This is not a sappy birth story. I’m not “that” kind of mama. However, its a quite entertaining one.
I ate a chicken salad sandwich at McAllister’s before we went to the hospital that evening.
It was really good. Their chicken salad sandwiches are always my favorite.
As we were checking in at the hospital, your father pointed out a girl he had once dated among the framed photographs of all the doctors in the Labor & Delivery unit.
Nice, Grunt Labor. Real nice.
I explained to the guy who was checking us in that your father doesn’t have a filter and then silently said a prayer that the ex wouldn’t have to deliver you.
After waddling down the hall to our room, I got into the glamorous wardrobe consisting of one greenish patterned gown that the hospital had provided me.
They hooked me up to machines. They gave me an IV. They told me I was already having contractions, but I hadn’t felt them.
I was a freakin’ rock star.
And then came the Cervadil.
If you have ever had Cervadil administered before, you may know my pain. If not, you can look up what it is.
Whatever you find out about it, know that its a lie. The only thing that Cervadil can be compared to is 80 grit sandpaper.
I’m not kidding.
Your father turned on The Kardashians.
I hate the Kardashians.
I prayed that the reruns would end soon so I didn’t have to bring you into the world while Kim Kardashian was bitching about how hard it was for her to be in the spotlight.
As if she didn’t put herself there on a daily basis.
And then your Uncle Nicky showed up.
He had no clue what to think of this whole situation.
Until the hot nurse walked into the room and both he and your father immediately shut up and stared at her, as if there wasn’t a pregnant woman in bed who was now feeling those contractions.
As soon as the nurse left, I immediately asked which one of the two had dated the nurse.
They both denied it.
The look they exchanged after she left the room was undeniable though.
At some point, I think I fell asleep, but then woke up and had to pee.
I seriously considered peeing right there in the bed so I didn’t have to get up and risk moving the
Cervadil sandpaper around in my body anymore than I had to.
But I got up and went to the bathroom.
And then laid back down.
At that precise moment, it was as if Shonda Rhimes took over and began to write the entire script of this birth.
I’m quite certain Shonda must have a direct line to God because this birth was straight out of a Grey’s Anatomy episode.
Two panicked nurses burst through the door saying they couldn’t detect your heartbeat.
I nonchalantly told them it was just because I had taken the monitor off to pee.
They continued poking and prodding.
In come more nurses.
Someone comes in putting on scrubs.
There are now at least ten doctors and nurses in my room.
The only difference between this and Grey’s Anatomy is that there is no McDreamy or McSteamy there to ease the pain. Nope, I’m stuck with the hot nurse that my husband and Nicky ooodled over, but who graciously held my hand as they wheeled me off for an emergency c-section.
The resident, not the attendee who couldn’t make it in time, is asking for the knife as I’m screaming that I’m awake.
See, its a freakin’ episode of Grey’s.
The doctors have no clue what happened, but tell your father that hopefully I won’t remember any of it since they knocked me out.
Ha. I remember everything.
I woke up and first asked if you were ok (you were), then announced I would never be doing this again (I won’t).
Now you know why I call you the circus.
You brought all three rings with you on your way into the world and haven’t stopped yet.
Happy birthday, kid.