Eight years ago, my son shot out of my lady bits and I became a mother. Oh wait…he didn’t shoot out – he was forcefully extracted by a vacuum suction cup. Too much information? Nah. Too much information would be if I told you that I pooped during childbirth. But luckily that didn’t happen because I was so constipated. So I guess too much information would be if I told you about my second degree vaginal tears. Yeah, that would definitely be too much information.

Now what was I saying? Oh right…my son.

Eight years ago my firstborn son entered this world and I entered the exciting world of parenthood. If you’re looking for a sappy, lovey-dovey birthday post, you’re not going to find it here. I don’t do sappy. I do funny. At least I try to do funny. (I don’t always succeed.) In honor of my son’s birthday, I’d like to share a special story about his birth.

When I was pregnant, we decided not to find out the sex of the baby before the birth. During the pregnancy, there were no special signs that made me think I was having a boy. However, toward the middle of the pregnancy, I dreamt that I needed an ultrasound very late in the pregnancy. In the dream, we told the ultrasound tech that we didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. She didn’t listen and told us we were having a boy. I remember being incredibly pissed…at the ultrasound tech, not at the fact I found out I was having a boy.

So, out of dreamland and back in real life, it turns out that I did need an ultrasound very late in the pregnancy. I was convinced that my dream was going to become a reality and the ultrasound tech would spill the beans. The first thing I did at that ultrasound appointment was tell the ultrasound tech all about my dream and remind her like a thousand times that I did NOT want to know the sex of the baby. Guess what the ultrasound tech did? She did not tell me the sex of the baby. (You thought I was going to say she told me I was having a boy, didn’t you? Ha, fooled you!)

Not knowing the sex of the baby was harder than I thought it was going to be. The last few weeks of the pregnancy were the hardest. We couldn’t wait to find out if we had a son or a daughter. Finally, that day came. And as the doctor delivered my baby, we waited for him to announce it was a boy or a girl.

Me: So what is it?

Doctor: I don’t know.

I don’t know? I DON’T KNOW? No, no, no. The only 2 acceptable answers to that question are boy or girl. Not I don’t know!  Fortunately, the doctor’s I don’t know response was not because our child had come out looking like some kind of freak of nature. No, it was because our son had his arms stretched out and his hands were completely covering his genitals. Our son was shy about his little boy bits! (Maybe he was worried about shrinkage…it was cold in the delivery room.) Once the doctor moved his hands out of the way, he announced that we had a baby boy. And we couldn’t have been happier.

Happy 8th birthday R! You’ll always be my baby #1.

2 Responses to “Eight”

  1. Sherry Says:

    Awwww, that was not the least bit sappy…! Happy Birthday to your first born though! Can’t believe you didn’t find out the sex, I just couldn’t do it…calling the baby “it” all the time would have banished any pre-delivery bonding for me. Oh, and about pooping while birthing thing…totally guilty of that! I was always told it was very normal and you wouldn’t even be aware of it as they scoop it away immediately. Not so. I caught a whiff of it and asked my husband if I just shit the table. I’m not sure who was more embarrassed, him or me.

    Anyway, thanks for the funny post! And yes, you ARE funny.

  2. Casey Freeland Says:

    I think I went in the wrong room or something. It said Lollypopz or something on the door. But I’m reading about vaginal tears. Hmmm… maybe they meant vaginal tears like fears. That’s got to be it. It’s poetry.

    OK, I’m better now. Where’s my lollypop?


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