Ladies Who are Mothers, you know that feeling when IT IS TIME TO GO because that being growing inside of you is ready to pass through a way-too-small canal out a way-too-small hole.
Imagine that happening to a man. Except the being that is being passed is this small: . See it there? That dot. Men get morphine to pass these.
And when they are writhing in agony in the car on the way to the hospital you are expected to break the same number of traffic laws as an entire season of the Dukes of Hazzard. You are NOT, as it turns out, allowed to casually shave and finish your Subway sandwich--like Husband did to ME six years ago.
Although, let me just say something about the feeling of driving someone to the hospital at 2 a.m. on a weeknight. What a THRILL. I have been training my whole life for this. And some people in the family say I drive like a crazy person. I was only practicing for the CRITICAL day when I would need to rush my dear Husband to the hospital so he could pass a fly-speck-sized nugget while on morphine.
He came home with FOUR prescriptions. The THREE times that I passed more than EIGHT POUNDS out of my body, I came home with an adult diaper for bleeding, a creature that sucked my boobs and a bottle of Tylenol PM.
I am happy that Husband is out of pain and more than anything glad to know that he is OK. It is very scary to wake up in the middle of the night and make the decision to take your spouse to the hospital. Even with the opportunity to speed and run red lights.
And as you can see from the photo of Husband above, he is back to normal functioning.