunts (not really related but you know how that goes) and my sister-in-law were there to enjoy the show. I wanted an epidural, which I got after whining pathetically.
The doctor decided to induce, so along with the pain medication I got whatever you get to produce labor pangs. It was now four pm Friday September 12, 1986. The doctor left to go to his lounge because Dance Fever was on. Before the show was over, my daughter popped out practically flying across the room into my sister-in-law’s arms.
The doctor showed at five pm to make the official birth pronouncement, note that my daughter was jaundiced, tell me I had a bladder infection because my water had broken a week ago and he had my daughter whisked to incubation. He told the nurses to get me cleaned up, I’d be going home that night.
I piped right up to say I was not leaving the hospital without my daughter. They conferenced and agreed easily.
My visitors told me how much they hated me because I looked so good; I beamed.
On Sunday, while I slept in the hospital to lovely peace and quiet, my mother hosted my baby shower. She did not listen when I told her I’d be giving birth two and a half weeks early.