The Delivery...Part 1

So, here's the story... and if I've told you personally, then you can go ahead and skip this post. It's more for my remembrance and for those who I don't get to speak to as often as I'd like.

So...it started on Friday night (May 1st):
After celebrating at a party with some close friends, Wally and I decided to head to the movies to see Wolverine Origins. Which was great, by the way. I'm a huge X-Men fan and of course, Hugh Jackman is so easy on the eyes... :0)
Anyway, as we were waiting for the movie to start, I zoned in on my belly and realized that I hadn't felt the lil' one move very much that day, which was weird because the constant kicking and punching of the ribs and pelvis was, by that time, a favorite past time of our lil' man. I mentioned it to Wally and I'll admit that I was very worried, which was bizarre for me. I don't really worry about things and I've very level-headed and so I was kind of taken back by the sudden anxiety that I felt. I kind of wrestled with whether or not it was the hormones making me feel that way or if it was that "mommy intuition" everyone says you receive. We poked and prodded for a bit until we felt him move and then I was satisfied. We watched the movie, went home and hit the sack.
The next morning (Saturday, May 2nd) I spent the day grading these HUGE projects for my Honors class. Wally was outside working on the crib and we had decided that after we were both finished with our jobs, we would head to Target to get all the things we needed for the baby that we hadn't purchase yet. In other words, it was to be a day where we caught up on the 50 million things we had to do to be ready for his arrival. I wasn't too worried either. I swore I was going to be at least 1 week over due! Oh, how wrong I was...
Since I was grading the projects, I was able to zone in on his movements. As the day moved on and the count of his movements totaled zero, I started to get more worried. Eventually, against the (don't be one of those paranoid moms who calls the doctor for every little thing) voice in my head, I decided to call the on-call doctor at the hospital. I explained that the baby hadn't moved and I was instructed to drink a coke (yippee!!!) and lie on my side. If he didn't move within 30 minutes, we were told to come in so I could be put on the monitor. 45 minutes later we were heading to North Florida Regional with my projects strewn all over the living room floor, the crib parts and paint scattered across the front lawn and the house screaming for some major TLC (tidying, laundry and cleaning) left behind.
The hospital was quiet, the doctor was a riot,and the nurse was a doll. They hooked me up to a monitor and there he was, the little heart beat that sounded like a galloping horse. Wally and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Sweet, he's alive...Thank heavens...so, I guess we'll see you later...
Wait, what do you mean we can't leave? Why do you want to monitor him for a hour? Do you realize the stuff I have at home to finish?
No joke, this is what I was thinking. And as we sat there for a hour, I kept thinking that I could have graded two more projects in that time and Wally could have finished the crib, no doubt. I think we both have issues, both somehow addicted to work...
Anyhow, after an hour, the sweet nurse came back in, took a look at the read-out and frowned. She explained that his heart rate was too regular and that it was also dropping significantly every time I had a contraction. Those two things coupled with the no moving was not a good sign.
So, what does that mean? I ask.
Well...it means that you're not leaving this hospital without a baby...