Spreading Da’ Love

~ Laura

Anne Lamott is now in the blogosphere.

According to Jay, three of the Wiggles are married w/kids. He asks you to guess which one is still on the “gay until proven hetero list” and put in your vote for the most doable of the four. I’m with Captain Feathersword.

Michael Berube has recovered from appendicitis and is blogging about Gitmo. “To disassemble—that means to take apart,” the President added. heh.

Jo(e) says that heels shouldn’t hobble women and make them dependent on the other sex wearing more sensible footgear.

Joe(e) also has contributed to the birthmeme circulating about the blogosphere. My story is pretty gruesome. Not sure anyone wants to hear those details. It would start off something like After 15 hours of pain and vomit, they opened me up like a can of Chef BoyRDee, tossing the intestines to one side and pulling out one pissed off meatball. That’s when we heard the doctor say “ooops.”

Published by Laura

5 thoughts on “Spreading Da’ Love”

  1. my birth stories sound like yours. couldn’t get into writing extensive detail on the blog.
    my doctor’s comparison was opening me like a watermelon, not ChefBoyRDee.

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  4. I hear ya’ on the gruesome birth story. The highlight of my experience was the “hour of power” when my epidural stopped working COMPLETELY while I was 10 cm dilated and pushing. It took them more than 60 minutes to figure out that I wasn’t getting any pain relief (no matter how much they turned up the med) and the doc needed to insert a whole new catheter. During that time, I have no linear memory of what happened (I almost blacked out from the pain)…my husband told me most of it later. When I was finally back in the conscious world, the staff told me that my baby was turned (I’d been in back labor the whole time) and that’s why she wasn’t coming when I was pushing. After they flipper her over (even with the epidural, WOW was that uncomfortable), my DD was born in 45 minutes of pushing.
    Definitely not a happy, empowering story with lilacs and pancakes and singing and rocking chairs like Jo(e)…I always feel bad when pregnant women ask me about my delivery. I don’t want to scare the shit out of them, so I try to gloss over the awful parts as much as I can.

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