We ate chicken, tomatoe and lettuce sandwiches and then watched i am number 4 (don't rush out to see that one anytime soon...)
I complained, and complained some more about the constant burning across my chest and the pain all over my stomach.
My stomach got hard, then it got soft, then it got hard, then it got soft... you get the drift..
It's 2 am and I still haven't fallen asleep... not even for a minute. At this point I really don't know if I am having contractions. I feel like puking and have been to the washroom at least 10 times. I wake up Andrew and I am a weepy, pathetic mess.
We decide that we should call triage. We try to locate the triage number and fail. We contemplate driving to triage but I really didn't want to do that.
We go for a walk.
I decide to try sleeping in a chair, Heidi decides to join me. That doesn't really work out.
Some unknown ridiculous hour I try the whole bed thing again and it works.
I wake up to Andrew dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and he is working from home. We both look like zombies.
I am used to the sleep deprivation. That I can handle. What I can't handle is the ... is this go time or is this just a shitty time situation.
This morning I realize that as bad as last night was I feel so great about hiring that doula. I mean clearly neither of us knows what we are doing. In the moment I just want him to make me feel better but how is he supposed to know how to do that when I have zero clue about what exactly will make me feel better. Our doula has done this before. She has several children of her own and has been to countless births.
Big sigh... last night wasn't so bad after-all.
|Sunset Cloud over the Atlantic Ocean by 4blankwalls via etsy|