So, my sister and I were talking this week and she told me a story that made me wet my pants. Seriously. I laughed so hard that I peed my pants. I figured if that wasn’t blog-worthy, then what was?
Ginny is currently eight months pregnant. I think. Maybe. I’m not really sure because I’m a terrible sister. But she is due in early January, so I think that’s probably about right.
Anyway, for the birth of her sweet Baby Faith (is that not the sweetest name?!?! We’ll have a Grace and a Faith in our family!), Ginny is hoping for a natural childbirth. She says “hoping” as if she isn’t sure she can do it, but I’m here to tell you that she can. That woman is like a machine when she puts her mind to something. But let’s not harass her to make a decision one way or another. She’ll make the decision that’s right for her, Faith, and her family, I’m sure.
But for now, she and her husband, John Michael, are preparing for a natural childbirth by taking childbirthing classes. The stories of JM in these classes are enough to make me pee my pants alone. He’s a pretty funny guy and, from what Gin tells me, it’s a pretty funny class. Although, she is a little concerned because she and JM think it’s funny in the first place. “Maybe the fact that we think it’s funny just shows that we can’t handle natural childbirth,” she has wondered.
I happen to strongly disagree. If you can’t laugh about something, then you probably shouldn’t do it in the first place.
At their last childbirth class, the instructor showed them several different birthing positions to try during labor. JM took the paper with the images on them and immediately started ticking them off, “Nope… No… Too weird… No… Nope…” And finally Ginny had to remind him that SHE would be the one in the birthing position, not him. Ahhh… husbands. Reminds me of how whenever anyone asks me about how c-section deliveries are, Chris chimes right in with, “Oh, they are a BREEZE! Wham, bam, here’s your baby! We loved them!”
Funny how I remember that part sliiiiiiiiiiiightly differently….
But back to the birthing ball.
So Ginny and JM have to take a birthing ball with them to their childbirth classes, and since they go to the classes every week, Ginny keeps this giant birthing ball in the back of her car. Well, one day last week, she was jostling her work bag, purse, Tillman’s diaper bag, and Tillman himself, all with her keys in her hand, like any working mom has done 100 times, and somehow in the shuffle, someone or something hit the trunk button on her key ring. Suddenly, her trunk flies open and out pops this giant birthing ball.
Ginny said she stood there in all her pregnant glory, arms full of paperwork and children and diaper bags, and watched as her giant birthing ball bounced down her driveway and out into the street.
She paused for a second and thought, “Well, this sucks,” before springing into action.
Now, Ginny and JM live at the top of a very steep hill in Atlanta. So, her birthing ball took a left out of their driveway and proceeded to bounce itself down her very long, very steep street. Ginny ditched everything in her arms, including Tillman, who kept pointing and yelling, “BALL! BALL! BALL GO BYE BYE!”
(Side note: Is he not the cutest nephew EVER?????)
In her very high heels with her very pregnant belly, Ginny quickly shuffled down to the end of the driveway, but it was hopeless. The birthing ball was going 90 miles an hour down that darn hill and she knew she’d never catch it.
But, damn. Those birthing balls are expensive!
So, she shuffled her preggo self back up to her car, where she shoved everything she had dropped in her driveway (once again, including Tillman) into her car. And in her giant suburbanite SUV, she chased her birthing ball all throughout her neighborhood. But by the time she got to the bottom of the hill, the birthing ball was out of sight completely.
“I LOST MA’ BIRTHIN’ BALL!” she yelled into my ear hysterically on the phone. “Is this a sign?!?! Maybe this is a sign…”
Ginny’s neighborhood has a Facebook page, when we got off the phone that night, she was on her way to post on the wall: “MISSING: Bright purple birthing ball.”
Oh, man. I love that girl.