What the hell was I thinking?

Okay, joke's over, I want out. I'm not really going to have a baby within the next month am I?

I mean, I'm cool with having a baby, I'm just not cool with HAVING a baby. There's got to be some other way. We live in a civilized society here, people. We have microwaves and iTunes, don't tell me we can't find a better way to bring a baby into this world than by torturing its mother. What ever happened to that whole stork theory? That was pretty good--you fall in love, make a decision to commit to raising a child, and then a large, drunken bird drops off a little bundle of joy all clean and wrapped in the gender-appropriately coloured blanket. That's perfect. I'm in.

Labour and delivery is fine as a distant concept. Something you realize happens, but not something you have to make happen. I know that my mom went through it four times, and that at this very moment in time loads of people are doing it. Smart people. Dumb people. Rich people. Poor people. Middle-aged career gals and confused teenagers. I get it, everyone that has a child had to get that child out of them--but it's only now that I'm really starting to get what that means. I'm going to have to do this. And soon. I can't put it off for three years like my wisdom-teeth extractions. I can't ignore it and hope it goes away like that time I had those weird chest pains. I can't convince someone else to do it for me like when I paid my sister to pretend to be me and deal with the Employment Insurance people. I have to do it. I have to do it. Oh my God, I have to do it.

We've been getting all sorts of goodies from the midwives to help prepare us. Books and pamphlets and videos. I've seen more hippies giving birth in portable bathtubs than any non-birth attendant should ever want or need to see. Some of the women look and sound like they are being torn apart cell by cell, while others look as though they are suffering from little more than an annoying ingrown toenail.

Despite my fears, however, after all of my research I have begun to think there is a glimmer of a possibility that I may be able to do this drug-free (although a bottle of wine would be nice). Maybe it's all this talk about "experiencing the birth" and "allowing my body to do what it is meant to do" or maybe it's all the experts talking about the unnecessary medicalization of the birthing process and the potential risks of epidurals...but it doesn't seem as impossible that I could skip the giant spine needle as I had originally thought. Of course, that's easy to say now, when all I'm coping with is some sleepless nights, strong kicks, and lower back pain. My tune may change when this little bugger starts slamming his giant head into my pelvis.

Who knows? Maybe I can channel my inner masochist and actually get some enjoyment out of the whole process. Or, at the very least, channel my inner sadist and get some enjoyment out of beating on my husband.