I’m not sure, but I’m almost certain, that I’m the first woman to give birth. At least that’s how I felt last September, when Catlyne was born. Even the word “daughter” fills me with the most enormous sense of pride. And though there are hundreds of thousands of daughters out there, I can’t help feeling that I had the first “real” one. The truth of the matter is that an emotional door was opened that I never knew existed. However, you couldn’t have convinced me of this during labour.

How come all women in my life who had so graciously shared countless stories about the titanic weight gain, heartburn, swollen feet, nausea and other charming side effects of pregnancy never got around to telling me about labour? If someone told me how much it was going to hurt, I could’ve backed out of the whole deal while there was still time. The Lamaze class we snickered through suddenly became a priceless source of information when labour began...I knew what kind of anaesthetics to ask for (or demand in this case), which I did ask (demand) for the minute I arrived on the labour floor.

The problem is, however, anaesthetics aren’t given until you’ve dilated to five centimetres (for all of you who haven’t experienced his “miracle of life” you don’t get the prize until you’ve hit ten). I was certain that with all that pain I was going through, I must have reached at least eight.

I was informed by a nurse with a funny smile that I was at one. — Beliefnet.com