In response to some questions from my previous post this is a rewrite of a post I wrote several years ago on my youngest daughter's birthday about the night she was born....in an elevator.
Let me tell you what my mom said
about the night I was born
My baby was due that day. It was getting late enough that I had given up hope that it would come on the due date. The older kids were already asleep and we were heading to bed at about 10 p.m. That's when I got a sure sign that something was starting to happen. We called the doctor and he said he would meet us at the hospital. We called my in-laws to come stay with the kids and waited nearly an hour while they made their way across town through the storm.
My pains were getting pretty bad by the time we finally headed for the hospital, making several detours because streets were closed by the downpour. I'm sure I was very polite the whole way saying things like "take all the time you need" and "just be careful", or maybe not.
We made it to the hospital, checked in at the front desk, and a very young orderly brought out a wheel chair and invited me to have a seat. It was at that point that I realized that sitting wasn't an option. The baby was coming, right then and there. Instead of primly having a seat, I dropped my pants and and sprawled back into the wheel chair. My husband bent down and looked and said "yeah, its coming, its got some hair." Nothing says dignity like being laid out in a wheel chair in a hospital lobby with your shoes on and your pants and underwear hanging off one ankle.
The, by then, very white-faced young orderly spun the wheel chair around and headed for the elevator. By the time we reached the maternity floor I was holding a beautiful, 8 lb. 9 oz. baby girl in my arms. She was born at 11:55 p.m. on the day she was due. The doctor had some problems getting to the hospital through the storm and arrived about an hour after the baby did. Like I said, it was a dark and stormy night.