By 3am, the thought of sleep was laughable.
So I took a bath, pausing for contractions.
Took a shower, pausing for contractions.
Blow dried and straightened my hair, pausing for contractions.
When 6am rolled around, I was done.
"Hey, Brandon...my contractions are basically 5 minutes a part and I'm over it.
We're going to the hospital now."
Immediately followed by a mini panic attack.
"I'm not ready. I can't do this. Never mind."
With a healing hug from Husband, I was back in the game.
Being the over-planner I am, the bags were packed weeks before and we were ready!
(With one last stop at McDonalds for my biggest pregnancy craving, hash browns.)
That's when the peace came.
I was scared, sure.
But, I knew what the outcome would be.
I knew I'd be holding Emmerson soon and nothing else mattered.
Once we were settled into the room, we noticed my body wasn't progressing as much as my contractions were leading on.
Talks of sending me home to labor began and my knight in shining armor stepped in and came to my rescue.
"She's been having consistent contractions for over 24 hours. She's miserable. We can't leave."
With a little help, my labor was induced and then we waited.
4 hours after the epidural, it was time to push.
With my husband on one side, my mom on the other, and my good friend/nurse coaching us, the rest was an intense blur.
5 contractions later and Emmerson made her grand entrance.
I remember tears.
I remember baby cries.
I remember saying, "Oh, hi, Emmerson." "Oh, hi!"
She was perfect.
Sweet little fingers.
Sweet black hair.
Sweet scrunched face.
Everything about our labor and delivery was sweet.
Everything worked out perfectly, out of state family and all.
Tears have been my constant companion over the past few days, trying to swallow the fact that I now have a one year old!
This year has been challenging, to say the least, but more rewarding than I ever imagined.
Here's to you, sweet girl.
You will forever be my always.