…I was able to write a blog post because I didn’t have a baby. I know, it seems unrealistic to think that I might have 4.5 seconds to check in with my bloggy peeps. Bear with me, I’m working on it!

So, I am here. But I must warn you, Baby L likes to be held. Like, all the time, and I am currently typing and therefore NOT HOLDING HER (gasp!) so this might get cut short.

I wanted to share my birth story with you before it became old news, but alas, with all the visitors (oh, so MANY VISITORS) and hours of cuddling and shushing my new spawn, I am a little slow getting to it. So, I’ll try my best (taking into consideration the many, many sleepless nights recently and my inability to form a complete thought) to tell you ladies and gents how it went down!

So, as you know, I was pretty anxious to get that little nugget started on “life on the outside” because I was tired of being tired and spontaneously vomiting and waddling around the house like a giant penguin and I was beginning to think that she was, despite all the spicy food and the yoga poses that no pregnant woman should even attempt and the everything else I could think of that might induce labor, never going to come. Of course, because I am nothing if not on a schedule (and when I say on a schedule, I mean that I always stress about being on time and doing things when they should be done, but am often a little late anyway and then I beat myself up about it even though the reason for my tardiness is usually just slack-assiness) and it wouldn’t have been right if my daughter didn’t inherit this trait from me. So, just like clockwork, I rolled over in my bed on my due date, May 18th, and felt a gush. Yes, my water broke first thing in the morning, on my due date. (Remember? Intentions of being on time…)

Because I wasn’t in any pain, I really also wasn’t in any hurry to get to the hospital, because, lets face it, internet, labor is long and painful, and why would I want to rush into THAT when I could take a nice, hot shower and maybe do a load of laundry? Okay, I didn’t do laundry. But I could have. And I did do some dishes while I was waiting for MB to get home from work and take me to the place where they pull that alien out of your pelvis. But anyway, my mom came over within minutes of my phone call to tell her that I believed it was “time” and she immediately started trying to make me eat food. Because if you know my mom, you know that this is what she does. And in such an exciting time, who wouldn’t be hungry? Right?! Shockingly, when you feel like you are peeing an ocean into a giant maxi-pad and anticipating the most excrutiating pain of your life, you don’t really want a hard-boiled egg or strawberry yogurt. Go figure.

We got to the hospital about two hours after my water broke and I still wasn’t having any contractions. And I was okay with this, internet, because I really felt like I was gonna coast through this labor thing like no woman ever had before. I really believed that the lack of pain was a total indication of my impending EASY LABOR and DELIVERY. And then, once I was strapped to the bed and bound by an IV of pitocin (which I adamantly stated that I did NOT WANT, but was told that because my water had broken, I had no choice…) and my cervix was checked, the pain began. I wouldn’t even say that it was that terrible, but definitely not too much fun. Because when you go from just feeling like you’re constantly peeing on yourself to pretty bad menstrua-like cramps every six minutes, it is not only uncomfortable but sort of…well…terribly annoying. Things went on like this for about four hours. I contracted, I squeezed MB’s hand and whimpered until the shit stopped, and then I braced myself for the next one. When the contractions started getting more painful, I mentioned the epidural to my nurse and, since I was only about 2 centimeters dilated at that time, she thought it would be better to wait about an hour before calling the anesthesiologist. And I didn’t argue, because I was still coherent, my hair still looked decent and I wasn’t yet dehydrated or starving. But then the vomiting began. And when I buzzed the nurse to tell her that I was puking up the ice chips that I was using to keep my mouth from feeling like I was eating sandpaper, she immediately called the anesthesiologist. Literally, within five minutes of my first puketastic event, I was getting a needle stuck INTO MY BACK. (This is where the crying began. And not because epidurals hurt, because they don’t, those of you who are scared of them, but needles scare the bejesus out of me. And even though I never saw it, I KNEW WHAT THAT GUY WAS DOING BACK THERE…and I was terrified. But seriously, ladies, if you are scared of the needle, don’t be. You will propose to the anesthesiologist as soon as your feet start to tingle. Promise.)

And now…I have to say…

TO BE CONTINUED…The spawn is waking up and will be demanding nourishment momentarily. But, I’ll be back. I swear…