I’ve always wanted to be able to say the phrase: “Honey, I think it’s time” and then rush around off to the hospital in a blind panic lest my baby be born in my car or something. Sadly (or happily, however you look at it), I’ve never been able to go into labor on my own and have missed that step entirely. Since I was induced with both of my kids, the most I got to say was “hey, can you pack the camera charger?”
That phrase lacks….something.
But I digress.
Yesterday, at about 12:45 I began having some pretty bad contractions that didn’t abate when I rested, changed positions, or any of the other things you might want to do to see if This Was It. Turns out, at about 6 PM, I learned that this was NOT, in fact, it. Depressing, but true, Amelia stays put for now.
During those 5 hours of labor (it was just like labor, y’all) Daver was rubbing my back for me in the kitchen while our youngest ran up to him holding a coveted ball.
And just like our own personal America’s Funniest Home Videos, Alex winds up the small basketball and whips it as hard as he can at his poor father’s ball sac. BLAMO, he shoots, he scores.
Dave doubled over in pain, and being the good wife that I am, I immediately launched into a fit of giggles that doubled me over as best as it could, given the back labor I was in.
“Well, that takes care of the vasectomy, Daver. Looks like he just told you what he thought of having siblings.” I sputtered out like the juvenile wife that I happen to be. “Lookit it this way: he saved you the process of going to a urologist.”
And the Daver just glared and glared. Can’t say I blame him.
But here, I put some pictures up! I need to take some more and I will and then I’ll post them and cop out of a real post by putting pictures up and that will be awesome because I’m not so smart anymore which is weird because maybe I never was.
Hells to the NO, I don’t want a sibling, Mommy, you ignorant slut.