🌸 The Waiting Game
My pregnancy was progressing beautifully, and by the time I reached almost 40 weeks, I had my final check-up with my obgyn on June 24th. She told me everything looked okay — except for one thing: there was a bit too much amniotic fluid in me. She wasn’t too worried, though. Just gave me that calm, reassuring smile and said, "Let’s hope for the best."
And so, the waiting began.
I tried everything you could possibly Google at 2AM when you're desperate to get labor started. Cranberry tea? Done. Walking like there’s no tomorrow? Miles. Crawling around the house? Yup. Sex? Let’s just say we gave it a shot — multiple times.
Still, nothing. Not even a whisper of a contraction.
So, as planned, I was scheduled to be admitted to the hospital on July 1st if labor didn’t start on its own — and of course, my little one was still chilling inside, showing no signs of checking out early.
When I got to the hospital, my obgyn decided to use a Foley bulb to induce labor. Because of the excess amniotic fluid, going the usual induction route would’ve been risky.
Pain level? Honestly… zero.
Just a bit of discomfort — imagine a long rubber tube hanging out of your vagina and swishing around when you walk. Yeah, not exactly glamorous.
It wasn’t painful, but it was weirdly hilarious. I remember laughing with the nurse about how I looked like a walking science experiment.
Even though the Foley bulb didn’t hurt, the moment I was admitted and saw all the machines… that’s when the nerves kicked in.
As the nurse hooked me up to the monitor to track my baby’s heartbeat, I tried to stay calm — but the sound from the machine was loud, like a beatbox that didn’t know whether to speed up or slow down. I could hear both my heartbeat and my baby’s, alternating between calm and frantic.
It made me so anxious.
Every little change in rhythm felt like a message — and not a good one. I kept staring at the screen, holding my breath every time there was a dip or spike. After a few minutes of spiraling in my head, I looked at the nurse and said, half-laughing, half-serious:
“Can we just… mute that machine? I’m trying to sleep here.”
She smiled, nodded, and turned the sound off. Instant relief.
That night, I wasn’t alone. My husband was right there beside me, holding my hand and reminding me to breathe. And my mom — my biggest source of strength — was also there. She sat quietly in the corner of the room, whispering prayers for me and her soon-to-be grandchild.
Having both of them there gave me the emotional armor I didn’t know I needed.
With the beeping silenced and my mind finally at ease, I was able to close my eyes and sleep peacefully, knowing I was surrounded by love.
🌅 The Morning Things Got Real
I woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly... fresh.
A full night’s sleep in a hospital room — that alone felt like a small miracle.
I took a hot shower, washed my hair, scrubbed everything clean — because let’s be real, my legs were about to be wide open in front of a full audience of midwives and obgyns. Gotta feel somewhat decent for that kind of situation, right?
Feeling human again, I sat down for breakfast. I only managed a few spoonfuls when suddenly, my obgyn walked in for the morning check-up.
She gently examined the Foley bulb, looked up at me and said with a smile:
“You’re already 4 centimeters dilated!”
Wait—WHAT?
I blinked. My sleepy brain tried to process what she just said, but the energy in the room shifted instantly. Within seconds, everyone started moving fast.
Nurses were coming in and out. They were prepping tools, adjusting machines, and one of them looked at me and said, "Okay, sayang, we're getting you into the labor room."
Just like that — things were no longer calm and quiet.
It was happening.
☕ Still Waiting… and Still Smiling
Despite everything happening around me — the machines, the cold, the dim lights — one thing was very clear: the contractions still hadn’t shown up. I was 4cm dilated, but my body felt… normal. A little pressure here and there, but honestly? I could still talk, laugh, and even crack jokes with my husband.
We were just vibing — like we were waiting for a Grab ride, not a baby.
As we sat there, I noticed my husband hadn’t eaten anything yet.
He had been so focused on me, he forgot about himself.
So I looked at him and said,
“Sayang, go get some food from the cafeteria. You need energy to be my support system later.”
“Please eat, okay?”
He hesitated at first, not wanting to leave me alone even for a minute. But I reassured him, “I’m fine. Nothing’s happening yet. Just go.”
It was such a small moment, but one I’ll always remember. Even in that freezing labor room, even before the real pain began — we were still looking out for each other. Still a team.
🍛 Rendang, Heartbreak, and Honey Water
A while later, my husband came back from the cafeteria with food in his hands — a little white takeaway box that smelled shockingly good. I didn’t expect much from hospital cafeteria food, but this? The scent hit me like a warm hug: steamed rice, spicy rendang, and something fragrant and savory.
He sat beside me with the box and said sweetly,
“I’ll eat here with you, okay?”
My heart melted. I mean, who wouldn’t appreciate that level of sweetness?
But then… the smell. Oh no.
My stomach growled like it hadn’t been fed in a week.
I was just about to ask him for a spoonful — maybe two — when out of nowhere, the nurse came in and said in a totally firm, no-nonsense voice:
“NO eating anymore, ya. Cannot. You’ll vomit during labor.”
Like that. No sugar-coating, no explanation, just… no.
I stared at her in disbelief, then looked back at the rendang like I had just lost the love of my life.
Seriously, I wanted to cry. I had only eaten a few spoonfuls of bland breakfast and now this glorious meal was being eaten right next to me… and I wasn’t allowed even a bite?
My husband looked a little guilty as he slowly continued eating, while I sat there like a sad contestant who just got eliminated from MasterChef.
So instead, I reached for my bottle of honey water — my sweet little consolation prize — and sipped it like it was fine wine.
“You better enjoy every single bite,” I muttered to him, half sulking, half smiling.
Even in that tiny moment of food envy, I knew it was just part of the journey.
Still… I really wanted that rendang.
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