Playful, elegant, and not above the judicious use of the word “shit."

Due Date

We just got back from the doctor and I’m dilated to a three, 80% effaced, and experiencing mild contractions. Apparently, the sight of Janet Jackson’s sunshine nipple at the end of the Super Bowl halftime show jump started my cervix, and the doctor thinks I should be “started” today. This means they are going to pump oodles of hormones into my body to help contractions along, and then comes all the GIGANTIC equipment.

The only reason I’m agreeing to this is beacuse my doctor is going to be out of town for the rest of the week and there is a good possibility that I might go into labor when he isn’t here. And that would mean that some other doctor who has never seen me before would deliver my baby, some other doctor who might just like to give episiotomies for the hell of it, and I’m not ready to relinquish my intact vagina to a stranger.

So we’re off to the hospital RIGHT NOW. And this means that we’re going to have a baby in, like, hours or something.

HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT.

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