Little did I know that the answer to that last question would inevitably be my breakfast.
I sat staring at the cup of Caster oil as my stomach turned.
“Are you supposed to take this much?” I questioned. It was easily a half a cup that my sister had poured for me while I was upstairs smashing the ants that were crawling up my legs. “Maybe you should be a bartender.” I remarked. Reluctantly, I raised the glass to my mouth and started chugging.
No sooner did I get one gulp down than that one gulp, plus my breakfast – which was no longer lucky or magically delicious – came right back up. And after reading the label I was glad it did! Note to self, I thought, Caster Oil is a laxative and your sister just tried to get you to drink two times the recommended dose. Due to the fact that she had already experienced childbirth and I therefore knew for certain that she was clear about which orifice the baby was supposed to be sliding out of, it was determined that she was either A: drunk or B: evil. Either way she could no longer be considered an ally.
“What the hell was that? Are you trying to kill me?” I asked, annoyed.
“What are you talking about?” she answered. She had obviously never learned that it’s grammatically incorrect to answer a question with another question.
“Oh, never mind!” I was in no mood for arguing. I had gas and these contractions were getting worse. It was clear to us all that the light at the end of the birthing tunnel was becoming brighter.
Even though this was in fact a new experience for me, I had watched enough episodes of A Baby Story on TLC to know that there were way more exciting ways to spend a day of contractions than sitting with my legs in stirrups in a hospital bed waiting for push time. I knew that this was just the beginning and that it could quite possibly be the last time I’d see daylight for a while. I decided to spend my last few moments of freedom doing more entertaining things like throwing Rolaids up in the air and seeing how many times in a row I could catch them in my mouth.
Between contractions I tried to think about what I should be packing in my overnight bag. A cute outfit for baby to come home in, my favorite pillow, a little make up and perhaps a breath mint just in case the good doctor changed his mind about his wife and 3 kids…I was already bored of this. I decided I’d leave the responsibility of packing to someone with less back pain and I settled instead for just a toothbrush. I wanted to get a head start on the teeth brushing situation. From what I had been hearing I would no longer be having the time to do this twice a day like 4 out of 5 dentist recommended; the fifth being the one with kids. I wasn’t sure how much of that nonsense I actually believed. At this point I still thought it was just the best excuse in the world for lacking basic oral hygiene.
We decided to grab a quick bite to eat since I had flushed my breakfast down the toilet with the Caster oil. From there we’d stop by my husband’s boyfriend’s BBQ and when that got boring we’d head to the hospital. Lunch was uneventful but I was excited for the BBQ. Her boyfriend was a wannabe firefighter and I was sure he would have a lot of drunken single friends who still had all their teeth wandering around his BBQ with their shirts off – AKA: husband material. Momma’s mojo was comin’ back! There’s no time like the present to get yourself back out there, I thought, as I threw another Rolaid in the air, missed it with my mouth and accidentally let it bounce off my forehead and into my sisters Chai latte.
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