Nell Maisie Comas

Monday, February 11th, 2019, was my last day of work before maternity leave. I had planned on taking a few days off before my due date, the 17th, to spend time with my sister, who was arriving in the afternoon of the 12th. I had high hopes of meal prepping, deep cleanings, taking some much needed relaxation from the busyness of work, and heck maybe even a pedicure before my first baby arrived. I remember sitting on the couch around 7pm, feeling a slight tensing and discomfort come and go periodically, convincing myself that it was just braxton hicks. I had been experiencing braxton hicks occasionally for a few weeks now, but never felt this same sort of discomfort. After a few more of these “braxton hicks,” sitting was becoming much more uncomfortable, so I decided to get up and walk around a bit. I remember leaning over the edge of our kitchen counter, not saying a word to Caleb (my husband), because I didn’t want to sound dramatic since I “knew” this was false labor. I mean, they always tell you that for first pregnancies, babies are more often late than early or on time. I had intricately planned my sister’s trip up from Washington to include the possibility that this baby could come at 42 weeks, and I needed her to still be here. As I stood in the kitchen, with these mild waves of discomfort continuing, my eyes met Caleb’s and he immediately said into his phone “Hey guys, I have to go, I think my wife is in labor.” It would be fitting that the evening of my last day of work would also be the evening my labor began.

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