I was in labor 10 years ago. My water broke at 37 weeks and nothing happened, so technically I waited all day and was in labor only after being induced in the late evening.
I could hear and feel it pop at 12:20 am, knew exactly what it was, kind of liking the smell. Alone in my own bed, I huffed and puffed breathing, thinking I was doing so well. Little did I know what real pain would come. I spent the day at my certified nurse midwife's, a hippie love child Ina Mae type with three kids herself. I absorbed the flow of her household, tried walking, pressure points, and nipple stimulation, but they didn't translate into contractions. Later I had two bowls of applesauce laced with castor oil; little did I know how its prostaglandins would ripen my previously long cervix into giving me a first baby labor lasting less than eight hours after the oxytocin was introduced.
Although I'd hoped for an unmedicated birth, the second I hit 4cm, I wanted drugs. I think they made me peppy with energy afterwards, able to greet the delivery guy who came to pick up J's umbilical cord blood for quick airline delivery to Arizona.
So, this was my day a decade ago, spilling over onto J's birth at 6:20am. J, my sweet J, had APGARS of 10 and 10, mostly because of his "lusty cry" which curled my toes and made me think he'd be a wild ride. Little did I know what a gentle ride motherhood would bring.