You know where is not a fun place to watch Super Tuesday results?
From a triage bed in L&D, is where.
All's well, thank God, but here's what happened. I'm going down our two little steps to the basement landing last night, planning to retrieve stuff for pancakes for Shrove Tuesday dinner. When WHAM, suddenly I am on my ass instead of my feet and flailing like a turned-over turtle to catch myself. I'd tripped on a pair of Paul's shoes he'd left there. I laid there for a second thinking "FUCK that hurt" then "Oh CRAP this is probably not good for the baby" and then "Fuck again, I'll have to call the OB and she'll tell me to go in."
I went in the living room where Paul and Maggie were playing, curled up on the chair to nurse my wounds for a minute and informed Paul with as much implied swearing as possible what had happened. I was thinking maybe I wouldn't call the OB, but when I got up I had a stabbing pain in my lower abdomen so off we went.
We still had our pancakes, and then my dad showed up to stay with Maggie and we headed off the the hospital per OB instructions. And thank God for my dad, because do you know how long they keep you on the monitors in this kind of situation? Even when the baby is fine? FOUR HOURS. We got home after midnight.
But you know what? It sucked but I am grateful. The baby is fine, very active, and there were clearly at least two other people in triage who'd had bad news. I'll take a long, boring and uncomfortable wait anytime over hearing words like "bleeding" and "it's very early but those are labor contractions" which I could overhear through the curtains.
Ironically, had I done what I might have chosen, I would have been in L&D yesterday anyway to give birth. Now to just keep this kid in here for the two weeks we hope for.