On January 24th, I was past-my-due-date pregnant with our second child. We had a major earthquake in the middle of the night.
I woke up at 1:15 a.m. to mind-blowing pain in my pelvis.
Oh, boy… I’m starting labor. This is it. It has to be.
Move into several positions. Pain won’t ease up, so find the position that makes it easiest to tolerate.
Okay, just breathe and relax. Just breathe and relax. . . Just breathe and — what is that? Why is the bed shaking? My cat has to scratch an itch NOW? This is not helping.
Okay, the bed is shaking profusely now . . .He must have fleas or something.
Wait. . . Ooooohhhhhh . . . this is an earthquake.
It figures I’d go into labor during an earthquake. This is okay. Most earthquakes aren’t severe.
A few seconds later . . . This one isn’t calming down.
Okay, the house feels like a boat.
While wondering how many bridges are going to go out between me and the nearest hospital, I move through intense pain to the hallway in case I need to grab Chloe.
And bridges going out during labor wouldn’t be complete without a snow storm, total loss of power, and all available medics assisting other callers until I’ve ringed so many times my phone battery has died.
Which place is safest to go during an earthquake? Interior doorways? Exterior doorways? Behind furniture? Under the table? Run around outside screaming with my hands in the air? Annoyed that after every substantial earthquake, 20 people have taken to FB to post conflicting ideas about the best way to hide during an earthquake, I realize no one has posted the best place to hide when you have a toddler and your loins are about to split open with a 9-lb human barreling out. Suddenly, I feel under-prepared. I decide that if it gets worse, we’ll hide behind the couch. At least it’s fabric, in case someone needs to wipe their nose. Maybe I could still grab a cushion for Lydia in case she pops out back there.