I called Tracy next. Tracy had rapidly become my closest friend in Charlotte. When our AFP test results had come back positive for Downs Syndrome, she was my first call. She was logical and calm, a good balance for me and I knew she would know just what to say. True to herself, she did just that. I was irrational, crying and excited at once. She made perfect sense. By the time we were finished talking, I felt at peace. When we said goodbye, she told me she loved me. It was not what she said, but that she had said it. I knew the situations that you tell your friends you love them. She understood the path that would lie ahead for us. For some reason that morning, I could not see it until that very moment.

By the time we reached the hospital, having gone through rush hour traffic, my pants were soaked. I was glad I had worn a long sweater to cover them. The Doctor saw us immediately. Much to my horror, it was the older male Doctor I liked least in the group. Ironically, three years before when my water broke at 37 weeks, he was the same one that tested me. He actually ended up breaking my water during the test. This time, his face and voice were very grave. He was sending me to the hopsital. I was to head over to the Labor and Delivery at once, after I had a quick ultrasound to determine the baby’s approximate size.

I called several people on the drive over. I was scared, but for some naive reason I could not get over the excitement and shock that I was going to have a baby. In my career as an infant nanny, I had cared for a set of newborn triplets. They had been four pounds each. My Mom had volunteered in the NICU when I was in highschool and I volunteered on the baby floor. I was not nervous to see a tiny baby. I was completely prepared for the NICU. Even my husband seemed excited. By the time we entered the hospital, my Mom had also arrived.

On the 8th floor, we were assigned a tiny monitoring room where I was to remain until they knew when my labor would begin. I was given a lovely backless gown and the nurse handed me the largest pad in history. I started rifling through the bag I had packed, only then realizing how truly out of my mind I had been that morning. The bag was full of items that I did not need, including three pairs of thong underwear. I held one up along with the pad and we all had a good laugh. It was clearly not going to work. The nurse kindly handed me a pair of thin, stretchy hospital panties that must have doubled as sails in their off duty time.

Happy to be dry, if not too terribly stylish, I was poked and prodded and asked a million questions by dozens of people streamed in and out of the room. I was given a steroid to open the baby’s lungs. They hooked me up to a fetal monitor and a contraction monitor and we began the first round of a game we would all soon know as Waiting for PITA.

Baby “PITA” (or Pain in the Ass) got his nickname because he was fond of making trouble. Already in my pregnancy he had given me quite a run for my money. His latest and greatest trick had been sitting on my tail bone, which brought me miserable pain for Christmas. He also enjoyed moving around and kicking me with all his might. He would prove to be no easier on the nursing staff. The monitor would beep, then would fall silent. A nurse would come in, readjust, and leave once more. This would happen about every ten minutes. The nurses would jokingly tell him to hold still, stop moving around so much, but it was as if he knew what they wanted and would be having no part of it.

After the nurses had decided that PITA was not making his way out any time soon, I was sent to the 9th floor where the high risk OB patients reside. I was assigned a small, bright room that was eight feet by eight feet in size. Within the hour, my room began to fill with flowers from my wonderful friends who had spent the morning discussing everything from making meals for my family to painting my nursery. After a while though it became apparent how worried everyone was when we ran out of room for the deliveries. That didn’t stop my friends from piling in my tiny room that night, arms full of bags of the tiniest clothes from my friend Stacey. She had cleaned out everything marked PREEMIE at the mall. It was all so overwhelming and sweet. It made me feel so good to open all the tiny outfits, but it was so scary as well.

The first night felt like I was on a secret getaway at a hotel. I watched Seinfeld until I fell asleep. When I woke, I was in a giant puddle. I called in the nurse and she was matter of fact; that was just what happened when your water broke. She asked if I would like a sleeping pill. I declined. I did not want a sleeping pill, I wanted more dry pajamas and for someone to tell me why I was leaking so much fluid! She assured me the Doctor would be in later that morning. The truth was, no one had answers. At first I was told to lie down so it would not leak, but lying down made it worse. They assured me that the baby made more fluid with his urine, but unless he was having a kegger in utero, no four-pound baby could make as much fluid as I was leaking. No one could tell me why things happen were happening, they could only assure me that things were okay. I was beginning to understand that nothing was going to happen any time soon.

The next morning I was greeted by a plate of something that the hospital called eggs. I was pretty certain that they had not come from a chicken. My phone rang off the hook with well wishers and I spent my day rather bored. That night the nurse really pushed the sleeping pills. I told her that I would take only one. Something as small as that pill should not have knocked me out cold, but it did. Nothing stopped the leaking though and I was up twice that night changing my pajamas.

The next morning I could not move. I felt like I had been in a coma. As hard as I tried, I could not make my brain function. I knew that would be my last sleeping pill. I was taken via wheelchair to the other wing of the hospital where I was to have another ultrasound to check on Josh. While they were monitoring his heart rate twice a day, the fluid I was leaking made them worry. I was worried as well. Josh had not moved that day. I assumed he was in a sleeping pill coma as well. When I saw him on the ultrasound screen, he looked healthy and out of room. He had three tiny pockets of fluid around him.

Over the next few days I began to understand that I would not be leaving the hospital. My wonderful nurses began telling me about other woman on the floor with me, how many were thirty weeks as well. None of us would be leaving. We were there until we had our babies. Each morning when one of the OBs would check in, I would pepper them with questions that I knew they had heard a million times from other Moms in my condition. I tried to convince them that I could go home.

I did not know how I would survive ten weeks in that room away from my family. Already my parents and my friends were taking care of my oldest son. I missed him. He needed me. I could not get out of bed except to go to the bathroom. For someone like me, as busy as I was, it was impossible to imagine a life in a bed.

Rationalizing became my favorite past time. I imagined the baby was fine. We knew he was at least four to five pounds. My OB and I always differed on his conception date. I could have been 33 weeks along for all we knew. I felt the guilt of asking so much of so many people. I knew that my husband was exhausted from running back and forth to work, the hospital, and then back to our son. I knew my parents were under the strain of having our little guy there so much. I felt helpless, bored and ready.

It had been a few days since I was hospitalized and the stream of wonderful friends never slowed. They came with arms filled with snacks, books, magazines, movies and gifts. Without their love and kindness, the days would have been endless. Tracy and Melissa called every day, as many of them did. My Mom checked in at least three times a day and visited when she did not have Ryan. The nurses referred to my room as” Grand Central Station.” Twice a day they would hook PITA up to monitor him, twice a day the nurse would come back, sighing and laughing and sit on my bed to chase him around my belly. I was not having contractions and the odds of me staying for the next two months in that bed were increasing.

One night as I was about to dose off, the Doctor from the office visit came in my room. Since the OBs typically round in the morning, I was surprised to see him standing there in his scrubs. He gave me a stern look and said, “I just delivered a baby weighing two pounds, thirteen ounces. His Mom was 31 weeks, just like you. You need to stay put and keep that baby in there.” And then he was gone. I was chilled by the idea of a baby that small, but naively confident because I knew my baby was at least twice that size.