It’s funny the situations life throws at you.
Just like the time I was standing in the middle of the bathroom, at 36 weeks pregnant; my waters broken, debating whether or not I should shave my legs before going to the hospital.
Or should I say before driving myself to the hospital.
As far as birth stories go, mine is pretty ridiculous. Keep reading, I promise I’ll keep it SFW and skip the gory bits.
But back to the bathroom, after discovering my waters had broken at 2 a.m. one frosty August morning I did what any sane pregnant woman would do if their husband was 7,000 miles away; call him and ask him what I should do.
Helpfully, he told me I should call the hospital. ‘But I’m really tired I just want to go to sleep,’ I protested.
I (eventually) rang the hospital and told the midwife of my predicament; broken waters, 36 weeks up the duff, no pain, no contractions, no husband.
Nurse: It’s best to come in and we’ll just check you over, there’s a good chance you’ll be sent home. Are you able to drive yourself in?
Me: Well, er, I guess so. I don’t feel any different.
Nurse: Good, just park in the doctor’s spot outside the main entrance. Is your hospital bag packed? No? Well, bring some magazines or anything to keep you occupied.
After walking around my apartment randomly packing useless things, I paused and wondered if I should shave my legs. I figured at some point I’d have my pants off and I hadn’t gotten around to shaving them for the best part of two months. But, best not to delay it I thought since I’d already spent 30 minutes dawdling in a state of delirium.