Last night's episode of the television series, Brothers and Sisters, made me want to laugh and cry at the same time, as I recalled aspects of the birth of Raphaela.
This particular show featured the birth of Kitty and the Senator's adopted son, and at one point, the birth mother (a successful doctor) started frantically screaming, "I want my epidural. Where is my epidural?" I felt like the script writer had attended my birth, with the anesthesiologist arriving too late to provide relief through drugs; and the rest of the birth progressing naturally ie painfully, and everyone around the mother trying to comfort and encourage until the baby got pushed out.
Amazingly, when I tell my birth story, it becomes almost an academic exercise, because nature has graciously provided the female body with the almost instantaneous ability to forget how awful it is to push a six and a half pound baby out of such a small opening. If we women remembered all the less enjoyable aspects of pregnancy and labour, we would not want to do it more than once.
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