The first day of Nyan Thomas’s life started with a mad dash up Manhattan’s West Side Highway just after dawn.
We’d had an official due date of Aug. 8, but we weren’t expecting to make it quite that long –but we certainly weren’t expecting Nyan to arrive two weeks early. Somehow we knew though: we’d placed a bunch of online orders for the final bits and pieces over the weekend, and on Monday evening, I had started to put together the ‘hospital bag’ – cameras, toothbrush, clothes, you know; everything I’d need to spend a couple days at the hospital. Beatrice had had hers together, and fairly complete, for a few weeks; I’d gone thru the list in my head and knew pretty much what to take, but on Monday evening I quit the procrastinating and threw some stuff in a bag.
Beatrice climbed into bed around 11pm and I finished up my nightly routine. By midnight, though, she was awake and having pains. Contractions? Braxton Hicks contractions? We were pretty sure it was the latter, but I whipped out the stopwatch function on my Blackberry and started timing.
We’d done the readings, we’d been through the intense birthing classes, and we knew what to look for: 5-1-1 or 4-1-1. That is, contractions coming five (or four) minutes apart, lasting a full one minute and continuing for one hour. At 4-1-1, it was time to head to the hospital.
Beatrice’s contractions, though, weren’t that regular – they’d last 30 seconds, then a minute, then a minute and a half. And they’d come after two minutes. Then after six minutes. Then after two. Then four. There was no pattern that we could see – certainly no 5-1-1 or 4-1-1. If anything, they were coming more often than that. In retrospect, yes, the foreshadowing was clear. But not at the time.
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