And I sat down on our recliner to talk. I was so tired.
"Hi, Eowyn? It's Jenny. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Well, I've been thinking, and Dean and I talked it over and we were wondering if we could be your back up plan? Do you have a back up plan?"

"No, I don't have a back up plan, and I'd love to use you as a back up plan."

"Great, Dean and I will plan on one of us coming to help you if you need it when that baby comes."

"Thank you so much Jenny. I haven't even been able to think about that. But don't worry. All the rest of my kids have come on time to late, and I'm not due until January 7, so you have plenty of time."

We talked a few more minutes and I reassured her more than once that she had plenty of time to wait, and then Jenny hung up. And I sat on the recliner. I wasn't due for 10 more days and the only thought I could think I could think after I hung up the phone was, "How on earth am I going to make it 10 more days." I was exhausted, hormonal, itchy, and ornery. I hated this pregnancy. I was an emotional beast and I was done. I didn't want to be pregnant any more. And as I sat in the chair, I groaned inwardly, knowing that I wasn't going to have my child for at least 10 more days. And I had no idea how I was going to make it alive through that time.

After wallowing in self pity for a while, I got up and got back to work.

I felt strange all day.

Just strange.

I laid in bed that night, tired, yet unable to sleep for the huge-ness of my belly and the near-constant back pain. I thought of my Nurse-Practitioner midwife and of her continued comments that I was going to only have a 7 pound baby. I hoped more than believed. I had never had a child less than 8 pounds. I wondered what it would be like to have a 7 pound baby. Would I even be able to keep it inside?

And I continued to feel strange.

And, at about 11:00 p.m., the strangeness turned very wet.

I sat in bed for a moment, not believing what I was feeling. I couldn't come to terms with it. My water couldn't have broken. I wasn't due for 10 more days, and I had never had my water break before labor had been going for a while. Then things got messy.

And then the contractions started. Hard. Painful. And not.

Faramir and I wandered around the house, trying to pack a bag, laughing insanely the whole time. We were trying to think of what we needed at the hospital. "Baby clothes? Oh, yes, we need those." "Blanket? Oh, where's that one I bought for this baby." "How about you?" "Yes, I'll need some new clothes. These are going to be gross by the time I get there." "You should probably put the crib up before I get home." Punctuated by laughter at the complete impossibility of this situation and frantic trips to the bathroom to try and keep ahead of what seemed like a huge amount of liquid coming out of my body.

"You'd better call Jenny."

"She is going to laugh her head off."

She didn't laugh her head off, but only because it was midnight and she probably wasn't awake enough to do it.

Jenny came over and laid down on our couch and Faramir and I headed off for the hospital--about a 10 minute drive.

We entered in the ER entrance and started the process of checking in. I was a mess in the ER. Sitting in the car had stenched the flow of the fluids some, but getting to the hospital and standing up to go inside had started it up again. It was rather embarrassing. Every contraction pushed more out.

I finally was put in a wheelchair and taken up to the birthing center, completely checked in, and stuck in bed. The Nurse-Practitioner on call came and checked me. I was at about a 3, I think.

And the contractions stopped. It was about 1:30 and my body stopped doing anything.

I rolled on a ball. I think. Things go really fuzzy at this point. Maybe the ball was the other child. I really can't remember. I have no real memory until about 5:30 when the NP on call decided to try and induce me because my body wasn't doing anything. I had made no progress in those 4 hours and that's not exactly a good thing when your water is broken. So she prescribed me a pill--I can't remember the name of the medicine--and left the room. The nurse brought the pill, I took it and we went back to life as it was before. I started having contractions again, but when my NP came back in (it was daytime now, and she delivered all her babies if they came during the day) and I still had made no progress. I took another pill at some point. Things go a bit fuzzy again.

Around noon, they put me on pitocin (the bane of my existence). The intensity of everything ratcheted up. I remember thinking I was handling it pretty well. I told them to get me an epidural, but all in all, I remember thinking I was pretty much in control.

Until the epidural kicked in--and I realized just how out of control I really was.

I was soooo grateful to get that medicine. I think I even told the anesthesiologist that I thought he was the most beautiful person ever. I must have been acting like a total ninny at that point because I was so happy for the pain to be gone. And I settled down to wait. The nurses told me to roll from side to side to avoid something--I can't remember what.

Huge mistake.

At some point I rolled over onto my right side and all the pain killer went into the right side of my body and suddenly I could feel everything on the left half of my body. I cried, and squeezed my husbands hands into oblivion, and rolled back over, and cried some more.

After some time, probably about the 10 minutes that they told me I had to wait to increase my medication, it went away.

And then, very soon after that little episode, it was time to push. The nurses radioed my NP and she came running up--just in time. It's twice now that I've had my baby delivery person make it just in time for delivery. They busied the room and I tried not to push. They brought everything in, and I tried not to push.

And finally she told me to push. So I did. Once. Then she said something like, "I need a series of small little pushes." And I, being who I am, started laughing at her request. She said, "That's perfect. Now push again." And Tyrone was born.

My overwhelming feeling was, "I am sooo grateful not to be pregnant any more." Recovery from Tyrone was an adventure, everything from the worst afterbirth pain ever, to a small overdose of prescription painkiller (either demerol or some form of codiene) which put me out like a light. (I should never take more than one. Never!) to panic attacks. In fact, I'm still not sure I've completely recovered from having him, which is why I have not had more.

But he is worth every minute of it. He's the most darlingest thing ever. Oh, and you know that 7 pound baby I was having? Yeah, 8 pounds and 7 ounces. My biggest.

I know I'm a few days late posting this, but my holiday was/is crazy busy, but I just had to say, Happy Birthday Tyrone. I adore you!