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What Is Labor Like, Grasshopper?

What I expect pregnancy to be like (with post-delivery reflection on my sheer idiocracy):

Expect the worst so that you’re either not let down or moderately surprised. Hey, I’m an optimist. This is me being hopeful about my labor and reflecting on it:

  • I expect to be in labor, experiencing the contractions that make you think you swallowed a saber-toothed tiger on speed, for a week or two. It’ll make the three potential days seem like cake. This was a wise move. However, when those 42 hours of contractions and three hours of wanting to PUSH PUSH PUSH but not being able to PUSH PUSH PUSH because it would bust the cervix which could lead to complications came, the saber-toothed tiger on speed sounded pretty good.
  • My water will tsunami the entire room. Bring your oxygen tank and floatation devices, ya’ll. Or a hot tub will leak from me for days. And I’ll get a fever. Which will make everybody worry and speed to the hospital. And I’ll wonder what you did wrong to make my water break early, and while everybody tells me that’s silly, it wasn’t my fault, I did the right thing going to the hospital rather than risking the home birth, I hate myself for not having gone to the Big Scary Hospital the second the water broke. 
  • The baby who tears through my lady canals will weigh that of which weighs the candy bar loving kid from The Goonies. Or 7 pounds and 2 ounces, moron. Though it isn’t called the ring of fire for nothing.
  • I will beat box out my ass. Seriously, I, Mrs. My Pants Never Talk, expect this. If I rip ass a dozen times, then, no biggie. People? I expect to outdo Vanilla Ice. Only if Vanilla Ice felt like he had a cinder block pushing against his coccyx for a small eternity and spoke only in four-letter words.
  • Blowing chunks out of both ends will be as normal as my three-legged Chihuahua dominating my Saint Bernard in the other room. Just as day turned to night, the latter happened. 
  • I will have to go to the hospital. And, because my husband will faint at the wheel, what with all that blood spilling out my every orifice, drive while squatting on the seat and pulling the baby through. The baby, who will be the first T.rex born to a human since the time nobody knows about when dinosaurs and people cohabitated, will admit my husband and me to the ER, where we’ll escape the 100k bill because of the lawsuit our carnivorous child earns by having eaten all the patients besides us. Hospital, yes. T.rex, no. Angel, yes. Complete alteration of reality in realizing love exists on a level I never knew? Just as profound as that of which I have with Husband, yet different somehow? Yes. Yesyesyes.

Research this article spurred that hopefully my husband will see in Google’s autohistory:

  • Phrases that mean vagina
  • Synonyms for crotch
  • Shitting during labor
  • Ways to say rip ass
  • Fat kid in The Goonies

Adjectives related to pre-labor me from post-labor me:

  • Drama queen
  • Naive
  • Unworthy of this kind of love

mom and son

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Does anybody else ever look at who they were a mere week ago and wonder how they could change so much in such little time?

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