Not only are we celebrating
Independence Day next week,
but also a little known event
named National Unassisted
Homebirth Week.
Now, I've heard a lot of
crazy things in my life,
but popping out a munchkin
from my Lazy-Boy
while watching Oprah
beats it all.
I can't imagine...
(Video daydream starts now)...
"Honey- I think it's time!" I pant
erratically.
"Awh..hold on a minute, will ya?
Bases are loaded and the game is tied,"
my husband says, not even looking my direction,
"Can you suck it in a minute?"
I fetch him a beer and scrub
the stubborn food stains
from my lasagna pan
while I stand in the kitchen
with contraction 2 minutes apart.
Crap! I forgot to make the bed, too.
Better get the old sheets out of storage,
find those new towels I
bought three months ago,
and disinfect the craft scissors.
I find the ladder and climb into the attic-
the heat pulsating on my brow.
Find the sheets.
I dig into the bath cabinet for
alcohol.
Fluff the freshly laundered towels.
Feed the dog.
Go out and get the mail.
My water breaks.
"Honey! It's time!" I shout,
wobbling to the bed in excruciating pain.
Then I realize I need something for the pain
and ask him to fetch the contents of the
medicine cabinet if he can tear himself away from
the television.
"Tums? he asks, carrying an armful
of bottles and tubes.
"No!" I scream, my eyes rolling back in my head.
"Neosporin? Nyquil? ... Massengill? Anbesol?
He tosses each rejected suggestion
over his shoulder,
"Here's some Hall's cough drops-
ooooh- cherry- my favorite!
And here's those eye drops
we were looking for the other day!
Don't that beat all?"
I scream louder as the head crowns-
I push-
and my husband catches the newborn
in a laundry basket full of clean clothes.
Healthy. Happy. Homebirth.
"Okay- now-can I go back to the game?
It was three down and JoJo's pitching?
I scream again.
And again.
