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As my husband is fond of reminding me, I got so tired while pregnant that I sometimes started snoring in mid-conversation. I would be sitting up in bed, talking to him, and then, clunk . . . I was out. There were also times when I could feel it coming on. It felt like a giant wave would be headed my way. Out of the blue I would say, “Uh oh.” My husband knew exactly what that meant and would walk me to bed. Those were the best naps in the whole world. Ever full of great advice, my mom told me to enjoy those naps because if and when I get pregnant with Baby Number Two, those naps will be nonexistent; there’s no rest for the weary when there’s a toddler to chase around the house.

The amazing thing about my sleepiness is that it completely disappeared at the end of my first trimester. I remember reading that I would wake up one day refreshed, with a surge of energy. And it actually happened. I don’t know why I was all that surprised—the books had been right about a lot of things. But even with warning, it’s an amazing feeling. This is a good time to get all your stuff done before you turn into the Goodyear blimp, like registering and decorating your nursery, because when that last trimester begins, guess what comes back? You got it . . . the sandman, and he brings a shitload of sand!

Pig in the Pasture

(Sex in the Ninth Month)

I don’t think pigs graze in pastures, but I just figured it sounded better than “pig in the mud.” Any way you phrase it, this is exactly how I felt the one and only time my husband and I had sex in the ninth month. All the books tell you about “comfortable positions,” and the one they really zero in on is the “doggy-style” position. Sure, it’s great at an ideal weight, but when you’re close to two hundred pounds, you aren’t thinking dog . . . you’re thinking pig. And I’m sure I sounded like one because my cries (of joy and desire, of course) sounded more like squeals than oohs and ahs. It was clear to me that my poor husband was concentrating hard on his Rolodex of fantasies because I sure as hell wasn’t one for him anymore. I just wanted that piggy sex to end, but I hung in there like a good wife because I wanted to take care of my man. (Full disclosure: I was really “bad” the whole pregnancy. I never really “took care of him.” I should have offered a couple of blow jobs here and there, but the way I felt every day, you couldn’t have paid me enough.)

Now, let me give you a better visual. My husband is very lean. Sexy as hell. But very lean. Most women would kill for his metabolism. As I propped myself into position and we began to get down, I could feel that his entire lean body was half the size of my ass. No joke. I couldn’t stop thinking that his skinny frame was going to get stuck between my ass cheeks. So every time I felt him pump, I would clench my cheeks to keep from swallowing him up. All the while, I couldn’t stop thinking how just plain wrong this was. This was not a high-self-esteem moment for a pregnant woman in desperate need of some. My advice: If you’re not feeling it, don’t try this one. Leave it to some lonely farmer.

The Moment of Truth

(Labor and Delivery)

After reading all that’s come before, you might think I could have caught a break in the labor and delivery arena. I mean, I’d endured enough hardships, don’t you think? No freaking way. In fact, just writing this section makes me cry as I relive the end of the journey. Don’t worry; I’ll still make you laugh, but I have to warn you that in this section I actually take you to a serious place for once. Here I go . . . My name is Jenny and this is my story.

I woke up one Friday morning in May feeling my usual miserable self. But I noticed that on this particular day I was a tad more miserable than usual. I rolled off my firm mattress and noticed that I was having multiple Braxton Hicks contractions. I knew it was them because they didn’t hurt, but I was getting them every few minutes. Then I waddled to the bathroom and noticed