Celebrate!

Twenty-seven years ago, I gave birth to a human being. That's what I tell my son all the time. I went in blindly at all of twenty-two-years-old. I naively believed that natural childbirth meant you have the baby the natural way - meaning like a human being. Duh! Don't tell me. I know how ridiculously ridiculous that was. I should've asked someone.

Well, when the time came at precisely ten p.m., right after a movie starring Pam Dawber started on t.v., my water broke. I didn't know that at the time. I mean, I felt something - obviously - but I didn't know that's what it was. I thought my bladder had given out. Again, I wasn't the brightest bulb in the box.

I quickly jumped into gear to clean up the mess and change clothes. After that, I marched my ignorant behind to the kitchen to grab the food I'd been craving for hours - peanut butter, chocolate chips, and tea.

For the record, anyone who knows me knows tea has never been my beverage of choice. (No offense tea drinkers. The coffee gods found me first.)

I ate that gastric disaster in a flash, then the contractions hit me. Hard!

At the time, my husband was deployed overseas. I'd just moved into a new house. My little sister (She was about 13 at the time.) was visiting over her holiday break from Spain. Let's just say, no one really thought things through in this situation.

Of course, neither of us had any idea what to do. All I knew is that those beginning labor pains were no joke. They hurt!

Somehow - I don't remember how exactly - one of us called a friend. She showed up, calm as a cucumber and a little disturbed by the peanut butter/chocolate concoction. She drove me to the hospital. My labor pains went through the roof.

I have a distinct memory of begging her to take me to McDonald's, not the hospital. Don't ask me why because I have no idea what was wrong with me. (Do I need to mention how dumb I was in those days?)

By the time we arrived at the hospital, I'd realized my little sister wasn't with us.

WE FORGOT MY SISTER!

Let me just say panic and labor pains make for a deadly combination. I refused to let anyone touch me until someone went to get my sister and assured me she was fine.

Now, I don't recall many of the other events in order. I was a little preoccupied, but I do remember that I had a male nurse and I may or may not have been the nicest patient he's ever had.

I screamed bloody murder. I said things I'd never said before that day. I went berserk.

That poor nurse tolerated me like a champ - I think. I know a few minutes before it was time to push, he held me under a warm shower and told me I was going to have the baby, I wasn't going to get McDonald's until I "mommed up", and no, he would not let me change my mind.

To that patient and stern man, I'm sorry for anything I said or did that night. The good news is the kid I swore was gas and not a baby is alive and well. I didn't screw him up too badly. You, sir, are an angel, but a word of advice, the next time I demand McDonald's, get it for me.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy/Man!