The doctor had ripped open a package and pulled out what could only be described as a crochet hook. It was a long stick with a hook on the end, and it instantly made me laugh when I looked at it.
The doctor went to the end of the bed and asked Jenny to spread her legs. And before you ask, yes, I laughed at this too.
“Hey, hon, looks like the doctor is going to do some knitting while he’s down there between your legs,” I joked. “I bet you he could make a blanket for ten people with all that long-ass pube hair you got going on.”
Can you hear that? That’s the sound of my nuts being clamped in a vice.
After the doctor broke her water, and I apologized profusely for not shaving her ridiculously long pubic hair before she gave birth, it was back to the waiting game. No, not waiting for the baby to be born, waiting for the god dammed drugs.
“I don’t think we should name him Billy,” Jenny stated in between breaths as she “heeee-ed” and “hoooooo-ed” and “hee-hee hoo-hoo-ed” through the pain.
“What are you talking about?” I asked her in horror as I paced back and forth over by the door. My nuts still hadn’t recovered from the pubic hair crack so there was no way I was getting within five feet of her right now.
“Who names their kids after a stupid movie?” she questioned as she took a big sigh of relief when the contraction ended.
“You must be delirious from the pain. That is the only excuse for the nonsense coming out of your mouth right now.”
She glared at me and I instantly covered my nuts with my hands. I wouldn’t put it past her to pick up the phone, yank it from the wall, and chuck it at my dong.
“Did you just call me an idiot?” she questioned softly.
I really should have just run right then...turned around and darted out of the hospital room and down the hall until I reached the ward with all the comatose patients who wouldn’t scream at me.
“If it walks like a duck and talks like an idiot, then yes, yes I did,” I told her boldly, putting my hands on my hips.
Mistake number two.
Jenny’s cell phone smacked against my junk two seconds later, and I squeaked out a groan and clutched onto the boys.
“Cheese and crackers! That hurt! Dude, Billy Madison was the first movie we ever watched together. And it is the greatest movie of all time. There is no way we are naming our son anything other than Billy. We already have a Veronica, named after his hot teacher, Miss Veronica Vaughn. We can’t leave our daughter hanging like that. Think of the children,” I pleaded. “Do it for the children.”
“You don’t love me anymore, do you?” she wailed as tears started running down her cheeks and she put her head in her hands.
Sweet Jesus what is happening right now?
I rushed over to her bedside and wrapped my arms around her while she cried.
“Hon, of course I love you. Calm down,” I told her.
“YOU FUCKING CALM DOWN! I’M SITTING IN A PUDDLE OF MY OWN UTERUS WATER!” she yelled.
I tried to hold it in, really I did, but I couldn’t. I dry heaved. It was just…uterus water. Water from her uterus. She was sitting in it. She was marinating in uterus fluids.
“OH MY GOD! DID YOU JUST GAG?” she yelled.
I started furiously shaking my head “No”, but the damage was done.
The anesthesiologist came in then and pushed his cart of drugs in front of him and I almost begged him to give me a hit of whatever he had. I really should be numb from the brain down for the rest of this day before I fucked anything else up.
The doctor let me stay in the room for the epidural and let me tell you, nothing prepares you for seeing a needle as long as your arm, being pushed into your wife’s spine. And since she was in the middle of a contraction, all she did was sigh when it went in. Until I opened my mouth.
“Holy fuck that’s a huge needle,” I mumbled.
Jenny glanced over at me and scowled. Well, as much as she could anyway since she was hunched over her big belly as far as she could go, and a nurse was pushing down on her shoulders.
“What if he moves a fraction of an inch to the left and you’re suddenly paralyzed?” I asked in horror.
“Shut...Up,” Jenny muttered.
After the epidural was firmly in place, I double checked that we had a waiver on file that states we would own the hospital should my wife become paralyzed. If I was going to feed her mashed peas and wipe her ass until we die, I wanted to be rich.
“You’re never going to want to have sex with me again. I’m going to push a human out of the hole where you stick your penis, and you’re never going to want to go there again,” she sobbed.
Why God, why? WHY did she have to put that image in my head? I never had a problem having sex with her when she was pregnant with Veronica. Never went through that whole “Oh no, what if I hurt the baby or he sees my penis” bullshit. But this? Oh sweet Jesus, this is the end for me.
“Oh, that’s just silly. Why would you say something like that?” I asked nervously.
Maybe because it’s true. A human is making his way down that canal, and I’m supposed to not freak out about this?
Seven hours later, Billy had come screaming into the world, and I had thrown up in the trashcan next to the bed.
Somehow, now, I need to convince my wife that I do not fear her vagina. Not anymore at least.
Chapter 5 – Could it be…SATAN?!
I’m going to kill him. I swear to God I’m going to murder my husband.
The week before Billy had been born, he thought it would be a great idea to get a kitten. Something little to take care of to refresh our memories because it had been three years since we last had something that little to take care of. But when he had said we, he really meant me.
Granted, the kitten, Miss Lippy, named after the weird teacher in Billy Madison, is cute and cuddly and likes to rub her little pink nose against mine when we curl up in bed at night, but she also poops more than the average human. I’ve never seen so much poop come out of something so little and cute. If she'd been an outdoor cat, I might have guessed that she ate a rotten animal or something and got sick, but she never goes outside. She is strictly an indoor cat. I had almost called the vet to ask them if it was normal or if Miss Lippy was dying from some sort of pooping disease. I had the phone in my hand all set to dial when Drew had finally decided to tell me that he pooped in the litter box a few times to see what it was like.
I've SCOOPED MY HUSBAND’S POOP! Do you have any idea how NOT okay that is?
And yet, it’s not even the reason why I want to kill him right now, although it should be. So, not only do I have a three-year-old, a four-month-old, a husband, and a kitten, but Drew has come home tonight with a puppy.
A PUPPY!
Because you know, why not add one more thing to my list? Really, on top of all the crap I already do, it should be a piece of pie to clean up after yet another person. I’ve already had to potty train Veronica and Drew, might as well try a dog this time. Maybe he’ll be easier.
Not only did I have to stop Drew from pooping in the kitty litter, shortly after we got married, I had to get him to stop peeing on trees in the front yard. And this was long before we even had kids, let alone had a puppy. He claimed the pee was good for the trees and helped them grow faster. Our neighbors had the most beautiful, tall trees, and Drew always saw their black lab peeing on them, so he assumed their landscaping looked so nice because of the dog. I couldn't count how many times I'd look out one of our windows and saw Drew holding his penis with one hand and waving to passing cars with another as he “helped our trees grow.” It got to the point where I had to start keeping an eye on him at all times. When he had started crossing and uncrossing his legs and shifting in his seat, I knew he had to go to the bathroom. I’d have to grab his hand and take him upstairs and stand him in front of the toilet and say, “You pee here! You pee here right now! You are NOT going outside, do you understand me?” It had taken three months before he would head to the stairs instead of the front door to pee.