So it was right about now that I began the labour that would end at 12:59 p.m. on Aug. 23, 1978 with the birth of my daughter.

I was so damn cocky.

We'd taken the Lamaze breathing classes, I had my Laleche league book, I had three or four good infant and child development books. I had STUDIED. I thought I was ready.

Really, I should just get the phrase, "Not the sharpest pencil in the box" tattooed on my forehead, it would save us all a lot of time.

The first eight hours or so of contractions weren't too bad, but they were bad enough to keep me awake and pacing. They had told us at the course that once labour began to stick with just liquids, avoid solid foods. So, I was up all night, pacing, tired, and hadn't eaten anything substantial since lunch.

And then around 5 a.m. my water broke and I realized that Ma Nature had been toying with me, that what had happened before was just the preliminary round. Fine.

Paul, bless his heart, was doing what he'd been taught to do at the Lamaze class and was coaching me to breathe properly. It was all sweetness and light until my water broke and I realized what I was in for. Then I turned into a crazed witch who wanted revenge on the person who had gotten me into this predicament.

Fortunately, I realized that it would be stupid to kill him. I needed him to drive me to the hospital. I could always kill him later.

The hospital we had chosen was 90 minutes from our home. We had wanted Jess to be a LeBoyer baby, which was the fad at the time. LeBoyer babies were born into warm water, the theory being that the transition from the womb to the real world would be less traumatic that way. I had read it in a book. It must be right.

BUT we get to the hospital and I find out that the obstetrician who had agreed to give me a LeBoyer birth was ON VACATION and the only one available would not do it because she thought that squirting a baby into a basin of warm water was stupid. Fine. At that point all I wanted was to get it over with and sleep.

So finally, at 12:30, they take me into the delivery room. And they have this mirror set up, like those big mirrors they have in stores to discourage shoplifting, so that the mother-to-be can actually watch the child being born.

I'm pushing, the words "world of pain" about cover it, and I see the first evidence of Jess' head. And I'm thinking to myself, "Not too big, I can get this out." Somehow, I had not equated the size of the babies I had seen in the nursery with the size of the baby I was trying to squirt out.

Within the final few minutes of my labour, the enormity of the object I was trying to pass out of my body finally hit me. THEN I saw my obstetrician put her fingers in there too so she could twist the baby and pull her out. They had kind of skimmed over this point in the child birth classes.

The other thing they had skimmed over is the extreme ugliness of a newborn baby. First off they are covered with blood, mucus, and something that looks like Noxema. It's not a look too many of us can carry off.

And as if THAT wasn't charming enough, their eyes roll independently every which way because it takes them several hours to learn to focus. There's not a lot for a baby to watch before birth.

The doctor set this warm, squirming, icky, eye rolling critter on my tummy and beside it was the umbilical cord which is purple, pulsing and prehistoric looking. Ewwwww. For a brief moment I was thinking to myself, "I went through all this for THAT?" The doctor put on the clamps, hands Paul these scissors and he cut it. He was the one who gave Jess her independence.

I think he kind of thought his bit was over. You should have seen his face when the doctor picked up the icky critter and handed her to him, told him he could give the baby her first bath. I would have laughed except for the fact I was STILL in labour because I had a Jess sized placenta I still had to push out. Fine.

Funny, they had skimmed over that part in childbirth class, too. Hrm.

About half an hour later, back in my hospital room, they handed me a considerably cleaned up version of the warm, squirming, icky, eye rolling critter I had squirted out of my body. Not as cute as a new kitten, but I kept her anyhow.

She is MUCH cuter now, the icky factor has dropped considerably. She's also bright, funny, and an all round good person.

Yep, she DOES take after her father's side.

Whew.