Thirteen years ago today (truly, it doesn’t sound right when I say it. Thirteen years? Bloody hell.) I was in the hospital, after having been induced, feeling a little like a celebrity. So many people were there including: My grandpa (god rest his soul), my father, my mother, my sister, my now ex-husband, my cousin (who had never seen a vaginal delivery, despite having three children. Hers were all c-section, and she had asked me if she could sit in. I told her yes, because, why not?) and my cousin’s cousin!
Long about 8:00 in the evening, I came out of a Stadol induced haze. My labor pains earlier had gotten quite bad, enough that I asked for drugs, and drugs I got! By this time my grandfather and uncle had gone home, but most everyone else was still there. I sat up and looked at my mother and said, “I think I have to take a shit.”
My mother leans down and says, “What?”
I repeat, with a little more gusto than a whisper from being on drugs all day, “I HAVE TO SHIT!”
My mother pauses for a nanosecond, and then her eyes widen and she tells me, “No! Don’t shit! [J.Theberge’s father] Get the doctor!”
My dad, who had been mulling around most of the day, getting the food and drink for people looked up and said, “huh? Why?”
Then my mother said those words to him, “SHE HAS TO SHIT!” (mind you, my mother is currently a near 40 year RN, so she knows exactly what she’s doing, and talking about. She was merely repeating what I had said.)
My father and now ex-husband rush from the room, barking as they rushed down the hallway, saying that we needed the doctor nowt because the baby was coming.
Finally, he gets in there, and I remember complaining that the man had huge, “sausage fingers.” It was quite exhausting, and at one point I had my sister and ex-husband holding onto a leg while I pushed.
At 8:25 a little bundle of child came flying into the world (The doctor stood on the other side of the room with a catcher’s mitt. Don’t believe me? 😉 ) and they threw him onto my lap (bloody and gross) whilst I delivered the afterbirth, which I did NOT eat, and I did NOT take home with me (you gross people). It was promptly put into a biohazard bag and disposed of.
I also clamped the cord. Oh the horror, eh?
I also had more stitches than Buford Pusser (Thank you Jeff Foxworthy. I did not understand that joke when I was a wee one. As an adult who has popped out other humans, I totally get it.)
This has been the labor and delivery story of my firstborn. I’ve noticed those are quite popular online anymore, because people think (for some strange reason) that they are magical, rainbows and cupcakes moments, that somehow make me a primordial earth goddess of womanhood (only if I do it the *RIGHT* way. In a hospital? WITH DRUGS? NOT EATING THE PLACENTA? CLAMPING THE CORD?! NO SKIN TO SKIN IMMEDIATELY? OMG, I should have just tossed the kid into the orphanage because that was not the *RIGHT* way.)
I also didn’t breastfeed. 🙂 (Oh yeah, jump all down my throat about how every bit of what I did was wrong, and if I had only done it the *RIGHT* way, I would be deserving of a medal, and it would have been a magical moment.)
Natural birthers, lactivists… some of the worst bunch to ever grace the internet.
Anyways, a wonderful, happy birthday to my TEENAGER. I have a TEENAGER. Jesus, where did the time go? The next time I blink, he will be an adult. I don’t like this. I don’t like aging, and I don’t enjoy my children growing so fast, however, tis a part of life.
God, I just realized, I grow closer to being a grandparent every day.
Remind me to have their father explain why condoms are great. I refuse to be a grandmother before I hit 40.
But then I could be a GILF, so it’s a win-win either way.
I dedicate this song to you, my teenaged son that acts just like me. I’m sure my mother is still trying to figure out how to be a fly on the wall.