Love hate mitts

Somewhere in the middle of the night before my daughter was born, I was struggling and thought she would never come out.  I had a very long labor.  I cherish every moment now but at the time, I was scared.  I was exhausted.  I was confused.  I was scheduled to be induced at 41 weeks.  I would have to go into the hospital on Sunday evening.  I felt defeated.  I didn’t want to be induced.  I wanted that unexpected “oh my God it is happening” moment.  We decided that we would do whatever we could to get this started.  I ate spicy food, went for a mile walk and had sex. Finally at 5pm on Saturday I started to have labor pains.  They progressed and became very difficult to manage but I did not begin to dialate.  In and out of the hospital we went from Saturday evening to Sunday afternoon. Our doula, Randy, came to the house to help me through.  I was vomiting and unable to keep anything down.  I was dehydrated.  Randy had helped me push through many hours at home and then recommended I head off to the hospital in the afternoon. Visit after visit from the midwife I was not dialating.   Each hour that approached we were convinced that it would bring the birth of our baby girl.  And each hour passed with major pain and no progression.  My husband sat in a horribly uncomfortable chair, playing video games, telling stories and trying not to be impatient while having a chat with me.  I was tired.