Thursday, December 5, 2013

*Why I'll never be a Centerfold

  Good morning! Hey, you guys know what today is? (Yeah, the 5th. Thanks, smarty-pants!) Today is The Boy’s Birthday! And we all know what that means, right? He’s fair game for me to wax all Mommy-poetical-like about.

  Except I figured I’d go more realistic and share an excerpt from last year’s never-to-be-published NaNoWriMo project, “Worst Mom EVER! (Hey, I gotta do something with it, right?)

  ...6:00 AM found me waddling (hopefully for the LAST time) onto the Maternity Ward for the highly anticipated Induced Labor-A-Thon *cue balloons and streamers*, which was supposed to go MUCH quicker and easier. (Those sons of bitches lied!)

  What DID happen was they stuffed me in a brand-spankin'-new, sleek, high-tech birthing room containing a single birthing bed and big screen TV.

The day he arrived
  The TV’s only important to mention here because it meant 1st-Hubby could keep himself amused and out of my reach while I went through almost 16 hours of labor. (Faster my ass!) Also, because when the actual birth finally DID start happenin’, I had to ask a Nurse to turn the damn thing off so 1st-Hubby would stop watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and focus on the freakin’ birth of his freakin’ child!

(Fast-forward through the next 15 hours of contractions and increasingly creative promises of ways I was gonna make 1st-Hubby, the Doctor, and any other male I could find PAY for this blessed event.)

  I was done. I grabbed the closest, slowest moving Nurse and pulled her face to face with the sweaty, flushed mess that was me. “I quit. I’m going to sleep now and you can finish this shit yourself.”

  She obviously thought I was joking, since she smiled sweetly and replied, “Oh honey, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

  “Oh it will this time!” I was pretty damn certain by this point I'd done more than my fair share and was tapping out. Someone else could finish if they wanted, it just wasn’t going to be me. “I KNOW that Doctor has forceps somewhere. He can just pull the baby out ‘cause I QUIT!”

6 months
  By the look of mounting panic on her face, I’m thinking the seriousness of my intentions were finally sinking in. Either that or she had some weird fetish, since she decided this was the perfect time to start massaging my stomach. (To my mind, not exactly her brightest move since that automatically put her within easy grabbing distance.)

  For those of you who don’t know, when a woman is in hard labor, massaging her stomach will ultimately piss off the Labor Gods and kick her contractions into high gear. Which, amidst a flurry of LOUD and increasingly foul language is exactly what happened. (I might add here that this particular tummy-rubbing-fetishist of a Nurse was a lot faster than she looked and pretty damn adept at dodging furious grabbing motions.)

  When my baby boy finally crowned, he did so face down. Which must have displeased the Doctor, since he grabbed him by the top of the head and TURNED HIM. I know this because 1st-Hubby was standing just out of arm’s reach watching and answered my demur question, “WHAT THE LIVING FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?!” with a suicidally excited, “That was really cool how he just turned him!”

1 year
  The only thing that really sunk through my red haze was the fact that some crazy chick’s LOUD foul language had just upgraded to an animalistic HOWL of foul language. Ya know, kinda like someone was literally ripping her in half? (Possible because they WERE.)

  Any guys reading this might want to look away now. You’ve been warned!

  Sadly, that crazy chick turned out to be me and the aftermath of baby boy’s birth seemed to confirm my suspicions. When Doctor Dumbass executed the infamous turn, any room my mommy-parts were lacking to accommodate this maneuver, was created by things “unnaturally parting“, shall we say…in the UP direction? *cue the panic between my legs to begin*

  The baby was quickly pushed out. (It’s amazing what a bit of pain-induced adrenaline will do for a woman’s claims of, “I’m done!”) The next thing I knew, my newborn (and I mean UNWASHED newborn) was tossed like a mackerel at the fish market, landing upside my neck, sliding down and leaving a trail of “unwashed newborn” all the way to my slightly deflated belly.

  At this exact moment I realized there were at least six people between my legs, all attempting to work on me at once. Now, I may or may not have seen a movie or two involving this type of scenario, but had never been part of one myself. Which goes a long way in explaining why IT happened.

18 months
  “EVERYBODY STOP!!!” The Doctor and Nurses all froze dead in their shit, each one giving me their undivided attention. “Everyone take two steps back and form a fucking line. There is only so much room between my legs and you’ve exceeded the fucking limit!” I took a deep breath and finished with a flourish, “One at a time; enter, do whatever the hell you gotta do, then get the hell outta the goddamned way for the next guy!”

  It was a nice dream while it lasted, but a split second later the spell broke and they were all at their individual chaos once more. Oh, and my legs were strapped down to prevent me from kicking anyone. I guess they figured the baby still sliming up my torso would keep me from trying to sit up and take a swing. (They figured right.)

  It was like something from a Dr. Seuss for Big People nightmare:
One Nurse,  two Nurse.
Shot Nurse, cleaning Nurse.
Nurse sticking catheter way up THERE
While Doc sits stitching on his chair.

  It was gonna take a miracle to avoid several beatings and one assault charge. And a miracle is exactly what I got.

  I was now holding an amazing, eight pound 1 ¼ ounce baby boy. He was so pink and perfect and in dire need of a bath. And so was I. But none of that mattered as I looked into that pink, chubby little face.

2 years
  Tiny hands found my finger and wrapped impossibly small, pudgy digits around mine. The fattest little legs you’ve ever seen pumped, working muscles that hadn’t been able to fully stretch (no matter how hard he’d tried) until this moment. He opened his eyes and as I looked into them for the first time, my heart hurt with complete and utter bliss.

  This? Is why old women will tell you that giving birth is the most forgettable pain in the world. Because when you hold that slimy little baby for the first time, nothing else in the Universe matters but him.

  Right up until some Nurse pries him out of your arms for the purpose of cleaning, weighing, and measuring.

  Suddenly, your bubble of perfect peace and love is popped, allowing the rest of the world to come flooding back with all it’s pain and chaos. You’re officially released from the spell, unencumbered by your miracle and free to recommence your all-out verbal war on the medical staff…

My baby boy today!
(And yes, he IS gonna kill me for this!)

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOY!

* If you're curious about the title? It became a running joke with my Mother that the slap-shod job of "stitching things BACK where Nature intended them to be" that Doctor Dumbass did? Squashed all my hopes and dreams of one day becoming a Playboy Centerfold. 
  TMI? Pfft! No such thing! *grin*

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