Everyone knows there’s a WHOLE lot more to having a baby than the three posts I’ve written about my three trimesters with my first son.  If I was to tell every story, which I might eventually do, it would take forever.

So what I did was highlight the first three and now I’m going to tell you about Jake’s delivery.  It is just SO ME.

The next part in this series will take you through my second pregnancy and then, well, that’s it because I had my uterus ripped out.

So here is my delivery.  I can actually make a vague attempt to find the baby book I wrote in every day (I did it faithfully with both kids, because as a 4th child I know kids can feel a bit like “Why is my sister’s baby picture in my baby book?”) and in it, you’d see that I wrote out my dream labor.  With the exception of one error on a total d-bag’s part, it was spot on.

The morning of April 10th, my friend “AllisonWonderland’s” birthday, I remember feeling like a miserable bitch.  While not typically out of the realm of possibility, it absolutely wasn’t me because I never talk back to the older generations and I remember having an attitude.  A foul mouth may exist here on this website and when I’m with my friends, but it doesn’t with my parents or their friends.

So I believe we all went to a softball game that day and I was HOT.  I had just seen my stunningly beautiful friend who can pop a kid out and look like a supermodel as she’s walking out of the hospital and all I wanted to do was kiss her sweet loving face and go cry in a corner.

I wanted this over.  I was SO done.  I had nine days to go – that’s right, my due date was 4/20.  Those of you who actually know me and those of you who have figured that out are saying “Of COURSE that would be your due date”.

So we get to my house.  I park myself in the leather rocker/recliner and pout.  I’m offered my favorite foods and I push them away.  It’s blamed on heat stroke even though I spent most of my time in the shade and it was April.

Miserable, I head to my room and start reading my book.  A few hours later, I finished the book (James Patterson’s “Honeymoon”) and turned the light off.

I rolled over to put my arm around my black lab, Tribute (he’s not the greatest dog in the world, he’s a tribute), and I watched the clock go from 11:59 to midnight and I heard a very loud pop.  Like when you pop your thumb out of your cheek.  Tribute heard it, too.

As usual, my first words are “Oh shit.”

******PART TWO WILL CONTINUE THURSDAY*****

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