Please Excuse the Placenta in Your Freezer

All the awkwardness and comforts of home (birth)

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Birthing a human is messy and intense work — I prefer to do it on a king-sized bed, with free-range access to a stocked refrigerator, and the peace of mind that I won’t be charged $27 for a box of tissues.

I chose delivery at home because of the subtle conveniences; you’re able to shower whenever you want; the bathroom is decorated with art instead of biohazard bags and exam gloves; the shower has a pretty curtain or a door instead of the weird half-wall in an open horse stall.

Maybe all of my preferences revolved around the bathroom.

The beginning

For some ungodly reason labor pains always started at 1:30 in the morning. Once awake, my racing mind would not be slowed. I’d force myself to stay in bed until 4am — at which time I figured if farmers were milking cows and business people were on the horn with China, I could start my day.

I’d spend those daybreak hours craze-cleaning — a strange phenomenon that occurs when women are about to give birth; we have an inexplicable and immediate need to make sure our baseboards are spotless. This mania is coupled with the same Hulk-like strength that enables you to lift a car off your flattened child.