Me: "But it's 'Firetruck Day' and you get to wear your firetruck shirt!"
Tuck: "No fanks."
Me: "Aaaaaand, you get to bring a firetruck with you to school for show and tell! YAY! Let's go find one!"
Tuck: "Me pway wif it at 'cool?"
Me: "Yes!" (Note to self: Remember to tell teacher to let him play with it.)
Tuck: (squeals in delight while picking out a toy firetruck) "YET'S GO, MAMA!!"
And that is how I bribed my then two-year-old Tuck to go to school. But I had good reasons:
1. I was in my last month of pregnancy with Mags.
2. I had to go get an internal exam by my OB/GYN (again).
3. Tuck FREAKED out on the doctor when she tried to touch my stomach the last time I brought him with me to my appointment. "NO TOUCH MY BEEEEBEEEEE!!"
4. He was two...and well...had mastered the art of pushing every single button I had.
5. He loved school once he got in there and saw all his friends.
Every Thursday, I made the same appointment. I had just enough time to get Tuck in his classroom, waddle back to the car, drive to the doctor, get an exam, be told I'm 1cm dilated (for weeks on end) and drive back to pick up Tuck. Everything always worked out. Except one morning it didn't.
It started off as a typical Thursday. I was contracting. Tuck was melting down over putting his pants on. Did I mention he was REALLY good at being two-years-old? Anyway, we eventually made it to his preschool, with pants, and on time. I dropped him off and got back to the car when I noticed another contraction. It took my breath away. When I arrived at the doctor's office, I was called back by the nurse who handed me a gown. We went through the formalities of weight check, urine check, and blood pressure check. Then I was left in the room on the crinkly paper with a breeze up my back and another very intense contraction.
The doctor walked in as it subsided and commented on how flushed I looked. I told her it felt like the baby was trying to dig her way out.
Her response, "Oh boy. Lay back."
And as she did her thing, I heard her say, "So, I'm going to need you to head over to the hospital. You're 2cm dilated and contracting right now. I'll call over and let them know you're on your way."
And this is how my pregnant brain responded to what I heard:
WHAT? I have to pick up Tuck. I still have three weeks to go! I have to call Chris. I have to let my parents know. OUCH! Contraction. Damn, that hurt! Is my bag in the car? I wish I ate more for breakfast. Man, I'm nauseous. WHY ISN'T CHRIS PICKING UP HIS PHONE?!? I really have to pee. And throw up.
Just as I was spiraling into "When can I have my epidural?" (mind you I hadn't even left the doctor's office yet), Chris called me back. It turned out the school he was visiting that morning had no cell reception. He assured me he was on his way to pick up Tuck, having figured something was up by the 14 missed calls from me in five minutes. After he talked me off the ledge, I promised I would call him as soon as I got the hospital and figured out just how "in labor" I was. One little problem, though. Once I arrived to labor and delivery, it was my turn to have no cell phone reception. Oops.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of 'The Contraction That Started It All'.