I was right. I was in labor. Later that morning, after the pain had become unbearable and I finally managed to get my sleepy husband out of bed, we went back to the hospital. Our son was born on that Thursday afternoon, which may have been the only sunny day in June.
When I look back on the labor and delivery, I feel like crying. It wasn’t the spiritual experience that some people claim to have had. It was an intensely painful physical experience. Everyone in the delivery room was nice, but I wanted to scream at them. If I could have articulated my feelings, this is what I would have shouted.
“How the effing hell am I supposed to take a deep breath while you’re shoving my knees back into my chest?”
I won’t tell you the rest of the gory details, which you probably don’t want to know, but I will share some positives with you. My Faithful Reader was there with me. The doctor on call was one we had met before and one with whom we were comfortable (truth be told, we preferred him to my regular doctor). Most importantly, our baby was born healthy.