Look, like I told Mary Anne (aka The Stiletto Mom), I’m too burned out and lazy today to come up with my own topic for a post, so today is as good as any to
copy other people’s ideas participate in a meme .
What is a meme ? Well, I’ll tell you something–it means something a fuck of a lot different to an English academic than it does to an internet nerd. Since you’re not probably interested in what it means to an academic, let’s stick with the internet nerd definition. A meme is defined by Wikipedia to be:
any thought or behavior that can be passed from one person to another by learning or imitation. Examples include thoughts, ideas, theories, gestures, practices, fashions, habits, songs and dances. Memes propagate themselves and can move through the cultural sociosphere in a manner similar to the contagious behavior of a virus.
Sounds appealing, no? A cultural virus? Sign me up!
But as far as I can tell a blogging meme is a thing where somebody comes up with an idea that involves questions and personal answers, and you read it, answer the questions yourself, and then you pass it on to everyone you know. Kind of like a writing prompt crossed with a chain letter. But less threat of violent death or kharmic retribution if you don’t participate, and like eight thousand times geekier (if that is possible).
Naturally, I’m game.
How did you know you were in labor?
Funny you should ask. I was finishing up brunch at the Ritz Carlton in Pasadena (which is now the Langham Huntington Hotel and Spa Pasadena, but this changing of hands is completely unrelated to me or any of my actions, as my lawyers will attest) with my husband, sister-in-law, two of my nieces, and my father-in-law.
The extended Right-Clicks were visiting from the east coast, and we had joked that, since I was so close to delivery anyway, it would be nice if the baby would come on that one weekend they were here. Otherwise, it would be a long time before any of the extended family could see the baby. But it was three weeks early, so this was mostly a joke.
Mostly, because by this time I had pretty much had it with pregnancy. Well actually, I had pretty much had it with pregnancy after about two weeks, but at this point I had pretty much had it AND was pushing 200 pounds. Taking pity on me, Mr. Right-Click brought me some sushi from the buffet, since I had to give up raw fish for the duration of the pregnancy to please the
cover your ass medical malpractice attorneys highly trained medical team in charge of my prenatal care. This had been a source of great contention between me and Mr. Right-Click, along with whether I had to quit drinking Diet Coke and coffee, consuming copious amounts of Equal and other artificial sweeteners, and mainlining crack and heroin.
But these petty disagreements are commonplace among expectant couples.
Anyway, so Mr. Right-Click clearly had figured out that it was freaking time already for this dude to make his grande entrance, and a little raw fish this late in the game wouldn’t be any harm. So I chowed down, and after we finished brunch, I stayed behind with my sister-in-law to hang out for awhile when Mr. Right-Click took the nieces to do something fun and avuncular the details of which I cannot remember now. So my sister-in-law and I stop by the bathroom at the Ritz Carlton, which is all fancy schmancy, and I’m in the stall, and I’m thinking, “WOW, did I drink a lot of water or what?!” Because it’s like that scene in Austin Powers where he wakes up from being frozen for thirty years, and he’s peeing for a full ten minutes. So I’m waiting, and waiting, but it’s not stopping.
So I say, “Uh, Mr. Right-Click-Sister? What is it like, when, uh, your water breaks?”
And she says, “WHAT?”
And I say, “It just seems like I couldn’t have drank that much water.”
And so it went that Mini’s signal to me that he was ready to be born was his first taste of raw yellowtail from the Ritz Carlton brunch–once that magical nectar crossed the placenta, Mini was like, “Look out world, here I come, and have a plate of that shit waiting for me when I get there!”
How long were your labor(s)?
Almost exactly 24 hours, from cloudy water on the polished marble floor of the Ritz-Carlton bathroom, to bloody mess on the laminate flooring of St. John’s in Santa Monica.
No narcotics, but oh yeah thank you sir may I have another on the epidural. After about 18 hours of sluggish, semi-labor, they were going to start the Pitocin, so I called for the anesthsiologist STAT. Best decision I made during labor.
No, thankfully. My labor was only mild on its own, so we had prostoglandins put in overnight to help things along. I think this is what enabled me to avoid a C-Section–that and the luck that the pitocin worked and my body was cooperative.
Dr. Sheck E. Green. Just kidding, but my OB is an Israeli, and I liked him because he was no bullshit. He walked in at about 10am, took a look, and said, “So? You vant to have this baby now?”
And so we did.