Hurrah!
Babies: 1 (HURRRAAAAHHHHHH!), Times thought OH FUCKING RICHARD WHY DID I LET HIM PUT THIS FUCKING THING IN ME OH GOD WHYYYYYYYY: 2,352 (v.b.), Times thought how strikingly handsome new little baby is despite newborn alien look: 347 (v.g. and am already in love with son already!), Times stressed over whether or not breastfeeding is actually barbaric: 34 (v.b. But having child hanging off of one's person in manner of leach is hardly posh in any sense of the word)
But all that is unimportant because after nine months of-- well, not nine exactly, but being exact isn't required at moment-- after nine months of vomitting at the smell of food, backaches, and being kicked violently from the inside, have finally given birth to tiny baby of my own! Hurrraaaah!
Oh God. Diet begins tomorrow. Guh.
The day started off as normal, as Bridget had popped off to kitchen in her bare feet for a citrusy sort of food as the baby had awoken demanding mango or lemon or similar. However, the plan for the day had not included her water breaking during breakfast, and her subsequent panic at the fact that despite it all, she hadn't even managed to pick out a name yet. She'd been going back and forth between 'Pamela' and 'Clover', but the latter was a little too out there even for her. Besides, none of that mattered at the moment, considering the fact that..
OH HOLY JESUS AM GOING INTO LABOR AND BABY IS COMING AND WHERE ARE FUCKING TOWELS AND BOILING WATER?!?!!!
Somehow, possibly through some sort of miracle, she did manage to make it to the clinic, eyes wide, hair in a state of very unattractive dissaray.
From the moment that Doctor House snapped that epidurals were for the benefit of the doctor and not the patient, Bridget had begun to doubt whether or not having him deliver the baby was really such a good idea. She kept imagining that he'd lean on his cane the wrong way and accidentally do some sort of limping fall right onto her stomach which would, in turn, cause the baby to either die or be born prematurely. Neither option was preferable.
However, Rob was there and he did his best to make sure that Doctor House wasn't too horrible to her, and O-Ren did a great deal of glaring at both doctors, scary ninja-type sword in one hand. After a while, Tim showed up as well, doing a combination of pacing, looking generally worried and helping out in any way possible. And even though she was surrounded by the people that she cared about, for a fleeting moment, she did miss Richard all over again. He would have wanted to be there.
The whole ordeal lasted for most of the day, people coming and going to offer their encouragement, all the while Bridget became increasingly worried that the child was actually trying to burst its way out in the fashion of the Alien film. Finally, around seven p.m. (which Bridget was baselessly supersitious of, but she supposed that seven was better than any variant of the number thirteen), she was told that it was time to push.
Weighing in at five pounds, fourteen ounces, Dixon Colin Jones entered the world screaming his head off. His face was red and scrunched up, looking quite a bit like some sort of extra terrestrial (which was quite ironic, considering Bridget's unwarranted Sigourney Weaver fears and flashbacks), but after Bridget first set eyes on him, none of that mattered. She couldn't have been happier.
[ooc: Oh look! It's a baby Jones! Come say hi to Bridget and Dixon, or talk amongst yourselves--Gathering post style! Open to anyone who might want to come by and visit \o/]
But all that is unimportant because after nine months of-- well, not nine exactly, but being exact isn't required at moment-- after nine months of vomitting at the smell of food, backaches, and being kicked violently from the inside, have finally given birth to tiny baby of my own! Hurrraaaah!
Oh God. Diet begins tomorrow. Guh.
The day started off as normal, as Bridget had popped off to kitchen in her bare feet for a citrusy sort of food as the baby had awoken demanding mango or lemon or similar. However, the plan for the day had not included her water breaking during breakfast, and her subsequent panic at the fact that despite it all, she hadn't even managed to pick out a name yet. She'd been going back and forth between 'Pamela' and 'Clover', but the latter was a little too out there even for her. Besides, none of that mattered at the moment, considering the fact that..
OH HOLY JESUS AM GOING INTO LABOR AND BABY IS COMING AND WHERE ARE FUCKING TOWELS AND BOILING WATER?!?!!!
Somehow, possibly through some sort of miracle, she did manage to make it to the clinic, eyes wide, hair in a state of very unattractive dissaray.
From the moment that Doctor House snapped that epidurals were for the benefit of the doctor and not the patient, Bridget had begun to doubt whether or not having him deliver the baby was really such a good idea. She kept imagining that he'd lean on his cane the wrong way and accidentally do some sort of limping fall right onto her stomach which would, in turn, cause the baby to either die or be born prematurely. Neither option was preferable.
However, Rob was there and he did his best to make sure that Doctor House wasn't too horrible to her, and O-Ren did a great deal of glaring at both doctors, scary ninja-type sword in one hand. After a while, Tim showed up as well, doing a combination of pacing, looking generally worried and helping out in any way possible. And even though she was surrounded by the people that she cared about, for a fleeting moment, she did miss Richard all over again. He would have wanted to be there.
The whole ordeal lasted for most of the day, people coming and going to offer their encouragement, all the while Bridget became increasingly worried that the child was actually trying to burst its way out in the fashion of the Alien film. Finally, around seven p.m. (which Bridget was baselessly supersitious of, but she supposed that seven was better than any variant of the number thirteen), she was told that it was time to push.
Weighing in at five pounds, fourteen ounces, Dixon Colin Jones entered the world screaming his head off. His face was red and scrunched up, looking quite a bit like some sort of extra terrestrial (which was quite ironic, considering Bridget's unwarranted Sigourney Weaver fears and flashbacks), but after Bridget first set eyes on him, none of that mattered. She couldn't have been happier.
[ooc: Oh look! It's a baby Jones! Come say hi to Bridget and Dixon, or talk amongst yourselves--Gathering post style! Open to anyone who might want to come by and visit \o/]