Oh sure, I'd gone to Lamaze where the nice blond lady tells you that you just do some breathing and it won't hurt as much.
But in general, I didn't know the process. After all, I wasn't "seasoned" (I'm not a Duggar). I just kinda did what everyone told me what I was supposed to do.
"Put on this ugly assed robe"
"Lay on your left" (or was it my right?)
"Let me look at your coochie again"
You pretty much lose all modesty - you have no choice. That horrific, life altering moment (and not the good parts) kinda change you. That and eating soggy teething biskets and not brushing your hair for 4 days.
All I can remember at certain points of the delivery was *Leave. Me. Alone.* This includes nurses that wanna poke at your anything, doctors that come in during the last 35 seconds but mostly moms that walk in during your third good push.
I kinda imagine this is how she feels:
She's persistant if nothing else.
And somewhat patient, I have a feeling it's not her first litter. Or flock, or clutch, or whatever the hell a Robin has.
Apparently, this is just the best spot EVER to make a nest. I was convinced that I would not see her again as I really pestered the nest last year taking pictures literally every other day. After a while I felt kinda guilty. However, she must not have been too angry because she came back for a second session in late summer.
Or maybe I'm just clueless and this is really just an offspring, or a cousin, or an intruder or one of the outcasts from "The Hills". Who knows.
This really is a bad spot, and she seems very flighty.
God I slay me sometimes.
You see, this pole is directly between my back door and my new chicken coop.
I'm kind of worried that they won't hatch as we are out there so much she is off the nest a lot. Having said that, It's not my fault she picked a lousy neighborhood! I mean really.
Have you SEEN the neighbors? Someone call the HOA!
No birds were harmed in the filming of this post. However, I did finally solve the mystery of why my socks always look grungy and filthy.
PS. I apologize to my children that had to hear their mom use the word "Coochie"
Apparently I'm an accomplished liar.
Not only are my chickens still in a playpen in my dining room (long story involving a husband and tar paper. Let's not go there), but also I am still washing dishes by hand. Let's just say, an entirely different person is going to install it for me.
I'm kinda hoping that person won't be me.