The...ehem...birth story.

WARNING: NOT for the faint of heart.

Dear Kid,

Welcome! We're so glad you're here. Mostly, my troll feet thank you for finally evicting yourself so that my ankle bone might once again make an appearance. Seriously, I think my colleagues at work were sick of me saying, "GET A LOAD OF THIS!" every time they walked into my office as I lifted up my pant leg to show off my club foot of an ankle. Apparently the side effects of pregnancy just aren't that interesting to everyone.

So, you're a dude. BIG SURPRISE there. I'm not even being sarcastic there. That was a big. effing. surprise...to everyone except your grandmother, and she'll be the first to tell you that because no one loves being right more than she does. Except for me. So, although I'm just tickled pink (sorry, bad choice of words) that you're a HE, I hated saying I was wrong about something.

Here's how we found out you were a boy:

About 3:00 p.m. on Wednesday, the 26th of October, I was getting some serious signals from you that you might be making your grand appearance. (Actually, that's kind of a lie. One of my colleagues was like, "Girl! You're in LABOR! GO HOME!" (Hi Shelley!)

So I headed home from work, called your Dad, and then called the hospital. Of course, at that point, the hospital was all, "Dude, quit calling. Your contractions are like, 10 minutes apart, fool! Call back when they're two to five minutes apart."


That seemed like a damn eternity. But WHATEVER. I was determined not to be that girl that gets sent home mostly because I couldn't handle that type of discouragement.

But then around 2:00 a.m. it was clear that you weren't messing around, so I stuck it out for a few more hours then I made this dramatic phone call to nurse and really hammed it up so she would believe me, and so she was like, "FINE, you can come in." And off your dad and I went to the hospital.

When we got to the hospital, the nurse checked me, and I was dilated to a 4. You don't get what that means. Some day I'll explain it to you, but anyway, it basically meant I could stay. But THEN the nurse was all, "You need to go walk the hall for 15 minutes" and I was all, "Bitch PLEASE!"...because walking at that point seemed like, SUPER hard. But I did it, and had contractions the whole time, and you made it very clear that you were ready to GO!

Then I was dilated to a 6, and the nurses were all, "Epidural?" and I was all, "Yes, please!" and HOLY SHIT SWEET NECTAR OF THE GODS OF ALL THINGS THAT ARE FUZZY AND WARM THAT'S SOME GOOD SHIT.

Except you like, can't feel the bottom half of your body with one of those things. Did you know that? Could you feel the bottom half of YOUR body? Because I could not.

Checking on the dilation progress after that point was interesting, because remember when I said I couldn't feel the bottom half of my body? Well your 300 lb lineman of a father had to help move my legs so they could check out the progress DOWN THERE, and I swear to you that my legs felt so heavy I was all, "HONEY YOUR ASS IS GONNA NEED SOME HELP LIFTING THESE THINGS."

But he was able, apparently, and low and behold! I was dilated to a seven and shit was getting SERIOUS! Your grams and gramps drove on over (from three hours away) and were there by our sides by 7:30 a.m. and I was encouraged that you and I were going to meet one another REAL soon.

Then, ummm, things just stopped.

Fast forward to 6:00 pm THAT NIGHT and I was STILL at a seven. Dude. WORK WITH ME. You were not. By this point I had conceded to a bit of pitocin, but you were annoyed with that so we had to stop. Then I was annoyed enough to go ahead and give myself a 102 degree fever, then you were annoyed and raised your heart rate, and things were getting out of control. Then the physician (bless her sweet lil' heart!) was all, "We're not messing around anymore. We're-a-gonna-go-ahead and get shit moving." And she, well, "checked" me again and did some handy work up there and we finally got things going.

Then just before 10:00 p.m., I started to push (for those of you who aren't keeping track, this means I have been in labor for 30 hours...but nbd. Whatevs). At this point, I'd lost ALL sense of modesty, and although I had originally wanted it to just be Paul and I in the room, I was totally fine with two of your grandmas setting up shop, too. Then your dad had to hold up my 300 lb leg and a way we went!

For another 2 hours.

And then finally (FINALLY) the nurses and doc were all, "I CAN SEE HAIR!" And between you and me I knew they were talking about YOUR hair, so I really gave it the good ole' college try. And I'm sorry, but when they offered to use the vacuum, even though I knew it would give you a cone head, I was all, "HELL YEAH I WANT YOU TO USE THE VACUUM!"

(Your father would want me to mention that he was trying to encourage me NOT to use the vacuum. There are a variety of reasons why his opinion, at this point, did not matter. When you have a wife and kid of your own, I'll be sure to remind you that your opinion won't matter either.)

And then BOOM! Out you came! Of my vagina, I mean. And you were screaming your ass off. And aside from the epidural, that's the best thing I felt all day. And people were all, "It's a BOY!" and I was all, "Nu-uh it ISN'T!" But you were. You were a boy. You are a boy.

And I am so, so, so, so, so OKAY with that.

Because I didn't think I could love another boy like I love your Dad, but here you go proving me wrong already.

So welcome, little man. Thanks for being cute, and thanks for...you know...changing my life...and stuff.


P.S. Shannon - this one's for you. I totally pooped. Cheers!


  1. I truly love that your birth story includes the use of shit several times. Can't wait to meet the little fuzzy bundle of snuggle love.

  2. I ADORE YOU. Srsly.

    I'm so glad you mentioned that you pooped, that all sense of modesty goes away with enough desperation, and that you proudly epidural-ed up! YOU GO! And rocked the vacuum. And expected something other than what you got! There's just so much wonderful, confident honesty in here that I just want to snuggle up in.

    And now I have a new fear, because my wonderful Carson is scrawny, and I am pear shaped, and I do NOT see him holding up one of my thighs for any extended period of time. Since I'm not pregnant yet, maybe there's enough time to give him steroids?

  3. That much labor is way too much labor. HOLY S WORD! Heck, any labor is too much labor.

    You kicked butt. You took names. You made a perfect little boy whom you get to dance with at his wedding.

    You even pooped!

    You rocked it. I'm so happy for your little family. (Well, your husband isn't exactly little, but you know what I mean!!)


  4. Why did I tear up both times I read this when it's full of poop and funny anecdotes and vacuum objects and a 300-pound linebacker (or whatever that big guy is)? Oh, I know! It's because you fell in love with your baby boy and you were worried about falling in love with another boy. And also you were surprised that he WAS a boy, just like I was when my Adam was born.

    We didn't have blogs back in the Pleistoschebenleeeven Age when my now-26-year-old Adam was born, so I have kept his birth story alive by telling it to anyone who evinces the slightest interest. The best part of the whole thing was when my sweet dad brought me my glasses after my husband and everybody else kept pointing at Adam, who was too far away for me to see (he was being tended to by the nurses after my c-section)and saying, "Oh, look at him, Shelley! Isn't he cuuuuute?" I was ready to slug somebody because I COULDN'T see him. Then Superhero Sweet Dad swooped in with my specs. And where was my husband during this time that I wanted so badly to see my newborn son and needed my glasses?

    Maybe I'll start my own blog and one of the posts will be titled, "The Many Many Reasons I Divorced My Kid's Dad."

    I can't wait to see your boy. He looks so cuuuuute! And you have your glasses on so you can even see him!

  5. Congrats Megan.... My husband called it a turbo plunger... ;)

  6. Shelley - your comment made me laugh out loud...I even had to read it to my mom!!! I wish you had a blog! I would totally be following it.

  7. Oh Megs! You make me laugh so hard everytime I read your blog! I also had club legs and Mack and the nurse each held one and they both kept asking me if I really couldn't lift my legs so I said let go and we will see... They fell instantly! I couldnt feel my lower half for 5 hours after they turned the epidural off... Which was starting to freak me out! Anyway it's a long story but wanted to let you know I went through the same thing and the last 3 weeks I did everything in my power to get her OUT! I was dialated to a 7 but not having contractions so they wouldnt send me to the hospital..WTF! So I worked full time for 3 more DAYS before she was born! I was basically walking around work waiting for her to fall out! LOL


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