The day I went into labour started out like any other day when you're in your last few weeks of pregnancy. I was tired, huge, peeing constantly & analysing every twinge my body made, wondering if this was a 'sign' of labour impending over the next few weeks. It was the 29th of March: Good Friday. I was 36 weeks + 4 days.

In the morning, I started getting some cramping - nothing consistent, but what just felt like period aches - enough to make me clutch my stomach and complain for a bit, but then forget about them when they would subside. I stayed home in the morning in my pyjamas, until we went to visit my Nanna in hospital at lunchtime. Even then, the cramping was bothering me; it prompted my gran to make another comment about hoping to meet baby girl sooner rather than later. We left fairly soon after that, as I still felt rubbish. Later that afternoon, our next door neighbour {who is also conveniently our hairdresser} came over to cut our hair & have a coffee, and I remember chatting to her about how I was tired and crampy and ready for the baby in the next few weeks. She has three kids, so we talked about her birth stories for a while, before I went upstairs to lay down.

As the evening progressed, the cramps got worse. I was on my side, clutched around myself, feeling awful. I remember Jase checking in on me every now and again, and at some point I decided I would start timing them {just for fun} on one of my iPhone apps. Things started out fairly mild, but as time progressed, they began to form a pattern. I coped with the 'cramps' by feeling the beginning build-up, breathing through the tight, painful middle part, then relaxing as they subsided. After several episodes using that coping mechanism, I stopped calling them cramps & began calling them contractions. Actual contractions!

At around 11pm, I went to the loo & continued cramping - and lost a HUGE chunk of bloody mucus, my full 'show'. I stood there with the toilet paper in my hand, not quite sure whether I should keep it and show someone {who? who would I show? I have no idea} and decided I'd take a picture instead. Don't worry... I won't share that here on the blog. Since the contractions were continuing fairly regularly & the show had appeared, I had Jase ring the hospital to ask what we should do. The midwife implied that it could well just be a false labour, and to take some panadol and have a warm bath. If the contractions got more intense or closer together, she asked us to ring back.

Sitting in the bath was lovely, but I continued timing the contractions and they didn't slow down - they ended up speeding up and being 5-6 minutes apart. After a while, I headed back to bed, and spent a few hours moaning through each contraction. It was around 2am that I made Jase ring the hospital again. Again, the midwife {a different one this time} told me that things might be taking off - anyone else they would encourage to stay home a little longer, but since I was pre-term at 36+4, she asked me to come in - just to be safe.

Luckily I'd had my hospital bags packed and ready to go for several weeks prior, so we threw them all into the car and got ourselves ready. I hurriedly grabbed a towel to throw onto the car seat; I didn't want my waters to break during the drive. I remember worrying constantly about heading to the hospital too early; I didn't want to be sent home if this was false labour, but I didn't want to stay home in case it was the real deal.

That 2.30am drive to the hospital {which usually takes around 20 minutes} was done in 10 minutes. We arrived at the deserted hospital, where I sealed the deal by having a contraction in the front carpark while Jase buzzed us in on the intercom. It was time to get checked out, and man, was I nervous.