There we were, in the second of four childbirth preparation classes, when the leader showed a DVD of the labor process. Included were snippets from actual live births with women who didn't appear to be using meds (not that it matters). The emerging head, the visual inspection of the placenta…
Pardon me while I hurl.
Afterwards, the leader asked if we had any questions. Me? "Can I just schedule a c-section under general anesthesia?"
My doctor promises me that it's different when you're in the moment. Different as in better, right? LOL
As of today, I'm 30 weeks along and all is well. Or "perfect" as my doc says. I like her terminology. Oh, I could complain about the slow digestive tract, the sleep issues (Snore like a mama bear roaring in the woods when confronted with a threat to her cubs? Me?), the unanticipated weight gain (it's a good thing DH has no reason to pick me up or his back would snap in half), the heartburn (I love the jingling sound my plastic bottles of antacids make), the low energy (I regularly act on the overwhelming desire to nap), the mood swings (I love you! I'm desperate! I hate this place! Get outta my way! Aw how cute! I'm terrified!).
Oh but why? The baby is perfect. I don't have any problems that require intervention or careful monitoring or bed rest. So, really, I have nothing to complain about. Not that it stops me…
Hey kid! Quit kicking my bladder! …I mean, I love you sweet one…
