You haven’t seen me for a while. Sorry about that. I’ve had every good intention of bringing updates, but got a little sidetracked with moving and a new job and the start of the school year. Oh yeah, and a baby.
I promised the birth story, and I haven’t delivered. That’s mostly because my perspective on the birth would be kind of pointless. I wasn’t involved. My participation level mostly consisted of saying things like “Breathe” and “Do you want more ice chips?” I wouldn’t say I was useless, but—okay, I was useless. So I was going to have Karli help. Only she’s been busy, too, with the moving and the baby and she apparently has an “overgrown, hairy manchild” to take care of that I apparently haven’t met. Which means we weren’t getting too far on this birth story thing.
Then I realized—there was someone else involved in this whole thing, too. And, as of Tuesday, he turned two months old. Time to start pulling your weight, kid. Without further ado, here’s the birth story, as told by Squatch.
It all started with that damn Mexican food.
We allI decided to go get some enchiladas for dinner, served just the way I like them: Placenta*-style. I’m getting a little mouth-watery just thinking about it now. It’s hard to find good cooking these days.
*Miss you, Homie. R.I.P.
Anyway, it wasn’t long after I got done that things started getting really tight. It wasn’t like the normal times, where the part behind my leg would stiffen up, then the part under my elbow. It was the whole thing, squeezing me. I could tell Mommy was feeling it, too, because she popped about 73 of those candies that made her stomach feel tingly on my butt, only those didn’t help. She was telling Daddy that her stomach didn’t feel so good, and we tried to sleep. It was not a good night.
The next morning, Mommy decided to stay home from work, which I couldn’t have agreed with more. The Mexican food was still making Mommy’s belly squeeze me, and it was starting to make a pattern. I probably could’ve set my watch by it. If I had a watch. And knew what a watch was.
Sometime around when we usually ate some crackers, but not quite when we would go to lunch, Mommy decided to get out of bed and walk for some reason. She went to the kitchen to talk to Daddy. As we were walking, I could tell something wasn’t quite right. Something was happening.
“I think—*” Mommy said, and just then it got really cold. I dropped a little bit. I heard Mommy say, “I think my water broke,” and it was all I could do not to scream for a repairman to fix it. Because whatever that meant, it wasn’t turning out well for me.
*Daddy’s note: She was about to tell me, “I think I might tell [my boss] that I’ll try to be in for work this afternoon.” Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up. It’s all in the timing.
Even though I was flailing, upside-down, in a growing pool of coldness, Mommy decided to take a shower. And shave her legs. And eat something, but I was too scared to realize what it was. After about an hour, we got in the car.
I don’t know what it is about that thing, but it always makes me fall asleep. Every damn time, without fail.
But here we were, my life in certain jeopardy, Mommy’s belly squeezing the poo out of me, and I drift off to sleep. If only I knew what was ahead, maybe I could’ve done something to save myself.
Till next time, Squatch fans!