My Not Scary, Pretty Cool Birth Story

This picture is clearly taken before the invention of birth photographers who can make you look beautiful, peaceful and rested immediately after pushing an 8 pound human out of your vagina. I didn't have that photo taken. My pics were taken by family members while I lounged around in greasy hair and maternity tops. I had packed some great outfits for my time after baby and strangely, they all shrunk on the trip to the hospital. I was forced to wear home what I had worn to the hospital and my body looked just as unfortunate in the before and after shots. That 40 pound baby I was planning to take home weighed a lot less and water weight turned out to be a fucking lie. What was great about this whole situation is how amazing my birth experience was. You have probably heard plenty of pantie dropping, butt hole tightening birth stories. Most of them are scary enough to keep you from having intercourse for the rest of your life. This isn't one of them.

I had my daughter, pictured above, when I was 23 years old and naive as shit. Luck was with me when I randomly chose an OB/GYN who took our insurance and was a God send to my vagina. She asked me what I wanted my birth to look like and then stretched my twat beyond reason to keep me from needing stitches. My plan initially was to go with no medication, all natural, no C-Section, no suction and to go into labor naturally. She had warned me that birth plans don't always come to fruition, but that she would do her best to create the birth that I desired. I was 37 weeks along when I found out I was 3 cm dilated and being a first time mom, I was ecstatic. Come to find out, I would stay at 3 cm for three weeks and see no other progress. My doctor asked if I would like to be induced at 40 weeks in order to have her deliver our daughter, or wait it out and have one of her colleagues be in the delivery room. Vacations for doctors are a real bitch. We chose the first option.

We were scheduled for our induction on Sunday, August 11 and we prepared to head to the hospital at 8 am. When we showed up, we were put in a room and I was hooked up to monitors, given an adorable backless gown and started on Pitocin. It wasn't in my birth plan, but I was so fucking ready to get this baby out that I didn't care. I was still planning on no pain medication, however once the first wave of contractions started I began screaming for the shot in the back that I so clearly deserved. The epidural was administered and I went from wanting to claw my husband's face off to chilling in bed with some decent TV programs. That went on for a few hours. Laboring was a breeze and the only issue I was encountering was my hunger and my need to take a huge shit. I asked to be helped to the restroom and the nurse informed me that it wasn't a bowel movement, but my need to push out this baby that was causing my discomfort. We argued for a few minutes and when she checked me again, I was at a 10 and ready for action. I was convinced I still needed to poop, but that wasn't happening so I gave up and started pushing. With my legs propped in the air, my face sweating and hoards of people with their eyes on my naughty bits, I pushed for just under an hour. During that period, I took a shit on the table (I told you, bitch) and eventually gave birth to a healthy, screaming baby girl.

I had the normal excessive bleeding along with maxi pads the size of an RV, but otherwise I felt great. The epidural wore off quickly and I was ready to go home early the next morning. From start to finish, the birth of our daughter took 10 hours and was a beautiful end to 9 months of eating and sleeping whenever I wanted. I loved being pregnant, I loved giving birth and I have loved, even more, raising the wonderful girl who we were blessed to take home that day. The moral of this story: Don't be scared, find a great doctor, be willing to switch up your birth plan and know that your body can do amazing things. Like push a watermelon out of a hole the size quarter. Think about that.

Tomorrow....For Sure.

If you are not married with kids, this may not make any sense to you. Or if you are a sex addict. Or you're a man. When you squeeze an actual human being out of a hole the size of half dollar, you may lose the desire to ever see a penis again. When this happens, don't judge yourself and don't tell your husband that you will never have intercourse with him again. He may hide in his office and take up a part time job as a professional viewer of free porn. I know how you feel, friend. I had two babies and I was sure after losing that much blood and being up 24 hours a day taking care of newborn, I was never going to have the desire to bone again. I remember dreading my six week check up, I didn't want the thumbs up to get frisky and I knew I couldn't lie to my man and tell him that the doctor had forbid me from getting laid for at least another 18 months. Just to be safe. She wouldn't say that and I would come home to a raging hard on. Here's how I got past my fear, lack of a sex drive and starting loving my husband again.
Ask for help and when he helps, let him do it his way. Let him rock the baby to sleep at night while you take a hot bath and shave your giant 70's bush.  It's a win win for everyone. You are physically preparing to be seen naked again and your husband gets to bond with the baby. Take him up on his offer to do anything you usually do. And bitch, please don't mother him about it, he is your husband not another kid to train. He won't do it your way but it will get done. End of story.
Stop hating your body. It does look different and for many of us that will not change, even with diet and exercise. My last child was born almost 7 years ago and I am in better shape than I have ever been, but I will always have extra belly fat and stretch marks. It is a reminder that I gave birth to two beautiful babies. I always think of my daughter when I start to complain about my stomach...I wonder what it would sound like to be in her shoes listening to me complain about what she did to my body? That must be a slap in the face. I get to love my body at many different sizes and be seen naked by the person I married at all different sizes. My husband gets to have great sex at all different weights, why can't I?
My last piece of advice has saved my marriage. Sex was our fight. Always. I wondered what was wrong with me, what was wrong with him and when it would get better. During one of our many counseling sessions, one of the therapists advised me to start my morning off by thinking about sex with my husband. To tone down my OCD tendencies during the day and give myself a rest so that when it was time to get hot and heavy, I wasn't exhausted. She told me to think about all the wonderful things my husband does, about when we first met, what qualities I loved about him and surprisingly enough, it worked. I took care of me when the sun was up and in turn, I was able to take care of business at night.
I realized that my need for perfection was keeping me from having amazing sex. I was spending so much time taking care of a baby and trying to be superhuman that I didn't make time for the other person who made this journey possible. I hated my chubby body and I had ridiculous expectations. That shit had to go out the window and fast. When I started asking for help and let go of every detail, I had energy to laugh and love.
It's completely fucking normal to need some time to heal and don't be afraid to share that with your partner but when it's time, don't let your insecurities keep you from getting a good romp in the sack. You need it as much as your man does. Maybe more, mama.

I'm A Dick...At Work

Not everyone is fun to work with. Like me. You may be shocked to know what a complete dick I am at work. It can be especially painful if you happen to be a newbie and I happen to be having a severe nicotine withdrawal with no break in sight. I have a tendency to be snappy and bitch you out for not knowing every detail. Case in point: I was previously employed by a coffee company that I am sure you have heard of. I wore a green apron and marked cups with secret scrawl that you, as a customer,  were always trying to decipher. It was one of the lowest paying jobs I have ever had and I ended up being there for six years. It is really addicting making drinks for complete fucking assholes. It's like crack for a Type A personality. Once, while working with a new person, I grabbed a cup that this newbie had marked so I could 'happily' make an overpriced coffee concoction. I looked at the boxes and found only the bottom one marked, with approximately fifteen random letters. 

Me: "What is this suppose to be?" (Insert seriously pissed off face here.)

New Guy: "It's a blah blah blah with whip and light ice. Is that not the right marking?"

Me: "Okay. That is not even close to the right marking. So let me know when you learn how to mark cups and I will be happy to make that." (Hand cup back to new, untrained person. Refuse to make drink.)

I really am a dick to work with. Here is how you piss me off on the job:  1) You are new. Training new people to do a job you have been doing for years, is like teaching a monkey how to steam milk and scoop ice. The monkey is you. 2) You are incompetent and should have never been hired in the first place. I smell you coming a mile away and we will never be friends. The end. 3) You are a baby. The only thing I can count on from you, is that you will never show up on time and that you will call in sick every Friday and Saturday night. I hate people who don't take work seriously because that is a guarantee that I will end up doing your job and my job for the same paycheck I was receiving before you were hired. 4) You are a chameleon. I won't go into too much detail about this, but let me just say that there is a weird dynamic when you get hired and start becoming my creepy Single White Female stalker. If you don't get the reference, Google that shit.  

I am the first to admit that I don't work well with others in some situations. And by some, I mean most. Mostly every fucking situation. I hate being asked stupid questions and unlike what your teacher/mommy/BFF told you, there is such a thing as a stupid question. If you don't think this is true, you are the one asking them. Here are a few of my favorites from my coffee slinging days:

"They want a water, what should I do?"

"There is no more whipped cream in the fridge. What do we do now?"

"What should we do about that coffee spill over there?"

"They don't have enough money, should I give it to them anyway?"

"What if I don't have any clean aprons?"

Now I will answer all of these stupid fucking questions for you, so you can see how stupid they really are:

"Give them a fucking cup of water"

"Get off your ass and make some"

"How about....CLEAN IT UP and stop telling everyone about it." 

"If they ordered a drink they pay for a drink. In full."

"Tell your mommy that you need her to wash an apron for you or grow the fuck up and learn how to do a load of laundry."

Call me crazy, but I think when you are hired on at a grown up job where you work with other grown ups, that you shouldn't need your mommy to change your diappy every afternoon. You need to grow a pair and get your ass to work. Learn your job, wear clean clothes, take that metal shit out of your face and get a grip on being an adult.  I know that you are just letting us know how edgy and independent you are but when your mom drops you off at work and gives you lunch money, the gig is up.

Perhaps there are folks out there who get along with everyone and are patient little teachers at their place of employment. I am not that person. I am hard to love, overly critical and have zero tolerance for stupidity. However, once you make the nice list, there is no mountain I won't climb or shift I won't cover for you. The co-worker who needed to be bitch slapped for his cup markings? He is one of my best friends and we still laugh about what an asshole I was. Life is good on the other side of my shit list. 

Having Babies Doesn't Make You An Adult...Obviously

I have an idea for all you immature, lazy assholes who are too unmotivated to go to work? Stop having kids and sucking off all the government programs that my tax dollars pay for but that I will never use. Although I really love going to work so that you can be home with your 5 kids and 4 baby daddies...I think it's about time you learned about a little thing called BIRTH CONTROL. To you men who insist on having babies and numerous baby mamas, your time of being in a band and sleeping on your buddies couch are over. Time to grow up and get a job, pay for diapers and take some responsibility for sticking your dick in the that hot girl from the bar. It's called consequences for those of you who have never had any in your entire life. When you make a decision there are consequences to your actions. I am glad your parents let you parent yourself and you have no idea that you may have to take responsibility for yourself, but I am done supporting you. Grow the fuck up, get a job and start being a big kid. You were big enough to create a human life...now comes the part where you carry your own weight and become an adult. I know, it's a whole new concept.