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A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the delivery room

A Wild Ride

Did I just pee on my bedroom floor, or did my waters break? 

That was the big question at 11:30 PM on October 3rd. There was a loud gush, no smell, no color… and then nothing. I followed it up with a bathroom trip, just to confirm my bladder wasn’t playing tricks on me. What. Is. Happening.!?

By the morning, the doctor suggested I head to the hospital to get checked. Just in case. I walked into Cormed Hospital, ready for answers, but got a nurse with the conversational skills of a brick wall. My second nurse was warmer but a little too handy with the equipment. One CTG and an hour and a half of lying flat later, I left with zero clarity and a sore back. Just advised to look out for changes and rush back. 

Fast forward to October 5th. The Midwives Brew Saga began—twice, in fact—with warm water and a splash of Coke for good measure. Around 1 PM, I started timing something happening inside me. Were they contractions? Braxton Hicks? A full-on alien invasion? Whatever it was, I wasn’t in pain yet, but I noticed baby Amani moving less. Anxiety won, and I headed back to the hospital.

Contractions were happening! Big ones, the nurse said. On the CTG, they looked wild. But me?

Still chatty.

Still cracking jokes. 

My husband, on the other hand, was convinced baby would arrive before 2 AM. Ambitious, but I admired the confidence.

Then came 11 PM.

Cue the Devil’s Work.

My contractions went from a 2 to a 2 million in no time flat. Every muscle in my body decided to rebel. By 11:20 PM, I felt the urge to push. I wasn’t in labor; I was fighting for my life. And what did the nurse suggest? A bath. A BATH?! I needed an epidural, an exorcism—anything but bubbles and warm water.

I waddled to the tub like a feral creature, baring all, and guess what? I didn’t care. Modesty had left the chat. Black girl magic was on full display.

By 11:30 PM, I was admitted, checked, and checked again. At this point, I had pooped on several surfaces, including (but not limited to) the bed, the bathtub, and the delivery table. My poor husband. The trauma. The horror. The unwavering love he must have to still look at me like I’m his darling after that.

The pain was unbearable. Every contraction was a betrayal. The nurses told me to breathe, not push, and—get this—not make a noise. Sis, what?! With all due respect, no. Absolutely NOT. 

By 11:50 PM, my waters officially broke, and I was swimming. Relief was fleeting, though, because my doctor arrived just in time to deliver the lowdown: PUSH. Don’t scream; push!

The next part was a blur. Two pushes. A ring of fire. And then… warm, tiny, and utterly perfect: Amani.

They laid him on my chest, his cord still attached, while the placenta made its grand exit. No tears, no cuts, no episiotomy. My pum pum? Intact. Hallelujah!

I was sore, shocked, and endlessly grateful. What a wild ride.

Happy Birthday, Amani. 

Born October the 6th, just after midnight

❤️

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