It started out like any other Tuesday morning. I woke up around 8:45am and headed downstairs to make me breakfast – a bagel with peanut butter and a glass of OJ. I turned the TV on to watch the end of the morning news. It was showing live footage of the World Trade Center, and it was on fire. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but they were reporting that an airplane had flown into the building. Literally, seconds later, I was watching as another plane flew into the other tower. It was by far the craziest thing I’d ever seen. I was so scared. I ran upstairs to wake my mom up and told her we were under some kind of attack. She thought I was crazy. I wasn’t.
Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined or thought that we could be under “attack”. We were. The day continued on with an attack on the Pentagon and another plane crash in Pennsylvania which was believed to be on its way to The Capitol or The White House.
I remember the intense feeling of fear I was experiencing. A fear that I had never experienced before. I didn’t want to go outside. I didn’t want anyone in my family leaving the house either. I cried when my dad and husband had to go back to work after coming home for lunch. Everyone assured me that the attacks were done. Where they? Was it ok to feel safe again?
I walked into my parent’s kitchen to get a cup of tea around 3:30pm and it felt like I had just peed myself. I ran to the bathroom only to discover I had not peed my pants, my water had broken!!
You see, I was in my 38th week of pregnancy. Due to high blood pressure, my doctor had me on bed rest. I wasn’t due for a few weeks. How could this be happening? In my mind, there was no way I was ready to be a mom. Not today. The fear that was already eating away at me was now being replaced by the fear of giving birth to my first child. A child that was being born into a world so different from the one it was just hours before.
We arrived at the hospital about 5:00pm, only to find that the stress of the day had affected many other mom-to-be’s, and the hospital was not ready to deal with all of these laboring mommas. It was hours before we could get settled in our room.
Depending how you look at it, maybe I was “lucky” that my labor was not progressing as fast as others. My contractions were not too intense and weren’t coming with any regularity. I would have to say, I was a low priority for the nurses and doctor. Although my water broke, the laboring process wasn’t progressing with any speed.
It was getting close to 11pm, I was starting to feel some real discomfort. Labor pains were coming regularly, and I didn’t love it. Was it time? Would I be celebrating the birth of my first child on a day that the world was grieving the loss of nearly 3,000 innocent people?
I felt selfish to be excited to see my baby. On a day that so many people were looking to God for answers and to provide peace, I prayed that my labor and delivery would go without complications. I prayed that my baby, girl or boy, would be healthy and perfect.
Midnight came and went, and no baby. I was relieved and disappointed. I couldn’t wait to hold my baby in my arms.