March is Women’s History Month and I’m compiling a list of blog topics that relate to women in some fashion. If you have any ideas, leave a message for me in the comments. So far I am considering:

  • Women writers
  • Poetry about women
  • My favorite female characters in literature and movies
  • Women I would like to have dinner with
  • Women’s suffrage
  • Famous lady aliens
  • Why I became a woman (kidding)

I sincerely hope, for the sake of my 30 or so regular readers, that the list becomes a little more exciting as March progresses. Maybe a few birth stories to spice things up? If you bring together any group of mothers and somebody starts talking about giving birth, even the most reticent woman will be telling her story. It’s funny that we are so willing to share the details of childbirth: it’s so personal, after all. Bloody, painful, with an excess of bodily fluids. That’s good, exciting storytelling.

I gave birth to three babies. The only really surprising thing is how different each birth was from the others. By the time I got around to number three, I smartened up and asked for an epidural. I started asking for it sometime in the middle of my second trimester, but they insisted on waiting until I was really and truly in labor. In the middle of a massive contraction, an anesthesiologist shoved a clipboard into my line of vision and told me to sign the waiver. I did, and soon got relief, and a son.

The next day a resident came to see how I was faring, in relation to anesthesia. Fine, I said, except for the soreness at the injection spot. It felt as if I had been punched. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if the doctor hadn’t come in just to ask about the after-effects of the epidural. “Yes,” she said, “that is one of the side effects listed on the first page of the form you signed. We give you that so you will know what to expect. It’s too bad you didn’t read it.”  And she swept out of the room before I could throw anything at her head.

 

 

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