Saturday, January 7, 2012

Labor and Delivery...You want me to name it too?!

As one of my howler monkey's birthday is coming up soon I decided to take a trip down horror memory lane and revisit the day of his eviction. All of my children were born in the early morning hours, which proves they were out to get me from day one. Labor and delivery should only commence in the afternoon hours after Mom has had time to knock back a few drinks and the Valium has released it's rosy glow.

It was cold, rainy and still dark out when I felt the contractions start. Hell, I don't get out of bed that early when it's warm, sunny and light out. I could hear the Birth Gods laughing as I stumbled around trying to find clothes in the dark and wake up my sperm donor. We get outside to the car and I froze. I was NOT going in my snazzy new red sports car and take a chance on getting any type of birth juice on the fine leather seats that cost me a small fortune. I quickly rerouted to the sperm donor's car, he grumbled and moaned but by that time I was firmly planted into the passenger seat and one look at my face told him it would be in his best interest to just get in and drive. We had to stop and get gas. What?! I have been nine months pregnant for the last 17 months and you don't have gas in your car?! I calmed down some when the smell of fine cuisine coming from the gas station dining area wafted across my nose. A sausage and egg biscuit was just what I needed. The sperm donor informed me I wasn't suppose to eat anything. I informed him he was an idiot who had contributed very little to this whole ordeal and that I would have cheese with my biscuit too. Finally we were gassed up, sausaged up and ready to roll.

We went in through the emergency room because even hospitals don't have all their doors unlocked at that ungodly hour. I brushed the crumbs off my face and informed them I was in labor. The triage nurse looked at me and ask: "Are you due yet?" Fighting the urge to rip her face off I maybe not so kindly informed her that since my water had already broke,I was having contractions 5 minutes apart and I was finished with my sausage biscuit that I was more than ready to get this blood sucking leech out. She quickly ushered us upstairs.

Upstairs they felt the need to ask more questions and wanted me to fill out paperwork, I felt the need to do neither and asked for drugs. It's was a standoff. One of the idiots told me they couldn't deliver the baby if didn't fill out their paperwork. Really? We shall see. They finally caved, as if they had any other choice and took me to my room. I called my best friend, I needed someone there who felt and thought like I did, I needed someone not to terribly attached to this child yet. I wanted someone that could sneak in the nursery if it was ugly and swap it for a cute one. I had not held out much hope since seeing the sonograms pictures. Plus she had flask of wine and snacks in her purse. Did I mention I love this girl? Several trips to the "bathroom" with my best friend later and I felt as if I could birth a small elephant while applying make up and planning a vacation. Then they told me I was too far into labor for an epidural. Now for most that would have been devastating news, not so much for me, I was prepared for this situation. I had wine!

The baby decided he wasn't too sure about coming out since by now he was pretty sure his mother was a wino and his Auntie was a nut case so he refused to budge. He could not be convinced, coaxed or bribed, to come out and  held his ground. I could visualize his tiny hands, both clutching the placenta for dear life and screaming "NO! Let me stay, please just let me stay in here, these people are crazy!" Not in my womb boy, you are officially evicted, not get your shit and get out! He refused. I asked for my doctor and informed him that one of us was taking that baby out of there and it was his decision as to whether he did the C-Section or I did it, but it was getting done.  Wine gives you a wonderful sense of bravado. He thought it might be better if he did it and off we go.

An epidural? An hour ago they tell me I am too far into labor for an epidural and now they wanted to give me one? If it wasn't going to work the hour before, I had no faith it would work then either. No thanks, I wanted them to put me to sleep. After 5 minutes of listening to my drunken whining they agreed and happily knocked me out with the warning: "You realize you won' t see your baby right away, don't you?" Uh...yeah...they don't age that quick, can you push that medicine in a little faster?

Out of recovery and back in my room they came in to remind me I had not signed any papers before delivery and it was important that I signed them right that minute. I asked them exactly what the papers were for and they told me it was to give them permission to deliver my baby. I swear it was like manna from heaven for a sarcastic bitch like me! I asked her what would happen if I refused to sign those papers considering they had already split my stomach open with a rusty chainsaw and delivered said baby. She spit and sputtered and then said: "Well, you HAVE to sign them now", I replied:   " right now I feel a little hungover and something doesn't "feel right", I need to sleep", at which time I rolled over and went to sleep. I didn't sign those papers for the next 3 days, I did however receive excellent ass kissing care for the entire time of my hospital stay.

On the second day they came in and ask if I wanted a set of newborn photo's made of my baby for the low, low amount of $150.00. The hospital photographer was entirely too chipper for me. I was in pain and still in the throws of a hangover having finished the rest of the wine sometime after midnight the night before to relieve the original hangover symptoms.  Wine-it's a viscous cycle. I let him go through his whole sales pitch, looked at all his pictures and then informed him that since this baby didn't look all that much different than the other 3 had at birth that we had decided just to recycle one of their newborn photos, that people usually just commented on "that massive glob of long, thick black hair"  and from the distance those photo's were taken they all looked like baby chimpanzee's anyway (I swear my kids all looked like they skipped a few links in the evolution chain at birth) so we didn't think anyone would notice the difference. Poor guy didn't even know how to answer me. I didn't bother to tell him my husband had already bought 2 of those photo packages earlier that morning. So if any of you readers are designing brochures for a local zoo and you don't need close-ups we have plenty of left over pictures you can use.

My sister came a few minutes after the photographer left and my next assault was a nurse wanting information for the birth certificate. More manna from heaven! She wanted to know the parents full names. I turned to my sister and asked which one of the men at the party she thought the baby looked the most like and we would just go with that one. I did in the end give her my husband's name but her looks of pity every time she saw him after that were enough to make you laugh break your heart. Next she wanted to know what we were naming him. After 15 minutes of throwing really atrocious and possibly illegal names back and forth between us, and with straight faces, my sister looks at her and says: "This is so hard, we didn't know we were going to have to name him AND take him home". We finally told her his name, which I might add here that I promptly forgot two weeks later when taking him in for an X-ray guaranteeing that I was NOT going to be nominated for the Mother of the Year award that year. I don't know what happened, I mean I had actually been calling him by that name for two weeks, it should have been fresh on my mind. But I literally, in that second, had no idea what that child's name was. Today, 17 yrs later, I still am not always spot on with any of their names. They have adjusted and will usually answer to anything, the only time they get a little testy about it is when I call them by one of the dogs names. Which is why I always give my dogs human names. Strangers never pick up on the fact that I have no fucking idea what the kids names are, not like they would if I was calling one of them "Spot" or "Checkers".

The third day was fairly uneventful. By now most of the nurses had learned to stay out of my room unless I asked them to enter. They knew it was only going to frustrate them and I was not going to sign those papers until I was good and ready and the legal department came to suck up some more. The only time it was safe to enter and not be harassed in some form was when it was time to dispense the pain medication. I am also fairly certain their libral use of the pain medication was their vain attempt at keeping me pleasant.

On the fourth day, and much to the relief of staff, we were discharged. I did finally sign those papers that morning before leaving, after all I wasn't going to be there to watch them squirm, which was my only reason for not signing up until then. I did however appreciate the balls one of the nurses showed when she told me that if I ever got pregnant again that the rival hospital across town had an excellent OB department.

Sidenote-I am reasonably certain that my friend did not have to switch my baby for a cuter one. We never speak directly of this. There have been a few times over his years with us that have given me pause for concern. Based on the actions of my others, he did exhibit foreign behaviors that made you wonder if he could possibly have been the love child of Martha Stewart and Mr. Clean. I don't care how many times someone tells you it is OK, you have to worry about a kic that cleans his room.


  1. Haha, "9 months pregnant for the last 17". that's utterly brilliant. Excellent read.

    1. I think my second pregnancy was actually longer, it lasted 19 months.

  2. Seriously, you are one talented writer! I'd hate you if you weren't so deliciously funny. :)

    1. But in a perfect world we would be best BFF's and wreck havoc on the world with our biting sarcasm.

  3. Shea, your account took me down my own personal birthing memory lane! OMG, I can still feel the contractions and the stabbing pain in my lower back! You had me chuckling out loud with this post!
    "I could hear the Birth Gods laughing as I stumbled around trying to find clothes in the dark and wake up my sperm donor," bwhahaha! And I too would have deep concerns over a teenager that cleans his room, or it could be a sign of a high functioning, organized, and neat individual. Yep, let's go with that. hee hee! :)

  4. You must read today's blog post and I think you will find the answer of whether he is a high functioning, organized and neat individual only wishful thinking on my part. Thanks for coming by!