One week ago I was happily pregnant, sitting in our recliner on bedrest, POSITIVE that I would be one of those lucky people who had their water break early but made it to full term. Of course I would be, why on earth wouldn't it be me? I was doing everything right. Only getting up to pee, drinking tons of liquids, eating healthy, staying positive, repeating my mantras and positive affirmations, taking loads of vitamins. We had brand new sheets on the bed, washed everything we owned, had hand sanitizer at every turn, and I'd nabbed a few boxes of those infamous mesh panties from the hospital so I could change them every time I went to the bathroom. The house has never been so clean and there was no way infection was coming anywhere near me. I'd already passed the critical 48 hour mark and was half way to the 10 day milestone. There was no way I wouldn't make it, right?
Little did I know that in just three short hours I'd start to feel contractions (which I would initially pass off as indigestion).
In seven hours I'd be firmly in the throes of labor.
In eight hours I'd be in the hospital.
In twelve hours Caleb would be born.