So on Friday night after we (read: I) had tucked the kids to bed, Tom and I watched 20/20.
It was about Extreme Parenting so I was immediately intrigued.
Tom was not.
"Can't I switch it to The Military Channel?" he asked.
"No," I answered, settling down on the couch to watch. I had a glass of ice water beside me, even though I wanted a tall glass of diet Dr. Pepper. With a bowl of chocolates to nibble on. But I have this rule that I can't eat after 8. Which, believe me, is not an easy thing to do. My stomach seems to start to rumble at around 7:30 and I try to shut it up with water. But I have a stubborn stomach because it continues to rumble and it's all, "What's this crap? WATER? We don't want water! Bring on the chocolates! Bring on the chocolates!"
And because Natalie enjoys watching that creepy Yo Gabba Gabba show where Brobee (freaky green one) crones about having a party in his tummy while shoving food down his throat my mind inevitably thinks about the song and then my stomach is all, "We'd like a party in here. There's no party with water."
Well, too bad stomach. It's not my fault that you digest dinner in what seems like a matter of minutes. With the small dessert that I have afterwards.
Anyhow, the 20/20 program started and the first story was about Orgasmic Childbirth or something like that. Apparently you can have an orgasm while giving birth. I was unaware of this. I thought back to my births and remembered the pain and the feeling like I was being ripped apart and COULD I PLEASE HAVE MORE DRUGS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD?
An orgasm would be the farthest thing from my mind when attempting to push out a human being.
But apparently it can be done.
An "expert" was on there talking about it and she said cheerfully, "Well, you know, the baby is coming down the pelvis and OTHER THINGS go up there and cause orgasms. So why not then?"
Um. I'll tell you why not then.
Because not only are you dealing with excruciating pain, but you're also dealing with a bunch of disgusting stuff being expelled from you. Blood. Leftover amniotic fluid. Poop.
That mixed with a huge case of the ouchies does not get me in the mood to have an orgasm.
But one lady who was giving birth on the screen (under a tree! In a pool!) apparently had an orgasm. She was on her knees and she suddenly went, "OOOOOOOOOOhhhhh," in a way that made me blush on the couch and not want to make eye contact with Tom.
Who, by the way, was playing his computer game but the second he heard that noise his neck whipped over to the TV ("one day you're gonna get whiplash, Tom,") and he went, "What the f*ck?" Because when the children are in bed, the swear words tend to pour from his mouth in a way that could make truck drivers turn red.
"She's...she's..." I tried to explain.
But then the narrator explained about the orgasm and put me out of my misery.
"While giving BIRTH?" Tom asked incrediously.
"Apparently," I squeaked out. "It can be done."
I was grateful when that story ended and a new one began.
This was about Extended Breastfeeding.
And I watched in disbelief as this woman nursed a nine-year-old.
The mother said something like, "It gives her comfort. Why should I take that away from her?"
Because after her friends catch wind of this story she's going to be mocked for life. And if she gets upset at school some bastard kid is going to be all, "Sorry, I can't breastfeed you to give you COMFORT!"
What if some bully calls her TitGirl?
I mean really.
Tommy self weaned at 22 months.
I'm working on Natalie. But she'll be cut off at the age of two. She will not be traumatized. She'll find her comfort in other ways. Like, I don't know, cuddling in my arms? MINUS the breast. I imagine she'll be fine.
After that story one about Reborning began. That's where women buy those realistic dolls and treat them as babies. One woman had over 10 and had an entire room dedicated to her dolls. Complete with a real changing table. She even had her granddaughter's come over and celebrate one of her doll's birthdays.
If I were the granddaughter I'd be all, "Grandma? The crap? I hate to break this to you but this doll isn't real and also, the way it's staring at me is creeping me out."
The last story was about homebirthing. Some do it without midwives these days.
No thank you.
I need to give birth in a hospital.
With the drugs.
My hat is off to the women who choose to give birth at home. But it is not for me.
This one woman gave birth in a pool set up in her living room. After she gave birth to her baby she said something like, "I touched the eternal.."
Which caused Tom and I to crack up.
For the rest of the night we used that line.
"Mmmm. This sandwich is good. I touched the eternal," Tom said with a laugh.
"I had an epidural when I gave birth. I TOUCHED the eternal," I added dramatically.
Tom held his glass of Sunkist up. "This drink is delicious. I TOUCHED the eternal..."
Then we exploded with laughter, both knowing full well that we were being incredibly immature.
"I'm glad you didn't want to give birth at home," Tom continued. "I don't mean to be rude but there is no way I'd have climbed in that bathtub with you. Did you see all that STUFF floating around in there after that woman gave birth?"
I made a face. "I did. Ew. I remember all the stuff that came out of me when I had the kids. I would not want to be swimming in it. Plus, ew, suppose she pooped in there? Giving birth with a turd floating around? No thanks!"
So yeah. I'll give birth on a hospital bed where the nurses can clean that stuff off of me.
It was an interesting program.
In it I learned that I'd A) never have an orgasmic childbirth B) never would nurse my children past the age of two C) never buy a fake baby (especially when I found out that a lot of them cost over a thousand bucks!) and D) never give birth at home. In a bathtub. With (maybe) turds floating around.
"Can I change the channel now?" Tom begged when the show was over.
"Yeah," I said and tossed him the remote.
He switched it to The Military Channel which seriously can put me to sleep.
So I finished putting the rest of the Christmas decorations away.
And now the house looks bare and I miss the glowing lights of the Christmas tree. (Which is now resting in a special tree bag in the garage.)
Ahh well. Onto decorating the house for Valentines Day I suppose..