Aw, honey, you’re gonna have a blast, trust me.
I did it three times, I woudn’t have missed it for the world, seriously–weight gain, labor, hemorrhoids, and all.
The labor room nurse hands you a surprisingly light little bundle, saying, “Okay, honey, here ya go”, and you look into that tiny wet red smooshed-up face and say, “Hi there” to it, and you see this–person–who has been moving around inside you for the last five months, and camping out on top of your bladder for the last three months, and waking you up at night by kicking you for the last month, and you used to sit there, fascinated, and watch the top of your belly move around as the little arms and legs shifted their position–and then suddenly there she IS–there’s truly nothing else like it. I mean, there she is, you know? FINally. A baby. The baby. Your baby. It hits you like a ton of bricks, that all that bumping and shoving and indigestion was because there was a real live human being inside you, with a soul and everything. It’s a little spooky to think about. One egg and one sperm and nine months later there are these teeny little fingers, with teeny little fingernails…How the hell does the DNA freakin’ DO that?
And when she gets to be about two or three and starts not needing you quite so much anymore, then you will start thinking about having another one, and, honestly, you WILL NOT remember what labor was like until you’re actually in the labor and delivery room again, and THEN you’ll go, “Oh, yeah, NOW, I remember”. But there’s some kind of automatic reboot that goes on in your mental software, that erases the sense memory of labor and delivery from your ROM, which is why people have more than one.
Babies are great–labor and delivery is just what you have to go through to get one, that’s all (I mean, outside of adopting or something).
Do the breathing exercises and practice them, all that “deep cleansing breath” and “chuffing” or however they’re teaching it nowadays. And get the SO or the dad or whoever’s going to be in there with you to practice, too, because it’s like anything else, you gotta practice so it gets to be automatic, because when you’re in there concentrating on the truly remarkable thing that’s happening to your belly, you won’t have mental energy to look things up in the book.
It feels like the world’s biggest bowel movement, in case you’re worried about all those movies with the women screaming in agony. Trust me, it ain’t like that. Imagine trying to pass a Godzilla-sized constipation turd. It’s not “fun”, or particularly pleasant, and you gotta make a certain amount of animal noises in the process, but it’s not the “ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod” stuff, 'kay?
And when it’s over, you have a baby.
And hemorrhoids.
But the piles do eventually go away, whereas the baby stays and before you know it is 16 and has her driver’s license.