Since having a baby I’ve been privy to some of the most horrendous birth stories there are. We mothers do that to one another, we terrorize each other with stories of endless labour, epidurals gone wrong, episiotomies that wouldn’t heal, and doctors with no bedside manner.
We try to out do our friends with tales of popped blood vessels in our eyes, loss of bowel control, pulling arms off in the delivery room, and squeezing out 20lb babies.
Women see a pregnant woman and the gloves come off.
So when it was my turn I was prepared for the worst.
I was ready for my head to swell with each contraction, for the pits of hell to open up and the devil himself to appear and offer me a pain-free delivery in exchange for my soul.
None of this happened.
*I’d like to give a shout out to the drugs!
The first time I gave birth (and the only time so far) I relished in the vacation that was the hospital stay!
My delivery was uneventful, I mean, there was a baby and she was/is perfect in every way. We created a miracle so that was pretty awesome! But other than the miracle part – uneventful.
I laid in a bed, a bed that was all mine, and cuddled with my new baby. She only asked that I feed her, cuddle her, and stare at her.
Nurses came in and changed her, bathed her, and cooed at her. They let me sleep and woke me up when it was time to feed her each time.
My meals were brought to me, the TV was set on the station I wanted, and I had someone to help me go to the bathroom and shower me.
It was heaven.
Heaven at the hospital.
I miss it and I think about it, probably more often than I should.
If only they sold time shares.