Throughout her pregnancy, my sister Joanne insisted that she wanted no medication during labor. When the big day came, though, she wondered if she had made the right decision.
Knowing my sister's stance on drugs, the midwife did everything else to ease Joanne's pain. "You look uncomfortable," she said at one point. "Would you like to change positions?"
"Yes," Joanne replied. "I want to be the midwife!"
During the latter stages of my pregnancy, I brought a cushion to work to make my chair more comfortable. One afternoon I returned from lunch to find my chair had been pushed to the far side of my work area. "Looks like someone's sitting in my chair," I commented to one of my co-workers.
Glancing down at my stomach, she said, "Looks like someone's also been sleeping in your bed."
My niece, delivering her first child, requested that her mother and I come into the labor room with her. During one violent contraction she looked up at my sister and said, "Mom, please help me. The pains are really bad."
"Honey," my sister replied, "there isn't anything I can do."
My niece then turned to me. "Marisela, please help me," she implored. "Mom doesn't understand what I'm going through."
My friend read her son's horoscope and thought it quite appropriate. "You've spent the last few weeks looking for escape," it said. "But now it's time to get on with your life."
She had just given birth to him that morning.
My husband met me at the doctor's office for my routine checkup, and from there we decided to go out to eat. Since we had driven in separate cars, I arrived at the restaurant first.
"One for dinner?" asked the hostess.
"No," I replied. "There will be two of us in just a minute."
When I saw the panicky look on the hostess's face, I realized I had forgotten about my appearance. Anybody could see that I was at least 8 1/2 months pregnant.
To confirm her suspicions, my sister needed to purchase a pregnancy test. Since I was going to the pharmacy, she asked me to pick one up. I didn't stop to think how I appeared to the clerk when I waddled up—nine months pregnant—to pay for the kit.
"Honey," she said, "I can save you $15 right now. You're definitely going to have a baby."
My husband and I had been trying to have a third child for a while. Unfortunately, the day I was to take a home pregnancy test, he was called out of town on business. I had told our young daughters about the test, and they were excited. We decided if it was positive, we would buy a baby outfit to surprise their father when he got home. The three of us stood in the bathroom eagerly waiting for the telltale line to appear.
When it did not, my thoughtful seven-year-old gave me a hug. "It's okay, Mom," she said. "The next time Daddy goes out of town, you can try and get pregnant again."
I was in my ninth month of pregnancy and feeling very uncomfortable. On top of everything, my pleas for sympathy seemed to go unnoticed by my husband.
One day I told him, "I hope in your next life you get to be pregnant!"
He replied, "I hope in your next life you get to be married to someone who's pregnant!"
Carol was pregnant with her first child, and her husband was about to leave on a two-week business trip. When Carol went to her doctor appointment, she had some questions.
"My husband wants me to ask you something—" Carol began.
The doctor interrupted her. "I get asked that question all the time," he said in a reassuring tone. "Sex is fine until late in the pregnancy."
"No, that's not it!" an embarrassed Carol confessed. "My husband wants to know if I can still mow the lawn."
Our catering manager lacks certain social skills -- like knowing when to keep her mouth shut. While discussing a baby christening party with a young couple, she told the mother, "You look like you've lost most of your pregnancy weight." "Thanks," came the clenched-teeth reply. "We adopted."
Pregnant with my third child, I was stricken with a bout of morning sickness and lay down on the living-room couch to rest. Just then one of the workmen who was doing repairs in my house walked by and gave me a curious look. "Taking a little break," I explained. "I'm in my first trimester."
"Really?" he said. "What's your major?"
After my wife had a sonogram, I asked my mother-in-law to guess the sex of the twins her daughter was carrying.
"Two boys," she said.
I shook my head.
"It must be two girls," she offered.
Again I told her no.
"Well, then," she asked, "what are they?"