Everybody said she'd come late, and I was determined for her to prove them wrong. Just like she proved them all wrong about being a "she" instead of a "he". I'd been walking around at 1 cm dilated, 70% effaced for a week. 

It was Seabee Days 2006. I was at the base all day with Mark because I didn't want to go into labor at home alone and wind up unable to get a hold of him. So I was spending the weekend under a camoflauge net canopy, sweating up a storm and trying to consume as much water as possible. I alternated between the inflatable camping couch that we had bought at the PX and the chair in front of the cashbox where I acted as "Den Mother", my usual task at Mark's work, pitching in where needed and making sure everybody was taken care of. It was June 24 and 25. 

A lady I knew came walking through (most likely to flirt with all the uniformed Marines, as was her usual goal), and told me she knew a massage guaranteed to put women in labor.  She was a massage therapist. So naturally I offered up my stinky, sweaty, dirty feet. Well, maybe not naturally, but I was desperate. And they wouldn't have been dirty if our booth hadn't been the only one not on asphalt. The foot massage was not enjoyable. It hurt like hell. I gritted my teeth the whole time. It didn't help that the masseuse was a really obnoxious woman I was predetermined to hate. She had told me my kids would look just like hers. She insisted "it" would be a boy. She made dirty comments about the married Marines to me. She was disgusting. 

Anyways I would spend a while each day walking. Walking is supposed to bring on labor, right? People were making bets on when I would give birth. The 1stSgt insisted it would be June 28th - Wednesday. On the 25th, I lost half of my mucous plug in a port-o-potty. I lost the other half throughout the next 12 hours or so, every time I went to the bathroom. I was elated. I showed Mark. He was intrigued. That sort of thing interests him. 

I did all the tricks people suggested to me to start labor, except for the drinking castor oil thing. Sunday night I couldn't sleep. I laid in bed and counted contractions. It was like counting sheep, I think. I did it until I fell asleep. At one point, I woke Mark up and told him that they were coming every 10 minutes. I was excited. 

Monday morning, my friend Jennifer called. "Do we have a baby yet????" No. Don't rub it in. We still have a very full uterus and no baby. She called me every hour or so to check my progress. I was walking laps around the house, Mark was cleaning. Still contracting, nothing too special. 

Monday afternoon, the contractions were regular, and were coming every 3-5 minutes. Mark and I loaded up the car and headed to the hospital. They put me in a beautiful L&D room and I was monitored for about an hour. I was ready! The nurse came in and checked my progress. There wasn't much. Still dilated 1 cm. Maybe 1.5 cm. Difficult to say. 80% effaced or so. Contractions were normal, but not very productive. She called Dr. Lanter and updated her. Dr. Lanter asked to have me walk around for a bit. So she sent me to the long hall ramp and I walked up and down it for an hour. I went back to get checked again, and she said I was 2 cm now, but the progress was slow so I was free to leave and come back. Have some dinner, catch some sleep, she said she expected to see me later on that evening, preferrably after my water had broken OR after the contractions became too much to bear. 

I had a Subway meatball sub for dinner, against the advice of our prepared childbirth instructor, who said to make sure to have something light to eat before delivery. My mom drove to town, anticipating Amaris' arrival. 

At 2AM I was awoken by some intense pain. I shook Mark by the arm and said I thought it might be time to head back to the hospital. We headed out again. We were taken to the triage room. They checked me and said I was 1 cm dilated. 1 cm??? I pitched a fit. I told them I was 2 cm ealier, so 1 cm was bullshit. The nurse was mean. She told me it was in my head. She told me I wasn't really in labor. She told me she was giving me a shot of demerol and sending me home. She told me I wouldn't have a baby for another week at least. Said the demerol would stop my "false labor". 

I got home at 4AM. I was woozy. I couldn't walk. I was very sleepy. I was in no pain. I don't remember getting up the stairs. I think Mark might have half carried me. I made him lay out a towel on my side of the bed because I was afraid of my water breaking or something. I had a big maternity pad on. 

At 6AM, I woke up. I felt a strange popping sensation.  I might have heard it, not sure.  But I know that I felt it and it was unnatural and weird and very definitely was a "pop". I was staring at the ceiling. Still woozy and high on the demerol. I thought to myself, "my water just broke." I'm pretty sure I said it out loud, because I remember Mark saying, "should we go back to the hospital??" And I said something like, "No, not yet. I don't want to get sent home again."  Even though I knew better, that once your water was broken they wouldn't send you home.  I think I was still humiliated from the mean nurse a couple of hours earlier who had administered the demerol to my butt cheek. I felt some pressure, like contractions, but the pain wasn't major. I was too doped out to feel it completely. I turned a little and went back to sleep. 

I have no good concept of time after that. When I woke up again, I was in intense pain. I was folded in half. I told Mark in between contractions, "I think I should go downstairs because if it gets any worse I can't imagine making it down the stairs successfully." So he got a makeshift bed ready for me on the love seat and helped me down the stairs and into it. I stayed there, curled up into a little ball, for a very long time. It was daylight. My mom was in and out of the room, asking me stupid questions, stressing out. Mark was on the internet, of all things. But he wasn't far away. I don't think he knew what to do with the situation. I am pretty sure hours were passing. I couldn't speak. 

Finally my mom insisted it was time to go back to the hospital. 

I don't remember how I got into the car, but I remember while I was on the love seat, I was worrying about getting myself to the car and into the passenger seat. 

My mom crocheted the final touches on Amaris' pink afghan in the back seat. 

When we got to the hospital, it was full. Tuesday rush. Apparently Tuesday tends to be a big day in labor and delivery. It took forever for me to get let into triage, so some time was spent in the waiting room where I was mostly incoherent from pain and medication. When they finally got me into triage I didn't even take my shirt off before I put my hospital gown on. I'd done this twice already, I didn't feel like doing it again. I laid on the triage bed, there were chux pads underneath me. I was either peeing myself, or leaking amniotic fluid. Maybe both. I was in so much pain that I couldn't feel control of my entire bottom half. I was begging for drugs. They hadn't even checked me yet, and I was begging for drugs. 

They checked me. 100% effaced, 6 cm. Moving fast now. Very productive contractions. I remember some discussion about finding me a labor and delivery room NOW. I remember Mark telling me to breathe and holding my hand, not at all overbearingly. 

I don't remember getting from triage to L&D. But I do remember the nurse telling me that Dr. Lanter had okayed me for an epidural, but that the anesthesiologist had just gone in to a C-section, and it would be about an hour before he could get to me. I cried. She said she'd give me some stadol. She did, and it didn't really help, it just pretty much made me incoherent. I was sleeping, but in pain. I couldn't speak, but was struggling. I hate stadol. 

Eventually the anesthesiologist came in and introduced himself. I was 9 cm dilated. I was elated to see him and said, "My best friend!" 

After that I was in a daze. Very talkative and loopy. I started slowing down on progress. They put pitocin in my IV. I couldn't feel anything. 

They said it was time to start trying to push. So I did. But it wasn't doing anything. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed... Nothing. 

Mark held my right leg, my mom held my left. Nothing was happening. I was pushing. The nurse said I was doing something wrong. How do you "push" wrong?? I was totally frustrated, and exhausted. Dr. Lanter came in and asked if I needed help. I told her I did. She explained vacuum extraction, and then left briefly to get things set up. I continued pushing while she was gone but there was really nothing happening.  It turns out Amaris was "sunny-side-up" - probably the reason for my intense back labor and unproductive pushing.

When my doctor came back, it all happened really quickly. I pushed, she pulled. At 5:42PM, my beautiful little bruise-headed baby girl was born talking to herself - not crying. I cried for about an hour and a half solid. I held her, Mark held her, my mom held her... Mark and I both cried our eyes out. It was a really emotional time. My doctor kept asking if I was crying out of emotion or if I was feeling the stitches. No, just emotion. Very overwhelming.