Warning: birthstory

After a week in the hospital, during which time I lost any semblance of modesty and all my peeing in the toilet privileges, they restarted my labor and presented me with a complete moron of a doctor. "Hello, my name is Dr. Harriet Dahmer", she chirped, "I'll be your butcher for the day! Enjoy your birth experience!" First of all, whoever invented natural childbirth is an evil bastard. And whose idea was it to make women the sole bearers of offspring? Why couldn't we trade off?

Labor was relatively short, though hideously intense. Why the doc didn't opt for a C-section is still a mystery (read: she defines incompetent). The cord was wrapped twice around our baby's neck, strangling him throughout the delivery. Um...really not cool. At the beginning of the pushing part, my mom said "You've got to get that baby out now or he's not going to make it!"Um...great, I'll kill my son before I even get to see him. What if I can't do it? Six pushes and about a gazillion stitches later, E was born, resuscitated and promptly whisked away by the huge team of Neonatal Intensive Care people who barged into the room right when it looked like the baby wouldn't make it.

They took him to a corner of the room and he made no noise. No whisper, no whimper, no tiny gasp of first breath. Then, my husband said tearily, "wait...he squeaked! He's not dead". They wheeled him half out of the room and then belatedly asked me if I wanted to see what my son looked like.

He was beautiful and too small and so fragile. I wish his birth was less of a dying experience but I'm so grateful he made it. I feel guilty for being sad about it.

This goes in one of those plastic patient belonging bags they give you at the hospital. I don't know why it's so hard to put away.