Unfortunately, my relief did not arrive quick enough for my bosses. On Monday, I was summoned into Boss-Zilla's office and informed in no uncertain terms that as of the next day, I was being put on part-time work shifts. Apparently, I simply looked too miserable to be working with the public.

I was quite upset, actually. If I truly believed that this step had been taken out of concern for my well-being, I'd be much more able to accept the decision. I don't, though. When I tried to bargain for a few more working hours, not wanting to lose quite so much paid time after the Bit's arrival, it became very apparent that the higher-ups were more concerned with how I was making them look than how work was making me feel. Boss-Zilla didn't want to be known as the director of the library that works pregnant women until they drop.

I don't have a choice in the matter, and that just kills me. I might very well have come into her office a few days later, of my own accord, and asked for the very same step to be taken, but to have the choice removed from my hands was quite hurtful. I wanted to be the one who decided when I wasn't feeling well enough to do my job. For somebody else to decide for me, as if I wasn't capable, was rather humiliating.

Anyway, until I go on full leave, I'll be working from afternoons only on most days. Thursdays will be my only full day of work, and that only because I begged and said that I'd just be doing web page stuff in the mornings, so I shouldn't be too "strained." Woe is me, the invalid.

Eric thinks it was a good decision. He claims that I already look much better. You know, he's probably right; I feel a little better, too. That's not the point, though...

The only thing that left me a little wary was the fact that I wasn't able to answer one of Joy's questions to my own satisfaction: "Describe your ideal birth." On my homebirth listserv, there'd been some recent discussion about visualizing the ideal birth, and I realized that my own thoughts were completely unorganized on the subject. I've been so busy thinking of every possibility that I hadn't begun to narrow it down to the ones that most appealed to me. Now, I know intellectually that much of my birth setting will be uncontrollable, but since the power of the mind is so strong, I thought I should finally take the time to describe my "ideal birth."

It's a few days before my official due date, and I wake up feeling something has changed. There's an excitement in the air, and even though I'm not yet having regular contractions (only the old Braxton Hicks ones that have been getting increasingly stronger with each day), I still feel that this could be the day.

I get up and putter around the house, cleaning and making sure everything is in order before going to work. It's a very nice and sunny day, so the library isn't very busy at all. The contractions have been getting heavier all day, but I'm still able to cope and breathe through them rather easily. I occupy myself with straightening the picture books, which involves quite a bit of squatting and kneeling and feels very nice and appropriate at the moment.

By the time closing time rolls around, my contractions have begun to even out to about seven to ten minutes apart. I don't tell any of my coworkers what's happening, feeling giddy about my "little secret." Even though I can feel a definite difference in the strength of these contractions as opposed to the practice ones, I'm still feeling very much on top of things and not hurried or anxious in the least. Even during the drive home, labor doesn't stop or slow, so I'm really starting to believe that this is the real thing.

At home, I call Barb. She agrees to drop by pretty soon, as we'd arranged, to check and make sure that things were starting to progress, in order to give me time to get Mom on the road and on the way here. When Barb does arrive, she performs the only internal exam of my entire pregnancy; I'm dilated to about three and a half centimeters and things feel good. She leaves to go get prepared, and I hop on the telephone to call Mom and Dad: all systems are go! Then I grab a quick dinner (turkey sandwich, banana, milk), since it's likely to be a long night.

It's now about six-thirty and Eric arrives home from work. At first he doesn't believe me when I tell him that it's time to inflate the pool, but my contractions are starting to become rather difficult and my tone of voice convinces him that I'm serious. He breaks out the pump and prepares the pool; in the meantime, I'm sitting on my birth ball and working on my labor project (remember that afghan I've been working to complete?) between contractions. As soon as the pool is partway filled, I can't resist it and hop into the warm water. The water works wonderfully to diminish the peaks of the discomfort, and I close my eyes and float.

Time seems to stop as I rest in the pool. The midwives arrive and make sure everything is in order before retiring upstairs, as they had told me they would do to stay out of my face. Eric puts on some music (Pärt seemed like a very good choice, and we were glad to be proved right), turns on the computers to alert my prearranged "Labor List" that things are moving nicely (of course, the notify list is part of that group), then sits behind me to rub my back. To keep up my energy, we break open the pre-cached box of frozen fruit bars.

The midwives come downstairs every so often to make sure I have everything I need and to check my blood pressure and the baby's heart tones. I'm now vocalizing my way through the contractions, but am still feeling pretty confident, at least most of the time. Eric takes a break to eat his own dinner, so one of the midwives takes his place for a while. At this point, I'm on my hands and knees in the water, leaning over the side of the pool. Dusk has come and gone, and we haven't yet turned on any lights in the living room; the dark feels wonderful to me.

It's not quite midnight, and my mother walks in the door (Dad must have sped on the road, unsurprisingly). She arrives just as I'm beginning to feel not quite sure of myself, so her presence is marvelously well timed. The first thing she does is walk over to me and lay hands on me in prayer (Note: I'm fairly positive this is what she'll do anyway, so I figured I might as well include it) before going upstairs to meet the midwives. Dad has elected to go get himself some dinner rather than enter the birthplace.

Eric notices that my legs are beginning to shake and my noises are getting louder just as the midwives come downstairs and ask me whether or not I'm ready to push. I realize that I've already begun, so I tell them so. I push when I feel the urge, and the midwives are content to let me tell them when that urge arrives. At first I don't push very hard at all, but my body soon takes over and demands that I use more effort. I mostly lean over Eric's lap, supporting my weight against his legs and falling back into the water completely between pushes.

Time passes, though I'm unaware of how much. After a while, I begin to feel a strong burning sensation between my legs. Barb directs me to reach down and feel the baby's head; I touch the tiny patch (how can it be so small? Surely the head must be almost completely out by now!) of scalp and feel reenergized to finish the job. I give it my all, though the midwives caution me to slow down and breathe as the head begins to emerge.

The head is out! My waters are still intact, so Barb reaches down to open the sack and uncover the baby's face. After a few more pushes, the rest of the body shoots out into the water; someone quickly grabs the baby and lifts it to the surface. All of my pain is gone as I reach and take my baby to my chest. Eric is crying; Mom is taking pictures. We stay in the pool for a while longer as the baby unfolds and takes in the surroundings. Soon, we nurse, and Baby falls asleep at the breast...

You know, if even seventy-five percent of that works out, I'll be so much more than elated.

Eric jokes that I'm "third-party nesting." Bah.

Next Wednesday is "Bring a Friend Day" at my aquatics class. Eric is looking forward to it, happily. I'm not in any condition to try to bodily drag him there.