6 weeks ago
I’m sitting on a bed, almost laying down, grabbing my legs, screaming my head off. My arms aren’t flailing but I feel like they are. This is just what they said it would be. Too late for drugs. But too stubborn for needles anyways. Mother-in-law paces nervously to my right while my mom nearly faints and has to sit down in the green upholstered chair. Her hand rests on her forehead as she catches her breath. Husband stands by my side, staring at the me or the wall, I don’t remember. He holds onto my leg, counting faster and faster as the doctor says “push”.
I’m a wimp. Can’t you just push him out, I ask. No. They say. That would be too easy. No way out. Push is all I can do as I run on 2 hours of sleep and a bowl of raisin bran. So I push. Hard. 15 minutes. A screaming grey baby on my lap. Husband’s eyes water as he cuts the cord. My hand rests on the slippery baby, wondering what happened. A baby. A baby boy.
And I’m a mom.
Just in case you wanted to know, a labor story. The real deal, just like the movies.