33 weeks pregnant, and already suffering from several undignified pregnancy ailments, I just assumed that on the morning of 25 October 2016, I had now lost control of the most basic of functions - my bladder. At 6am, I woke up to a wet pair of cat pajama pants and a ruined bed sheet. Upon entering the bathroom and finding that the water was now gushing, I realised that actually my water had just broken. Darling Husband (DH) was in no rush and we slowly made our way to the hospital in peak traffic. I felt slightly crampy but was still able to laugh and joke about the now ruined bed sheets. How naive we were, as we arrived giggling at the hospital. Little did I know that in a few hours time I would be begging for the drugs and shouting rather delightful language at DH, while crushing his fingers in a vice-like grip.
The contractions were strong and Nunu (pronounced Noonoo) was determined to make his grand entrance, no matter how many steroids and other medications were pumped into my system.
I was rushed into theatre for a C-Section and my precious little Nunu was born at 12.18, weighing in at 2.39kg.
