I came across a list the other day: a printed, itemized account of everything in my maternity hospital bags.
Yes that’s “bags,” plural. In anticipating the arrival of our second child, my husband David and I were ready to occupy ourselves in the maternity ward for a good long time. I packed dozens of items, from earplugs and eye masks to a huge fluffy towel and my gratitude journal.
After all, in the case of our first child, we arrived at the Grey Nuns around noon and paced and waited for Dylan until 5:30 the next morning, 10 days overdue.
This baby was overdue too – but the deliveries could not have been more different. Baby Harlow arrived just 15 minutes after we got to the hospital.
Here’s her story:
Nov. 25, five days overdue.
I got up 4:45 a.m. that morning, thanks to waking every two hours (if you’ve been pregnant you’ll understand) and our carbon monoxide detector blaring out a low-battery warning at 4:30 a.m. right outside our toddler’s room. She didn’t wake but I couldn’t sleep.
Our obstetrician – the amazing and affable Dr. Chua – likes to recommend a few remedies to coax out babies who would rather stay put. They include “hanky panky” (that’s a direct quote), squats, and scrubbing your kitchen floor on your hands and knees. With the rest of the house sleeping and the sun still far from up, I opted for the latter… and cleaning out an entire cupboard… and rearranging a closet. My mom would later say in that knowing voice of those who have been there: “Oh yes. The burst of energy.” But I thought nothing of it at the time and there were no further signs throughout the day.
A dinner of Chinese food had seemed to initiate things for my sister with both of her babies. Coincidence or superstition maybe – but heading into a week overdue, anything is worth a shot.
At 8 p.m., we texted our friends who’d agreed to stay with Dylan if we had to rush to the hospital. “Maybe this was it,” we said. “Maybe I should have eaten less. Probably it was nothing.”
We downloaded a contraction timer app, but I couldn’t even decide if everything I was feeling was a contraction.
“That’s really uncomfortable but not horrible – does that count?”
At 10:45 p.m., another text to our friends:
“Update from here: this is not progressing very quickly, if it is even happening. Maybe I had too much Chinese food.”
Within an hour though, contractions had picked up to 17 minutes apart. By the time Stephanie and Nils rushed over, my contractions were 4 1/2 minutes apart – and these were definitely contractions!
Thanks to technology, we have a record of what came next: one of the fastest and most amazing hours of our lives.
Steph and Nils arrived around 12:30. At 12:33, the four of us recorded an iPhone video for Dylan to watch in the morning, reminding her she was in good hands and would come meet the new baby later at the hospital.
From our rather rapid progress along 23 Avenue, I sent a text to a friend saying we were heading to the hospital. 12:43 a.m.
And we will not be surprised if a time-stamped red light camera ticket – or two – arrives in the mail.
It’s the stuff you see in movies – the vehicle screeching to a halt in front of the emergency room doors, the woman leaning up against the wall as her husband runs up to the admitting desk. It was… well, it was as you might expect an ER to be as Friday night turns to Saturday morning. Contractions 90 seconds apart. It was 1 a.m.
In the next dozen minutes, we went from the ER, to triage, to the maternity ward.
The doctor arrived and one of the nurses told me I could push the next time I wanted.
I thought she meant, you know – for practice, for when the real deal came. But that time had arrived and so – just three minutes later – did our new baby girl. There she was – tiny, healthy, perfect. 1:15 a.m.
My husband and I both spent the next little while in shock. Just one minute earlier, David had sent a text to my sisters to tell them we’d gone to the hospital. The text said, “Things seem to be progressing rapidly.”
It was the definition of understatement. After months of preparation, appointments and planning – and those two bags jammed with hospital supplies – we were in and done in an even quarter-hour.
One of the things we like to tease each other about is who is more efficient (it’s me, obviously). But at this point in her young life, little Harlow Imogene might have us all beat.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Jennifer Crosby is on maternity leave until Fall of 2017. Follow her adventures on Instagram , on Twitter, and on Snapchat search Jen.Crosby.
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