Before I start, let me say that in an effort not to lose readership or have anyone hurl, I’m going to spare you the Knitty Gritty Details (KGD) of our labor story. Truth be told, it wasn’t so bad. I had had an incredibly busy day at work on Friday the 30th. After work I had a work function, then a haircut, then dinner with John and a couple of friends. I went to bed at 11 feeling fine. At 3 am, it became pretty obvious to me that I was going into labor. Remember those terms we learned at our childbirth class? Things like ruptured membranes and mucous plugs? Well, suffice to say all of that happened. About an hour and a half later, the contractions started. By 8 a.m. I decided it was time to get to the hospital, but John wanted to get something to eat first. As I was waiting in the car for him to come out with his breakfast sandwich, my contractions started coming about 3 minutes apart, and to say that I was in pain is a bit of an understatement. Next thing I know, John comes out – without his sandwich. When I asked him where it was, he said, “They’re making it.” At this point, Psycho Bitch reared her ugly head and told the Daddy To Be that he’d better tell the people making his sandwich to put a f#*&! rush order on it or I would be driving my own ass to the hospital. Alas, we made it and I got my drugs, although the epidural seemed to wear off after a couple of hours. I definitely felt the entire PROCESS, shall we say, but look what we got at the end! John watched the whole thing and even cut the umbilical cord, and when I asked him how bad it was to watch, he said, “It really wasn’t that bad. Cleaning out a duck is much worse.” I feel so much better. :)
