Eleven years ago I became a mother around this time of year. Jake was actually due on December 12, but he's never liked transitions-even in utero, so he was late.
I was shopping in Sears only mere days before Christmas , waddling around with a giant belly when the sales clerk asked,
"When are you due?" The store was packed with Christmas shoppers all anxious to get out of there as fast as possible, most of them shooting me curious looks. I glanced at my watch.
The girl turned white and looked at my belly as if Kevin would fall out right then and there on the floor. The shoppers in front of me parted like the Red Sea, looking at me with growing anxiety.
"Go put your feet up,"
"Why are you here?"
"Oh my GOD. Go home!"
As Christmas drew closer, I began to worry that Jake would never come out, and that I would be stuck looking like a beached whale, forever doomed to leg cramps and having to pee every 5 seconds. So during a check up with my doc, I looked her in the eye and said, "I don't want to be in the hospital over Christmas, do you?"
She induced me the next day.
I was the Mom who skipped the chapter on birth when I read "What to Expect When You're Expecting". I did read some of it only days before I was induced, mostly because I knew that giving birth was inevitable and there was no going back. It just freaked me out too much earlier in the preganancy. Birth plan? Ummm....ya. I didn't have one. Drugs? The doc said I could have an epidural if I wanted one, but the nursing staff wanted us to go au natural. I'm not sure if it was the Hubs telling them that he would lose body parts vital to his manhood should they not listen to me, or when I became like the girl in the Exorcist. You know the part where her head spins? A nurse tried to take away the laughing gas stuff and I grabbed her by the collar and growled,
"EPIDURAL. NOW." They relented.
When Jake finally entered the world with a bang and the doctor almost dropped him, Handy Dad cried, "It's a BOY!"
Having been a little drugged, completely exhausted, and totally elated, I took one look at my newborn's weird shaped head (from being squished and elongated a little, you see) and loudly pronounced,
"No! It's a cone head!"
He did seriously look like a baby from the movie Coneheads, let me tell you. The room fell silent. No tears and babbling of gentle maternal words, here. I was making fun of my own offspring before I even held him up to a breast.
Jake was blinking and looked at me as if to say, "You don't look so hot either Mom, and why the hell did you wake me up?"
Little did I know, the nurses were then double checking the dosage of the drugs I'd been given after all.