There is a certain kind of predictability about the unpredictability of childbirth. I know that I will go into labor, most likely between the 38th and 42nd week of pregnancy.
I know that labor will most likely start with irregular contractions that feel like mild cramps and eventually become more painful and more regular until they are close enough that it’s time to go to the hospital.
I know that, at some point, my water will break (or be broken for me), that I will be in extreme pain, that I will have nurses and my partner around me to help, and that it will ultimately all end with me holding my baby in my arms.But there is nothing predictable about giving birth in the middle of a pandemic—which is where I find myself at the start of my.