Monday

A not-so-grand finale

While I've resigned myself to thinking that my daughter must have signed another 9-month lease on my uterus, I can't help but contemplate my upcoming labor (which could be any day now. Fingers crossed.)

When you really think about it, labor is not something I should be excited about. "Wait- you mean I get to spend an undetermined amount of time writhing in pain while an assortment of strangers take turns exposing my vagina and it culminates with the possibility of torn flesh and pooping myself? What are we waiting for?!?!"

But the reaction I will have to the onset of labor is likely to be the same as if I was a chubby 5-year-old in a Cinderella costume boarding the plane to DisneyWorld. It is going to be a magical experience simply because it marks the end to pregnancy.

When my water breaks, you might mistake that I just discovered the winning Powerball ticket in my pocket. I want to jog into the maternity ward while my friends form a human tunnel and I throw high fives as I make my way to the LDR room.That is how excited I am to go into labor.

This won't exactly be my first time in the delivery room. I was lucky enough to witness the birth of my nephew, which you think would have caused me to sew my knees shut in an effort to avoid childbirth. My fondest memories of that day include a nurse telling me that I would be wanting a baby next and my grandmother saying "She needs to get a boyfriend first." I was 18 at the time.

Well take that, Memaw- now I have my own happy accident to love and cherish. Terribly appropriate, I know.

Other than the subtle digs at my freshman dating drought, I also got the pleasure of viewing a real-live newborn baby. And I will be the first to tell you that the beautiful, gorgeous baby boy who came out of my sister was disgusting.

Newborns look like aliens. A mixture of blood and slime coated his skin that somehow managed to be white and purple at the same time. I was not aware that most babies are born with a cone head that corrects itself, so I believed my father's cruel joke that James would need a special helmet to correct the defect. His eyes were swollen and goopy, and his belly button clamp scared me.

Obviously, no child is born perfectly pink and clean and smelling like a baby. That part comes a bit later. But for some reason we are convinced that this awkward creature is adorable. I believe this to be a direct result of the relief that the ordeal is over. You could hand me a shaved rat covered in Vaseline and I would declare it to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, if it signified the end to pregnancy and labor.

So bring on the pain and all the ugly that comes with it. After 40 weeks of this business, I'm ready to call it all beautiful.

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