Because the screaming! The blood!

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Ah yes ……childbirth is a beautiful thing.

The Kicker showed up last weekend, three weeks early, and my Elderly Uterus* actually managed another natural home birth. Which she is reasonably smug about.**

She handled three hours of contractions like a pro, but I guess the thing about being elderly is you get forgetful.  Because then it was time to push, and she was all like: “Welp, that’s the dilating all done, someone make me a martini! Oh WTF? Oh shit that’s right, I have to PUSH after I dilate ….jeez”.  And she totally DID push, because it’s not like there’s a real option at that point ….. but she bitched and moaned about it  and was kind of the uterine equivalent of flabby grandma biceps.  But the old girl got it done, and the Kicker popped out 20 minutes later.

Whereupon she immediately got forgetful again, and started thinking “Oh I don’t know, I think I could do that again.  I mean, not RIGHT away, I’ll go have a nice lie down and a cup of coffee first…..”***

Damn uterus doesn’t know what’s good for her.

But the important thing is The Kicker is here, and of course is the most beautiful little creature EVER (or at least since all my other babies…..in case they’re reading this).  Oh, to the untrained eye she might LOOK like your random newborn blob, but The Canadian and I (with our 2,438 children ****) assure you otherwise.  Our little Kicker is a magical mesmerizing concoction of rainbows and cupcakes and flowers*****, and every newborn squeak and snort and squirm has us cooing over her in ecstasy.

Yes.  We’re those kind of parents.

But really, she is utterly delicious.  I have already twice caught The Canadian with her whole tiny hand in his mouth.

Leonard is drinking champagne for this one.

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*no really, that’s the word They use (and by They I mean asshole doctors, not my super cool homebirth midwife) to describe a pregnancy past age 35.  Elderly.  35.  Not even 40…… 35.  Just in case still being able to have a baby is making you feel too young and sexy. Also “geriatric” (I kid you not), and only slightly better, “advanced maternal age”

**if you can’t deal with the comical personification of my uterus, you should probably stop reading. This is not the blog for you. Go play on Pinterest or post a picture of your dinner on Facebook.

*** My uterus has a mind of her own. Obviously. 

****Figuratively speaking.  I hate when people use the word “literally” incorrectly. Literally we only have 49 children*

*****But not unicorns.  Because we know what they’re REALLY like.

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*in dog years.

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