Besides being pregnant through one of the most humid summers and early autumns on record, my pregnancy was a pretty straightforward one. Most of my suffering came from the realization that most of my shoes no longer fit due to water retention and my iron levels dipped dramatically low during my third trimester, but the wonderfulness (dare I use that word to describe pregnancy?) during my second trimester made up for the morning sickness during the first and the fatigue during the third.
Even though I started dozing off during my commute home, I was also overwhelmed with excitement. Not soon after my husband and I decided to start trying we found out we were pregnant, and we couldn’t wait to meet the little guy.
My estimated due date was November 6th, though that day came and went without incident. My midwives* assured me that it could happen any day now, which became my immediate response anytime anyone asked if he was here yet.
*By the way, I can only say positive things about my midwifery experience. It is truly care that goes above and beyond. I initially chose midwives for the convenience of getting to appointments, but was overwhelmed by how “on call” they are for you and how they addressed every one of my questions and fears with knowledge and genuine insight.
The evening of November 11th, I slept horribly. It was one of those “I am over this and so incredibly uncomfortable” nights that had shown up as of late. On November 12th, for some reason our husband and I decided to stay up ’til midnight. He was already sleeping separately from me that week; he had a cold and didn’t want to pass that along to me when I needed my “health and strength for labour.” I recall saying good night and then commenting, “I think I’m starting to have contractions.”