I know, most of the time when labour comes up it can be a bit horror-story-ish and seem like its intended to scare people away from wanting to have children, EVER. Goodness knows a few of my pregnancy posts were maybe up there just a little. I’m not gonna lie and pretend like labour is rainbows and sparkly ponies. Heck no. But here’s a little Labour Lite for y’all. Things start off a little more relaxed when you’re being induced. Especially when you haven’t actually been induced yet. Here Chris is trying out my bed. Doesn’t the chair beside the bed look just delicious? We were in the not-shiny area of the hospital this time around. I didn’t care. Because they were getting this baby out of me. Don’t judge me, she was 9lb 5oz, she had dropped and engaged and then changed her mind and went back up and kept growing and she would have kept growing. I grow some good placenta, rumour has it.My hump my hump my hump, my lovely lady lump. Yup, just one singular lump at this point. No that’s not a coffee, what kind of a monster drinks a french vanilla in the delivery room? Did I say French Vanilla? I meant milk. Skim milk. Okay, I am not going to lie on the internet, because my mom might find it and my mom does not tolerate lying. French Vanilla. I was being induced in the middle of the night, sir. Please enjoy that my tongue looks like the whale from Pinocchio, my husband is wearing a glove six sizes too small and giving me bunny ears, and that he appears to be business in the front and party in the back. It’s not a mullet, it’s just really fierce neck hair that’s taking over the back of his head. Maybe that’s not better, but the poor man can’t help it. There’s an excuse for the moustache, too. MOVEMBER. I know when you add in that he has a lot of camo and plaid and hunts you’re probably wondering how many cars are on our lawn but cross my heart, not a one. And the answer is no, he cannot keep his shirt down. Apparently. Here he is either playing chess or watching Aladdin. It was Disney movies or a chick flick, thats my laptop, not his. Chris is really shy, if you had missed that earlier this month. I do believe this is when I was getting my seventh poke, aka The Successful IV Insertion. I know I said six before but I was counting my trackmarks and it was seven, I forgot about the one that didn’t bleed enough to need a bandaid. Breathing through a contraction. Doesn’t that look peaceful? Don’t believe a word of it, I totally went for the epidural later on. See? There’s Chris and his ‘Take A Picture Of Me I’m A Doctor’ shot that occurs when I get epidurals. All two times it happened. It’s a tradition. Clearly we are starting to have slightly differing opinions on how fun this is. PS, I got a haircut two months ago and totally forgot to mention it. No long hair clogging up the drain when it thins out postpartum. It normally looks better than this. When I’m not, you know, in labour. Doctor Chris checking his charts.
Right after this is the part where the stork flew in from the cabbage patch and dropped off the baby. And glitter.
So, that is my labour, as documented by Chris. Except the ones of him where you can see both of his arms, obviously. Plus he got bored of taking pictures after this and then distracted when I went from ladeedah(ish) to pushing out a baby over a five minute period.