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to getting the baby taken out, alien style. I was stripped, and my swollen body was covered with a couple of surgical gowns, then wheeled on a gurney to a hallway where a sheet was draped on a make shift shower curtain rod for a semblance of privacy. They injected me with what I can only say must be what a quadruple shot Americano would feel like if you mainlined it like crack. Then they strapped me to a monitor to register the baby's heart beat. The surgical gowns kept slipping, and my belly would crest like Mt. Whitney between cloud breaks. My loving husband kept trying valiantly to keep his naked wife covered. I, however, had lost all feelings of possessiveness of my body, after nine months of being poked and prodded by a rotating number of doctors and nurses, and really felt like nothing more than an overly fleshy container. I was nothing more than a pod for my first pea.

Fortunately for my first Born's sake, the version was successful, and we were allowed to go home, still only the two of us. I went back to reading and waiting, napping and eating for the next month, barely able to contain my anticipation.

Even though I am one of the most impatient people on earth, it was still heaven. I worked for my company from home, a lone telecommuting pioneer at the time. I think the statute of limitations has been exceeded so now I can safely confess I napped whenever the whim took me, soaked in a tub whenever I felt like a beached whale. I wrote marketing documents propped up in bed and talked with clients on the phone while reclining on the couch. It was a real fantasy. My husband, on the other hand, was working nights. When he wasn't working nights, he was working days. He was working a lot and not fond of the fact that his wife had scored this unbelievable life of luxury. His only request was that I not go into labor on a Friday night.

Well I can't even get that right. After the poor man had worked Thursday day, Thursday night, and then Friday day, he came home at 5:30pm, only to find me smiling meekly and admitting I was having contractions somewhat regularly. He sighed and asked what we should do. I responded that I should probably move around to see if the contractions would come a little more consistently. That is when he suggested going to Nordstrom to pick up a suit he was having altered. Now, I love Nordstrom, as I have said before. I have since learned, however, that I do not love going to Nordstrom with all the perfectly coiffed, svelte bodied petite sales

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