When Brandon was born....

A lot of things occurred during my pregnancy with my second on the way. Except this time I knew the ropes and understood the aches and pains and nausea, taking extra care not to wear myself down in the boardroom. After all, there is mental strength needed in child formation, growth, cycles, or whatever the hell they call the gradual days leading up to the birthing of said child. I was treated like glass.

So here's what happened the year Brandon was born:

A Peruvian Boeing 737 crashes in the Andes, killing 123 people.

The Dunblane Massacre: in Dunblane, Scotland, 16 children and 1 adult teacher are shot dead by a spree killer who then commits suicide.

France Télécom introduces its Wanadoo Internet service.

Cisco Systems acquires StrataCom for $4B

Gay rights: The Supreme Court of the United States rules in Romer v. Evans against a law that would have prevented any city, town or county in the state of Colorado from taking any legislative, executive, or judicial action to protect the rights of homosexual.

Ted Kaczynski, suspected of being the Una bomber, is indicted on ten criminals counts.

Off the coast of Long Island, New York, a Paris-bound Boeing 747 carrying TWA flight 800 explodes, killing all 230 on board.

Centennial Olympic Park bombing: In Atlanta, Georgia, a pipe bomb explodes at Centennial Olympic Park during the 1996 Summer Olympics, killing one and injuring 111

NASA announces that the ALH 84001 meteorite, thought to originate from Mars, contains evidence of primitive life-forms.

Britain's Charles, Prince of Wales, and Diana, Princess of Wales, are divorced.

Super Mario 64, a revolutionary plat former game for the Nintendo 64, is released in the United States.

Okay, so there was a bunch of other stuff, too, but clearly I wasn't interested. I mean, come on, you're a 35 year old mom having a baby to entertain the first baby you had....do I give a shit about the health of our nation's relations to Uganda. I gave a shit about CNN and the news reports on TV whilst I was stuck in bed, big and friggin' fat and bulbous and pissed off. Sorry, Di, your life must have sucked in that castle and all. Try living in Surrey....in a bungalow....with one toilet.

Back to my story of when Brandon was born.

I gots the pains...you know...you moms out there know what I mean when I say I gots the pains...

it doesn't have to be in the front, could also be in the back...way LOWER BACK, you know, the chicken wish bone part of the back. MY GOD, SAVE ME, SAVE ME FROM THIS FUCKING PAIN and make a wish already.

So there we are, driving down King George Highway, one of the most highly patrolled roads in British Columbia for speeding and a bunch of other sins, yet this time hubby decides it's time to be cautious and not draw attention to ourselves.

Two miles later I'm telling him.....NO!, whimpering more like it, it's time, get me to emergency so that I can at least have one more cigarette, since I wasn't allowed to smoke in the car. But then he discovers he has no CASH in his wallet and doesn't want to be stuck in the hospital without no funds to the cafeteria for jello.

I thought, asshole, always looking out for his frickin' stomach. I was so pissed off and tested his loyalty to me "go ahead retard, stop off at the bank machine and get your fucking money". I was totally pissed off, seeing that I thought I had time for delivery and this side trip had screwed up my birthing scenario totally for one last smoke and I truly wanted to lay one last guilt trip on him.

Fortunately, there were no other vehicles at the ATM and hubby did an illegal=U turn at the stop lights, and we ended up at the emerency parking lot where I was able to take my last few huffs of cigarette, deep, because the entrance was actually several metres of gangway walks, and up and down before you actually got to a wheelchair.

So up I go, wheeled up to the maternity ward, liked I've got multiple sclerosis or something, where I'm tended to and fro, nurse upon nurse, all gouging into my pot of gold, their fingers dabbing and poking and stretching me into some sort of confession, I know not what, and then she insists I take a shower, like chinese torture or something.

What? Fuck, she's the nurse, she must know what she's doing, so up I get up off the gurney and waddle myself to the toilet area with the built-in shower unit. I turn the shower on and feel the hot ocean spray on my back. It's a weird feeling, but it's enough for me to know I'm in the wrong place, wrong time. Call my husband back, NOW, I implore, because earlier they had sent him home stating there was
no evidence of imminent birth. Mrs. Bergeron is in false labour.

What did you call me! No time for these petty issues now I think, I'm totally pissed off and want one of those epidurals, since the first time with Sabrina didn't kick in soon enough, and apparently I bled faster than Secretariat at the Belmont Stakes.

Get me my husband here now and get me my goddamned epidural too! I knew Brandon was coming. It was the feeling of needing to take a bowel movement. I felt a heaviness inside me that suddenly needed to explode, an uncontrollable need to take a dump.

The nurse asked: Do you feel like you need to poo, or is it more like a need push?

Actually, it was both, but man oh man I needed to push and nothing was going to stop me, whether I shit on the gurney or not. I'm pushing.

I tell Brandon about his birth story and how we were in Las Vegas, and Elvis Presley married us and that we had a nice buffet and saw a good show and won some money on the slots, then we had jumped from an airplane, diving, diving with all the other Elvis' towards the Earth, where we got born and lived and married and died.

Brandon still thinks it's funny that the nurse thought his mom was taking a dump.