B’sha’ah tova is a Hebrew phrase that translates basically as “all in good time.” It’s something that gets said a lot to pregnant women, partly as superstition (you don’t want to say congratulations for a baby who isn’t born yet), and partly reassurance (the baby will get here when it gets here).
This past Thursday night, basically everyone I saw at the Hillel of Greater Philadelphia board meeting shared this good wish with me. Some even went so far as to let me know that they weren’t necessarily expecting to see me at upcoming meetings I’d scheduled. I reassured them that my June 12 due date was safely in the future, and this baby wasn’t coming anytime soon.
Well, joke’s on me.
Friday morning, Marc and I went to my regularly scheduled midwives appointment to discover that, just maybe, my water had broken. Friday afternoon, at the hospital, we discovered that that had indeed happened, and we were at the hospital ever since, until, thankfully, we came home this afternoon. I think it’s Tuesday, but don’t hold me to that.
I am tempted to write the whole “birth story” here, but, true to my original mission, I’ll instead tell you what I ate over Shabbat.
For most of Friday afternoon leading up to Shabbat, I ate nothing at all besides an illicitly smuggled in banana. By the time Shabbat arrived, and with it, Beverly and Naomi and food, I was basically starving and facing several hours/days of being told to eat nothing but clear liquids. But, our friends brought grape juice and homemade challah to our hospital room (along with lots of other goodies that I didn’t get to eat, but Marc did), and despite the chaos around us, and, you know, inside me, we had a lovely start to Shabbat. Other friends showed up later with gatorade and popsicles, which were both instrumental to my not going crazy during those trying hours.
Saturday, the hospital brought me food even though they were telling me not to eat, and I got some bites of something. That part seems to be kind of a blur. Most of Saturday was spent playing board games and eating freeze pops, so really not so different from a typical week. No, seriously, I ate a profound number of popsicles.
Saturday night, right before they started inducing me in earnest, I was told I had one last opportunity to eat, so I gulped down some remaining challah, along with cold mac and cheese, also from Beverly. I was so worried they were going to tell me to stop eating at any moment that I ate straight out of the large tupperware with my fingers.
There was a whole lot more hospital eating from Sunday-Tuesday, but I’ll save that for when I write the birth story, which I really do plan to do before more of it gets sucked into the post-partum amnesia (wasn’t I just writing about pregnancy amnesia?!?), but I actually think this blog won’t be the place for it. So if you want more details, just ask.
In the meantime, below is a picture of our perfect little girl, Aliza Rahel Egeth, born Sunday, May 15, 2011 at 6:39 a.m. weighing 5 lbs 5 oz. Thanks to everyone for their good wishes, offers to help, and support. It means the world to us.