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After what seemed like an eternity, a tired-looking resident walked in with his epidural gear, and I started working my charm. For some reason, I thought I was still this 125-pound girl wearing fake eyelashes. NO, I was a 185-pound massive whale with pasty, pale skin trying to “work it” with my anesthesiologist. Needless to say, the little man was not “getting it” but did do a great job administering the epidural. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt like I thought it would. It stung for about ten seconds and went away. And then the fun began. All the cramping below my waist disappeared. What a miracle! My husband tells me that it was at that point that I smiled for the first time since checking into the hospital.

The nurse told me to try to rest because it was 2 a.m., and I needed to save my strength. Strength? Then reality hit again. Things had only really just begun. I still had to squeeze a giant head through my vagina. Once again I started to panic. My husband was folded up in the shape of a pretzel on a tiny chair, snoring. I stared quietly at the ceiling trying to figure out a way to get out of this. I honestly didn’t believe I could go through with the delivery, and I reminded myself that it was still early. The nurse said I probably wouldn’t push until the afternoon, so I figured I would try to postpone my panic until then.

Every fifteen minutes a nurse would come check on me, so even if I thought I could get some shut-eye, it would’ve been impossible. The big hand on the clock moved to an erect position, making it exactly 4 a.m., and I started to feel something weird going on down there. I thought I’d peed on myself, but I had a catheter (a convenience I loved, by the way, and you will, too), so I knew that couldn’t be it. My eyes bugged out when I realized what this was. My water had broken! I shouted for my husband and kept yelling, “My water broke, honey; my water broke, honey!” All I got back was a grizzly bear snore. He was out for the count. Give me some of whatever he took!

I rang the nurse and she confirmed what I was thinking. (By the way, be extremely nice to your nurses, and they will reciprocate. Mine were clearly getting bitched at by the woman in the next room, and I could tell that they were giving it right back to her. Be friendly and give them respect . . . your hospital experience will be so much better!)

With the broken water now confirmed, the nurse proceeded to tell me that, because my water had broken, my contractions would get stronger and that active labor was now upon me. So what did I do? I started freaking out again. The clock seemed to be ticking awfully loud. Most women want to hurry up and get labor over with, but not me. I wanted the guy from The Twilight Zone to come out and stop time completely. My mom was flying out to be with us and wouldn’t get to the hospital until noon. I needed her badly. I was counting on her to help me or at least help me run away.

Fast-forward a bit (though again, it was an eternity) to 9 a.m. I hadn’t had one minute of sleep. My nails were mere nubs; I had been biting them all night and especially vigorously when they checked my dilation. The epidural was working, so pain wasn’t an issue. (How can you not get one of those?) At this point I was dilated to four, and my husband was STILL asleep. Denial is a powerful sleep aid, I guess!

In the next hour my family started to show up. First, my mother-in-law, whom I adore, followed by my sisters and then the most beautiful radiant human being that ever walked the face of the earth: my mother. She fell into my arms, and I gripped her hard, like we were about to go upside down on a roller coaster. I told her how terrified I was, and she calmed me by stroking my hair as only a mother can do.

Then it was noon, and once again, I felt something weird going on down there. For lack of a better way to describe it, I tell you that I felt this enormous grapefruit sliding down my vagina walls. No pain, just pressure.