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TBE: Wounded Animal

You know how wounded animals often go off to suffer alone? That’s basically where I’m at. I’m singing and not talking to anybody and composing blogs in my head to get through the pain.

CH is the best husband ever b/c he’s not engaging me just rubbing my back, handling all interactions with Mariah the nurse, rubbing my back occasionally and making sure that my monitor cables get reconnected correctly when I come back from energy-sapping trips to the bathroom. Every so once in awhile it sinks in particularly deep that this man truly gets me, and I love him even more for that even if this situation is technically 50% his fault.

I’m totally over labor. If I could go back in time and schedule an elective C-section like I hear most European women do, I would totally do that. I have never felt more selfish than this in my life and all my what’s-best-for-Betty thoughts have flown out the window. And I’d rather be sore and on bed rest for a week than in labor pain for hours and hours b/c Americans are scared of science.

That’s probably the pain talking.

Writing really helps. At this point I feel like I’m gathering up energy to put out another blog as opposed to resting to push. So thank you for reading.

I’m already very interested to see how I handle my next pregnancy now that my eyes have been opened.

Sorry that this blog has no structure. Hopefully by the next time I talk to you I will have had an epidural. Epidurals are a gift from God. I now worship at their altar.

Why do people always say “You’re alone when you’re born”? That’s a lie and I’m fairly sure a man came up with that nonsense. None of you were alone. Your mother was there.

Your mother was there.