Four years ago today, over my OB’s lunch hour, I delivered Whitney. I’m not going to tell you it was a hard labor, or that I threw beverages or small pieces of furniture at Ben. And I didn’t scream like a boiling lobster as I had, eight years earlier, during my natural childbirth with our first daughter, Lexi.

No, this time around, I had a scheduled induction, and a pain-free four hour labor, wrapped-up with only three minutes of pushing. My pelvis was so numb you could have stuck me in the hip with a hospital fork and I would’ve probably just asked whether or not you knew how long the cafeteria served lunch.

Oooh, wait, there’s a but. And a butt. And a latex glove.

Here I am with Whitney an hour, or so, after she was delivered.

Not bad, right? Yeah, I felt good too. Then when the drugs wore off, I asked if I could have more, and they said yes. All I had to do was buzz the nurses’ station, let them know I was in pain, and within minutes a nurse would bring a plastic hospital cup containing a magical white pill. The pills relieved the pain and made me feel like I was resting on a Jello-filled mattress.

I took a little caplet of heaven every four to six hours, per my doctor’s instructions, over the next seven days, until I woke up on day eight and realized I hadn’t pooped IN EIGHT DAYS...

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