This post takes the place of two that I previously planned to write. Originally, I wanted to share pictures of my baby showers â€“ sitting on couches among friends and family, oohing and ahhhing over adorable baby boy wear. Then I was admitted to the hospital. There went those plans.
As I mentioned in the last post, several out-of-towners decided to come visit me anyway. The thought was to visit with family and have a Baby Cloudy with a Chance of Some Drizzles on Sunday with my mom, Aunt J, college roomie Becca and her beyond adorable seven-month-old daughter. But the contractions came back. (I thought they were a gonner, but the contractions came back the very next day. They just couldnâ€™t stay away.) Sorry, I digress.
As the clock struck midnight on Sunday morning, Jon and I were trekking back to the Labor & Delivery unit of the hospital. After resigning admission paperwork for the third time and yet another familiar exam, the doctor gave me a wry smile and said, â€œWell, I can tell you youâ€™ll be staying with us for a bit.â€ I reiterated my demands of no IVs, grown up clothes privileges and a sleepable bed; the nurses hooked me back up to the beeping machines.
The Baby Drizzle attendees decided to move the party over to the hospital and came to visit the next day. They brought yummy food (not that hard when compared to hospital cuisine, but this picnic really was delicious). More importantly, they brought along the little babe and caterpillar chocolate cake.
Right as the party was wrapping up and the five and a half celebrants were saying goodbye and preparing to return home (home â€“ a concept I remember from days of yore . . .) the two nurses arrived.
Dun dun dunnnnâ€¦ â€œUh Oh! She canâ€™t be here!â€ they stammered, pointing at the precious baby girl. Apparently since she is not my familial daughter, she may have germs. Interesting, these must be germs that can only affect me in the hospital, since it was perfectly safe to visit with her at my house the previous day. (I learn so much new medical opinion here in the hospital.) Then the nurses chastised me for having so many visitors. Apparently, I am allowed three visitors at a time â€“ the rest would have to wait their turn in the waiting room.
My mind raced. Good grief. I AM in baby jail!
To help with my mental stability (the rapid decrease of which to be discussed in the next post), I was treated to â€œpet therapyâ€ on Monday afternoon. A very well behaved GoldenDoodle came to visit me â€“ well, in truth the Doodle followed his handler and her back of treats into my room. I enjoyed the visit because, truly, dogs make me happy.
When the Doodle departed for the pediatric unit, I started to laugh. (I have little mental stability left, nurses arenâ€™t going to question me laughing to myself at this point.) But just for a moment, letâ€™s take a moment to revisit the irony in play here in baby jail: The hospital maternity ward. The only place I can think of where babies canâ€™t visit, but dogs are welcome.
Perhaps we should just keep this our little secret â€“ but I donâ€™t feel even remotely sad for breaking the rules!