I was sitting on the couch Tuesday evening and felt something in my vagina.
(You know any story that starts out this way has to be entertaining...or interesting at the least.)
A bubble, maybe? Let me scoot around a little this way...this way... this thing is not budging. Ugh... I guess I'll have to go to the bathroom and see what in the world this is...well...feel what in the world this is. Mucus perhaps. Am I losing my mucus plug?!!?!!
So, I go to the bathroom. Casually. Didn't want to admit to my husband that I had a vaginal bubble that needed popping or perhaps a bit of mucus that needed my help finding the exit. I washed my hands. Soap. Warm water. Dry them on his towel hanging up next to the toilet. I sat, legs spread wide to feel.
And I felt it, alright.
Splash. All over my hand.
And in the toilet.
And on the seat.
And the floor.
Did I...no...or...did I just pee on myself? Or...did my water just break? I don't know. Did I even have to pee? I'm not sure. Let me smell.
I smelled my hand. Hmm...didn't smell like urine. Perhaps I should just sit here a minute and wait.
So I wait.
And I wait. But...what exactly am I waiting for?
This is ridiculous. I decide to ask my husband. I walk out into the living room. Slowly. Not so casually. He's observant, picks up my hesitance.
"You okay, sweetie?" he asks, curiosity in his voice and his cocked head. "Well," I explain, "I either just peed on myself...or my water broke.... Here, smell this," I demand as I shove my wet hand in his face. "Does it smell like pee?" I question. "No. It smells like...like...vagina. I guess I know that smell better than you," he admits. Of course he does... If I could put my own nose down there, I would be making a lot more money than my measly teacher's salary. "What do we do?" he asks, an edge to his voice. He is beginning to panic.
It's 9:30. Our OB's office has been closed for four and a half hours. It's still two days til my 38 week appointment. And I can't tell if I have peed on myself or if I need to grab my backpack by the door and head to the hospital. "I don't know?" I respond.
And we sit, looking at one another, waiting for someone to...decide...something.
I go look in the toilet again and at the small splashes on the floor. Pale yellow. Damn, that doesn't help either!
How ironic. I was so paranoid throughout my entire pregnancy that I would go into labor and not recognize my contractions. I had had them already, but I couldn't really tell when...lucky, I guess. I really wanted to be in that "lucky" 10% whose water broke as signal of beginning labor. And now, here that may be...ambiguous as those damn painless contractions.
What had just happened? And what should I do?
