"You Give Birth In It, You Bought It"

I'm laying in bed at the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. Having spent the night romping around with my girlfriend, S., and her brother-in-law, J., and showing a roulette table or two who's boss. I managed to stay up until midnight so that I could wish my other half a happy birthday in person. Sometimes, a facebooking just won't do (says my husband. I told you he was a crazyperson).
I tip-toed into the poker room to kiss him goodnight, embarrassed him in front of 8 kindred-spirits-all-wearing-the-same-cap-and-sunglasses, then went up to the room. Exhausted, and very pregnant, 37 weeks to be exact, I collapse in bed (after a half-assed brushing of teeth). While watching all three pre-requisite pre-slumber seconds of Law & Order, I felt something strange. Sort of... a...pop. *pop*! I laughed to myself. Because, really. This can't be what I think it is. Can it? And the next thing you know I'm in the shower. I've got seven(!) frantic people in our hotel room, including hotel security, a wheelchair and driver, an ambulance on the way, and nothing but a washcloth to cover my shame upon emerging from the bathroom into the aforementioned chaos. Someone mentioned something about a taking a helicopter to the Atlantic City hospital...

Then I blink and it's 2am. After being escorted out via wheelchair (not helicopter, drat) we're racing down I-95 in S's Honda CR-V, trying to get to the hospital before junior emerges. This is no time for a 4cyllinder. I had already called my doctor, clearly waking him, to tell him my water broke. I could practically hear the bedhead on the line as he mustered all of the strength he could to tell me to take my time getting to the hospital. "No problem, doc", I said, "we're in Atlantic city". He jerked awake, "you're where"!?

From there it's not long until the "I wonder what contractions feel like" question gets an abrupt and surprisingly rattling answer. Let's just put it this way, you aren't likely to find yourself saying "gee, I wonder if that was a contraction". But you may want to reconsider the consumption of asparagus if you're late in a pregnancy and a friend drove. Just saying.

On that note, S. is driving, bobbing through traffic really, while reiterating how much I'm going to love the trunk space of her Honda. She's referring to her "you give birth in it, you bought it" philosophy -- which we had all ha-ha-ha joked about repeatedly over the last ten days. Now that I'm in the backseat, having repeatedly decorated with aspara-water and potentially a newborn on the pristine leather, I'm pretty sure she's not kidding.

So, now that I'm a mom does that mean this mess you see before you is going to become a mommyblog? Full of poop reports and all the things that new mommies deal with like tales of poop color and poop consistency changes? Poop stainlifters and poopcloths? I know what you're thinking, I've already mentioned poop and other assorted bodily functions more in this post than in the last 5 years (has it been 5 years...)!? No, in fact I suspect that our new addition will help bring layers upon new layers of new life to the blog. It will be no more of a mommyblog than it ever has been a cupcakeblog or an officeblog.

Or, you know, what could end up happening is that I could just stop writing altogether because I'm buried in mounds of babypoop. Probably should have taken that helicopter ride when I had the chance.