This isn’t a drill

It’s been about a week since we’ve arrived in Dallas to stay with Wil’s aunt and uncle, waiting for Hurricane Irma’s rage to calm and the storm to pass.

Wil wakes me up to have breakfast and start getting ready so we can pack the cars and begin our drive back home to FL. I struggle to keep my eyes open and fall in and out of sleep as I try to rise. But it doesn’t take long for my focus to shift as I start feeling concentrated tension in my center (before I’ve even attempted to rise from my stack of 6 pillows). As they continue to return every few minutes, I agree to let Wil time them with my contraction tracker app. Though he didn’t seem too convinced there was a pattern, I’m convinced he was too tired to see the consistency when they first began.

Although my contractions were coming at 5 minutes apart, Wil didn’t seem to notice a pattern since the duration of each varied. He thought it was a “false” start. But I could feel it wasn’t.

MotherhoodAshley OteroSeptember 17, 2018birthday, Birthstory, motherhood, Labor, NaturalbirthComment