October 11, 2005
I was never a big fan of the whole giving birth thing in the first place. After last Wednesday, my opinion has cemented itself. My friend Alexis gave birth to her second child, Logan Clay Zentmyer. Don’t misunderstand me, Logan is a cutie pie and he’s a very good baby, sleeping like 80% of the time and on top of it all, he was kind to his mother and came a week early.
No kids, as usual, the result of birth is cute and cuddly. However, Tony and I made the mistake of popping up to see Alexis pre-birth and even pre-epidural. “Oops!” doesn’t cover it. I’ve seen plenty of “births” on TV. Let me tell you, the reality of watching a human actually suffer through a contraction and is as traumatizing as seeing an actual dead person. Those of you who’ve been to funerals, especially one of someone you weren’t attached to, know what I’m talking about.
Now I know what those of you who’ve had kids will tell me. I’ve heard it – a lot. Once they give you the epidural you don’t feel a thing. That’s nice. What about the intervening hours before you’ve reached the magical centimeter where they deem you worthy of the good drugs? And let’s not mention the poor woman whose labors go so quickly there’s no time for drugs. Or even the fact that nowadays they even deprive you of Advil and caffeine for the nine miserable months you’re carrying the interloper. Maybe we should bring back the stork. I know there was a higher chance of me procreating before I heard stories about episiotomies and witnessed the pain first hand. My mother was right. There is a very good reason that birth is a private thing. Nobody else would go through it if they knew the truth!
October 11, 2005