This is the last preggo selfie I took. It’s from the morning that my water broke.
Belly, y’all. There’s a full on baby in there.
8 a.m. on January 5th. I woke up with a “To Do” list that included “pack hospital bag.” The night before, I’d just finished washing all of the newborn and 0-3 month clothes, the linens, and other things for our little baby to be. And that Monday, three and a half weeks before my due date and less than a week into my disability leave, I figured it’d be the perfect day to start looking at the lists of things to bring to the hospital and planning accordingly.
Jamie woke up earlier and kissed me goodbye as he left for his first day of a week of band camp with one of his high schools. I got up a half hour later to pee, and what I found was a little more than that. My water had broken. Or at least, I assumed that is what was happening, since I was leaking water every two minutes. (I don’t know — I’ve never done this before, and we weren’t even at 37 weeks yet!) I called Jamie and told him he might want to come back home, because I think… I think my water broke. We both debated whether he should turn around to come home (…we are dumb, you guys. I know it seems obvious that he should, but I still wasn’t convinced that my water had broken. It was too early.) After a minute or two of debate, we made the right choice and he turned around and headed back. Then I called my doctor, who told me not to panic that we were only in week 36 (that her kids were born during her 36th week and everything was fine), and that it was okay to shower and pack and leisurely get to the hospital that morning, and she would check in with us that afternoon.
9 a.m. So… I got into zen mode. Excitedly, but also quite casually (somehow), I took a shower, reviewed the list of suggested items to pack, packed them, made sure the cats had food, called my parents, and Jamie and I headed in to the hospital. I felt happy, ready, peaceful. Still leaking water, but no contractions.