Ok, I am a freak.
I went to a barbeque at a friend of a friend’s house during which we were the token lesbians with kids, but not at all the token lesbians. I’ve been working so diligently at meeting gay parents that I’m used to being one of a crowd of gay parents. So this was kind of fun. It was made more fun by the fact that several of the shiny happy getting-lots-of-sleep-even-though-they-can-still-party with dirt from the Michigan music festival still on their Vans young dykes were thinking about getting themselves knocked up! And they wanted to hear my birth story. And I could actually see their faces. (No offense to my faceless readers, but I often picture you guys like a darkened audience. I can see your profiles and the light reflecting from your glasses and that’s all.) I was in hog heaven, I have to say.
But I think I lied. I mean. I didn’t lie. I said parabolic stuff without explaining it well enough to sound true. For example, I told two women that I thought labor was fun. Was it? It was definitely funny. I laughed between contractions and made jokes. It was a rush, too. Was it fun like white water rafting through Costa Rica? Only if you get tossed onto some rocks in the general uterus area for about two hours straight. Was it fun like downhill skiing? Again, you’d need to be a bad skier who falls down a lot in a way that makes you explode with pain. It was kind of fun like karate. In karate, you get hurt often, but part of the trick is to put yourself above the pain and keep fighting. And it did feel like I was sparring with the pain. I also had that same connection with the universe I used to get with karate…like I was a new part of something very old and rooted in the earth. When I was giving birth I was so high from the fact that I was finally having my baby and finally having the birth I’d wanted and sort of amazed at how it was all playing out, the pain was just one part of the experience. Labor was fun. It hurt more than anything I’d experienced before, but it was fun.
I’m weird, I know.