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Guest Blogger: “Making My Private Parts Public. Again.” | Today's Cliche - Marriage, Family, & Working Mommy... from BOTH Women's and Men's Perspectives

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Guest Blogger: “Making My Private Parts Public. Again.”

September 2, 2010 by Kat  

Making My Private Parts Public. Again.

By: Sarah Tuttle Singer @ The Crazy Baby Mama

Disclaimer: I cannot be held responsible for my behavior during this time for the following reasons:

1. Labor f$ck$ng hurts.

2. I was higher than Snoop Dog.

Oh, and if you are pregnant, or wish to become pregnant, I suggest that you do not read this post.

That said, if you are 15 years old and not using protection, than I urge you to read this.

Once upon a time, I used to think I had a high threshold for pain. In fact, I was one of those angsty teenagers who would sometimes scratch or cut herself until she bled. And while I had an epidural when I gave birth to M, I figured that this time around, I would try to go au naturalle. When the contractions started in earnest at around 8:30 pm on Sunday night, radiating through my belly and thighs, I thought “oh, I can totally do this!” and so, I spent the next several hours actually believing that I would be one of those hardcore masochists women who went through childbirth without any drugs.

After all, I reasoned, women have been doing this for thousands and thousands of years and blah blah blah, and labor is a transcendental time and blah blah blah, and pain brings us closer to our own human essence and blah blah blah. Blah.

Too bad my uterus didn’t read my birth plan.

Anyway, while biding my time at Labor and Delivery, and listening to the techno housebeat of Little Homie’s heart on the fetal monitor, I visualized my vajeen like a beautiful rose, gently unfolding its petals in preparation for the baby. I took deep breaths, and moaned in low tones, which is supposed to cue the body to relax. It wasn’t so bad – I was even able to blog and be on facebook and gchat. But, when Dr. B discovered that I had only dilated 1/2 a centimeter in four freaking hours, he stuck something up me that looked like a crochet needle, and WHOOSH he broke my bag of waters.

Holy Motherf$cking Piece of Sh#t Contractions Batman! Labor hurts!

After screaming at him to get the f$ck out of my vagina, I endured the most excruciating ten minutes of my entire life.  And during this “spiritual” time, I heaved and thrashed like an animal in a trap, begging for a swift death to end the agony as my body was slammed by one bone-crushing contraction after another. And no, I’m not exaggerating.

My screams woke up B who was still taking a siesta on the couch.  Hell, my screams woke the coma patients three floors up.

Newsflash:  my vajeen is not a rose.

“What just happened?” asked B.

“Good morning, f$ckface.”  I grunted.

To his credit, once he woke up, B tried to help: He did his best to help me steady my breathing. He let me squeeze his hand so hard that it turned white, and I could hear his bones crack.  But hey, it’s the least he could do, since he (and his overachieving sperm) got me into this mess in the first place.

“You can do it! You can do it! You can do it!” B chanted.

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shutupshutupshutup. I

f$ckinghateyoufordoingthistome!” I responded  graciously.

The nurses tittered.

“You’re just saying that so you can say you said it when you write your blog post.” B smirked.

“F$CK YOU!”

And, within five minutes, I was screaming for an anesthesiologist.

“Get me a f$cking epidural! Get me a f$cking epidural!”

With incredible speed and alacrity, the head of the Cedars Sinai Anesthesiology Department arrived.  I’ve never been so happy to see anybody in my entire life.  Seriously.  If you want to be popular with the ladies, become an anesthesiologist in an L and D ward.

Clutched in the grip of a contraction, I reached up and grabbed Dr. Feel Good.  I think I may have said something like “If you make this stop, as soon as this baby is out of me, I swear to God, I will f$ck you.”

Within five minutes, the pain was gone.  I lay back on the delivery table more stoned than I’ve ever been, and believe me, that’s saying a lot  in a state of orgiastic ecstasy with a post-coital smile on my face.

When you’re finally feeling no pain, and exhaustion, hormones, sheer adrenaline and epidural bliss are coursing through your veins, time ceases to have much meaning.  After a few minutes – or maybe a few hours? –  I told the nurse I thought I kind of sort of needed a bedpan.

“Uh oh,”  she said.  “Let me check you.”

“Why?”  I asked.  “What’s there to check?  I need to, well, you know… No, really, I need to go NOW”

“You may actually be feeling the baby.”

“Cool.”  Said I.

Numb from the waist down, I couldn’t move my legs, so B had to hold them open.  I think I may have said something like “Why should today be different than any other day,”  but maybe I just imagined it.   Higher than Snoop Dog, people.  Higher than Snoop Dog.

And in my haze, it occurred to me that this was the 15 year anniversary of the day I lost my virginity.  Clearly, December 7th will forever be a special day for my vagina.

“10 centimeters!”  The nurse said.

“Can I please take a sh#t now?”

But as it turned out, that overwhelming pressure to crap myself wasn’t coming from my bowels.  Little Homie had made his final decent, and it was time to push him out.

“Baby looks great!”  Dr. B said.  “And it looks like another contraction is starting, so I want you to bare down and push.  Come on, Sarah 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10… Ok, breathe.  Breathe. Breathe.  Ok, come on Sarah, come on, you can do it.  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10!  Keep pushing push push push push.  Good.  Breathe.”

“I.  Can’t. Do.  It.”  I gagged as I pushed so hard I tasted last nights dinner.  “I.  Can’.t”

“Yes you can,”  one of the nurses said in a voice you would normally use on the senile or the insane.  “Just pretend you have to go poopoo, and push down.”

Bitch did not just say “poopoo.”

Beneath the blanket of the epidural, I felt a contraction stir gently as Dr. B started counting.  “Ok, push push push push push 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…”

Meanwhile, a little voice in my head whispered a different mantra:  ‘sh#t the baby out sh#t the baby out sh#t the baby out,’

And then, an alarm sounded.  And I felt my heart lurch.

“What’s wrong?  What’s wrong?”  I screamed.  It felt like the oxygen was sucked out of the room, and my voice was silenced in the airless vacuum.

“The baby’s heart rate is dipping a little.  He needs to come out, and you need to push very hard.  Ok, push, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, come on Sarah, you can do this you can do this.  Push push push.”

And, harder than I ever have, I pushed and I prayed.

Please God let him be ok.  Please God let him be ok.  Please God let him be ok.

I ignored the feeling of my flesh ripping apart as the baby tore through me, turning and turning and turning until suddenly the pain was gone.  And in that moment of sweet relief, a piercing, perfect cry filled the room, and I looked down at my trembling baby boy, purple, coated in cheesy wax, and squirming indignantly in Dr. B’s arms.

“Give him to me, give him to me,”  I said.

“Wait, he’s still attached!”  Dr. B shouted as I felt a tug on my innards.  B cut the cord, while I reached for the baby.  Sue me for the following cliché, but my arms literally ached to hold him.

And then — finally — he was on my chest, and I was stroking his feathery hair and gazing into his huge, oceanic eyes, meeting the baby I already knew.

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Comments

4 Responses to “Guest Blogger: “Making My Private Parts Public. Again.””
  1. Lydia B says:

    My youngest is 25.My oldest 31. But you made it seem like I just gave birth yesterday. Thank you for sharing

    [Reply]

  2. Ally says:

    Okay, I’m a sap. Birth stories always make me tear up.
    I’m one of “those hardcore masochists women who went through childbirth without any drugs”. And after doing so, I promptly announced that if I had another child, I wanted full anesthesia with a c-section and they could just wake me up when it was over! :-) LOL

    [Reply]

  3. Xeanne says:

    I remember the time when I give birth to my 2 years old daughter, seems like it was yesterday.. The pain of labor but the happiness when I saw her lying on my chest, so cute.
    Xeanne recently posted..Unable To Get PregnantMy ComLuv Profile

    [Reply]

  4. I do not know whether it’s just me or if everyone
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    [Reply]

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