For Day 25 I'm going to go with the prompt
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I have chosen this topic so I can justify writing about giving birth to Klaxon and Zarf. The inspiration for this comes from SkyMommy who is due whenever-she-damn-well-feels-like-it!! with her son Wesley. This post will not be about kick-starting labour and it will be devoid of traumatic or dramatic details. It will be two simple anecdotes about the early stages of labour -- which made me say "ouch" -- with my sons.
The year was 2002...
On the Friday that marked the start of my 41st week of pregnancy I begged my doctor to induce labour. He was disinclined but promised if I still hadn't delivered by Monday, he would do it.
At 3 AM on Sunday morning, I woke up with a stomach ache. I was pissed. Here I was more than a week passed my due date and I was being struck down with stomach roiling indigestion that surely indicated I had food poisoning! Overdue AND sick. Damn. I could not believe my dumb luck. Mr Wrath very gently pointed out that maybe the stomach pains that came EVERY FOUR MINUTES then ebbed, were labour pains. But I was adamant that this was impossible since "My baby is going to be induced on Monday. The doctor said so. Today is Sunday! There would be no baby today. MONDAY was the day we'll have the baby."
Eventually he prevailed, we went to the hospital and I had a baby on Sunday. It made me say "ouch."
Twenty-two months later.... and a day shy of 40 weeks, I woke up with stomach pains. Every four minutes! This time I was pretty sure I was in labour. We drove to the hospital, and it was announced that I was in active labour.
Now let me backtrack for a moment. When we were expecting Zarf we had attended prenatal classes at the community college. Traditionally the courses were taught by nurses but that semester the community college, the local health authority and the nurses' union were at odds about some issue related to wages. It meant that the nurses were not teaching the course. Instead the class was lead by a woman whose usual job was giving ballroom dance classes at the college. Her sole qualification for the job was that she'd given birth to four children via natural childbirth, and could foxtrot. Sadly she had no medical training and could not bring herself to say words related to the female body. It was by turns alarming and amusing that she referred to the vulva, the vagina, the cervix and the womb as "down there."
Which is why, as I breathed through a particularly strong contraction, my husband leaned forward and asked "Are you experiencing some discomfort down there?"
I laughed like a donkey. The contraction abruptly ended. I was released from the hospital with stalled labour and told to return when things picked up again. At my insistence we drove to the mall where I bought my husband a supply of word searches, crossword puzzles and Sudoku books with the instructions. "I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth, Funny Man, til this kid is born."
And the next day -- on his due date -- Klaxon was born after 12 hours of labour -- which made me say "ouch" -- during which my husband kept busy with his books and did NOT make a single smart arse remark.