i thought he'd never come out.

Ocean turned three years old at approximately 9:46 am today. After his birthday celebrations had subsided we were laying on the couch and I decided to reminisce about his birth. With him.

Me: Ocean, what was it like when you were born?
Ocean: It was just hard.
Me: What was hard about it?
O: Mommy said, "Get out, baby!" and I said, "No no no!" And it just hurt a little bit.
Me: What hurt?
O: My head was stuck and my face was scratches. (scratching his right cheek)
Me: Really? Where were your hands when you were born?
O: Like this. (Covering his face)
Me: How did you feel being born?
O: Cranky. And a little hungry.

Now folks, I have not talked about Ocean's birth with him or in his presence, except to tell him that he used to live in my tummy. I try not to relive it ever. EVER. The only other people who were there during his birth were Phil (who has probably blocked out much of that 28 hours, especially the cursing* and crazy psychotic paranoia**, but I know has not shared details with Ocean either), and medical staff who still reside in North Carolina. So the fact that Ocean's account of his birth is so wildly accurate, even in three-year-old language, is a bit unnerving. Here are the facts that line up with his account:

42 weeks and one day of pregnancy.
28 hours of hard back labor, 24 without an epidural.
Ocean's head got stuck in my pelvis.
He came out with his hands on his face (yowza) and scratches on his nose and cheek from his fingernails.
I'm not sure I actually said, "Get out baby" during labor, but it's highly likely that I made some statement to that effect in the 15 days past my due date.

So you can see that his perception of the way the whole thing went down is spot on. Crazy memory aside, he's now a little older and a little wiser and a lot cuter. (I didn't think it was possible.) Happy birthday, Ocean! Thanks for deciding to finally come out.

*Not just cussing... cursing. Everything that touched me and anyone who came into my room. I was pretty much calling down fire from heaven on everyone and their mom. It was all very Old Testament, except for everyone rolling their eyes at me. And the total lack of fire and/or brimstone.

**About 19 hours in I noticed that Phil and the nurse kept having secret meetings in the hallway. After the third or fourth one I hissed, "I know you're talking about me." Well, duh, you're in labor. "I know. But I just want you to know that I know and I think it's really F***ed up that you're talking about me behind my back." Apparently labor turns me into a pre-adolescent with a filthy mouth. And quite frankly I'm shocked that he didn't call an exorcist at that point. (And so there's a little glimpse, a two minute snippet of a 28 hour stretch, of why we never talk about it.)