72 Hours and Counting

Five years, and 72 hours ago, I went into labor with The Kid. Yes, that's right. I said 72 hours of real, bona-fide labor. And, no, I'm not joking. I have a Douala, Aqua Man, my doctor, the hospital staff, and numerous friends and family to back me up. If brought up, there are still several family and friends who, to this day, will say "Wow, remember how LONG you were in labor??!! We were waiting, and waiting, and waiting and waiting.We thought you'd NEVER have that baby!" You thought? (Now, just to be clear, in many, many ways, I lobbied for this type of birthing experience. And, also, in many, many ways my birthing experience wasn't anything that I could have ever anticipated, length wise, and other. For me, this was my birthing experience, and I respect if for what it was. But it does blow my mind to remember.)


Aqua Man and I still disagree, five years later, on the labor time frame. He insists that I was actually-from the first moment of labor to when The Kid was delivered-in labor for 78 hours.


For whatever reason, I just can't handle adding on those extra six hours, although he may be right. I have the exact moment of when my labor began somewhere in a journal, but I've blocked it out (Where I put the journal, and the time frame!). I just don't want to internalize more hours, so I've conveniently rounded it down to a mere 72 hours, which apparently, my psyche can handle, thank you very much.


So at some point, five years ago, and 72 hours worth of labor, I gave birth to our beautiful baby boy, The Kid. And now, on this coming Sunday he turns 5 years old. Yes, that's right. Five years ago, I went into labor very early on a Friday morning, and The Kid was born on a Sunday evening. Do I know how to party, or what?