Being Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Daughter...
  • Lin would cry the day you were born but he would also brag a lot.
  • He’d shower you with gifts but he was also careful not to overdo it
  • Chances are, (depending on your age and whatever year you’d picture this for) you’d be friends with a lot of the Hamilton cast/ and or their kids
  • There’s no doubt about it you’d be a freestyling genius much like him and musically talented.
  • And Lin would be so proud of this
  • Lin’s heart would melt every time you called him ‘dad’
  • He is probably one of the most caring, sweetest, and involved father out there.
  • And if your mother wasn’t in the picture, Lin would be sure to work to fill in her shoes.
  • He would attend all your school events and extra curriculars too.
  • On mother’s day he would plan a brunch inviting his sister and mother over making sure you knew you weren’t alone when it came to the amount of females in your life.
  • Whenever he goes to Richard Rodgers Theatre or goes to work for whatever project he’s working on he is constantly pulling his phone out to show his fellow coworkers pictures of you
  • He can’t help it
  • But one thing is for sure, Lin would make sure you knew how strong of a woman you were. Being a strong activist for equal rights Lin knew how easy it was for girls in today’s society to feel weak and defeated by the powerful and he never wanted you to experience that. So he would make post-it notes and stick them in your lunchbox, on your mirror, and anywhere he could find with sayings such as…
  • “I am woman hear me roar!”
    “Though she be but little, she is fierce!”
    “A strong woman looks fear in the eye and gives it but a wink.”
    “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.”
  • And because your father is one of the most encouraging and inspiring figures in the world, not only in tweets but reality as well, he excels at giving the best, most needed pep talks when you’re down in the dumps.
  • Lin had you speaking Spanish as soon as you said your first word
  • Lin would practically document your entire life. He liked taping you and taking pictures while you were doing casual activities such as coloring, singing, dancing, playing with your dolls, running around the house, etc.
  • Tobillo basically being your best friend
  • That dog follows you wherever you go
  • Lin has thousands of videos from when you were learning to walk, practically waddling around and Tobillo was right on your heel the entire time following you.
  • The whole Hamilton cast would be obsessed with you
  • Especially Phillipa
  • That girl loved you as if you were her own
  • And if you were old enough, you would join the Schuyler Sisters in their inbetween shows closet talk.
  • Sleep overs at Jasmine and Anthony’s while your dad is out of town
  • And they would absolutely LOVE having you over
  • You made them want to have kids that much more and Anthony loved taking you to the movies and Jasmine loved taking you out shopping
  • Speaking of shopping, Renee, Jasmine, and Phillipa are always spoiling you with the newest trends and what nots.
  • The Hamilton cast would be like another family to you
  • Always running around backstage with Groffsauce, who usually was assign babysitting duty.
  • The Schuyler sisters- as well as Leslie teaching you how to harmonize
  • Daveed loved helping you with your freestyling
  • You and him always got in heated battles- in good spirits of course
  • Playing childish games during intermission and between shows with Oak, Daveed, and Anthony.
  • Trying to braid your dad’s hair during his Hamilton days
  • Let’s be real, Lin would dedicate Dear Theodosia to you
  • And during Stay Alive (reprise) and It’s Quiet Uptown he had genuine tears pinching at his eyes as he fathomed the thought of losing you
  • But Lin would always run to you and spin you around every night after shows
  • The two of you would walk hand and hand together home and Lin would sing you to sleep every night
  • He’d love making you breakfast and basking in that domestic life
  • I could see him making some of the best pancakes in the world
  • And one morning when you were little, you convinced him to let you have a sip of his coffee
  • “Daddy, what’s that black stuff in there.”
    “It’s called coffee, bebé.”
    “Can I try some?”
    “Uh, I don’t think so, Y/n. You wouldn’t like it.”
    “Please, papi.”
    “Oh alright.”
  • Like he predicted, you hated it. The liquid burned your throat and young little you cried at the bitterness for at least a minute which broke Lin’s heart.
  • Lin would be the type of parent that would love to show you off to family and friends but when it came to posting pictures of you on social media, he usually made sure your face was covered, just to keep an element of privacy in his life.
  • But he does love tweeting stories about you or cute things that you do
  • Your childhood years would be a little hectic. Lin probably wouldn’t be around as much as he wants with filming, acting, composing and all but he would make an effort of a lifetime to be as involved as possible.
  • By your late teens you had already seen much of the world but that didn’t mean you were bored by any mean. Adventure was in your soul.
  • Lin would spend a lot of time with you during his time working with the film Moana. He liked to come to you to find inspiration.
  • Family trips to Disney World and Land
  • Lin is constantly trying to help you with his homework
  • “You know I was a teacher.”
  • Coming to him when you start learning about the American Revolution
  • “Well I mean you came to right person. I did write an entire musical about this stuff. Just use the album for a reference, it’s mostly accurate.”
  • Walking into your house one day after school infuriated as you set your pop quiz on the Schuyler Sisters in front of him, a large 9/10 circled with red pen.
  • “And I quote, I’m the oldest and the wittiest… My father has no sons… dad you cost me a perfect score! Why did you lie in the lyrics, I thought you said I could trust them!”
    “I’m sorry I forgot they had other siblings!”
  • Similar to your father, you swore like a sailor
  • Which also meant you were constantly getting scolded and death glares from your father who claims “He didn’t raise you to speak like that.” Even though you both know he did.
  • But honestly I could see Lin being into girl drama. Like when he picks you up from school and sees an annoyed look on your face he’d just shake his head and say,
  • “Spill the tea, honey. I’m ready!”
  • And on your bad days after dropping you off at home after school, Lin would drive to the nearest DQ and Chick-Fil-A and movie store returning home with gifts in toll.
  • He was one of the only people in the world you trusted enough to tell everything too
  • Dad jokes, so many dad jokes.
  • “Dad I’m thirsty. Do we have any-“
    “Hi thirsty nice to meet you I’m Lin-Manuel.”
  • Being very close with your grandparents
  • Your grandpa teaching you how to cook
  • Your grandma would spoil you tbh
  • Girl talk with your Aunt Luz
  • Your dad would be really big on making sure you knew and understood the importance of equality and treating others with respect. 
  • Weekly meals at their place where your grandpa is also telling tales
  • “You know pequeño, when your father was your age I couldn’t get him to shut up!”
    “He was always doing his rapping, talking fast and never making sense but he had passion just like yourself so don’t you ever give up on yourself carino. If your father did he would not be where he is today- and neither would you.”
    “Thank you abuelo.”
  • And when you finally do make it, doing whatever or being wherever that may be, you’ll have Lin’s as well as the rest of your families support because Lin knows exactly what it feels like to have millions of people doubt you and laugh at you for doing the unexpected so his support will never run out.
  • When Lin finds out you have a passion for writing and composing, he immediately takes you with him for a daddy daughter date to the studio.
  • He pretends to be out of ideas for a song and you play along knowing it would be a lot less painful to take the easy path.
  • “Well there are a few different projects I’ve been working on lately. They aren’t too good… pretty shitty-“
    “Sorry… but uh, you can have a look I suppose.”
  • Becoming a co writer beside your dad on his next project
  • Going on walks and hikes together with Tobillo
  • But for real though Lin would be insanely protective over you
  • Like when it comes to you Lin always needs to know where you are and constantly has eyes on you
  • When you got your first boyfriend/girlfriend Lin would FLIP
  • You’d suddenly become a player in the game ’21 questions’ or more like 101 questions when it came to your dad
  • He demanded meeting your significant other and no matter the gender, he held his strong demeanor and hardly cracked a smile- well until he saw how happy you looked in their presence.
  • But eventually he’d come to term with it. Although he would always see you as his little girl, he knew you had to spread your wings and he was not about to hold you back from doing so.
  • And when you finally land a lead role on an upcoming Broadway show, Lin is ecstatic.
  • Every day he calls you to ask how rehearsals are going partly because he’s interested and excited for you but also because he remembers his restless days and nights where he’d come home so stressed he’d forget to eat for days. He didn’t want to see you go through the hardships he did.
  • Ironically enough the new production is held, opening night, in the same old theater you grew up in, Richard Rodgers. Home sweet home. 
  • And on opening night you can guarantee your father is sitting front row with four bouquets of various flowers surrounded by all your family and friends as well as a handful of the original and new Hamilton cast.
  • And he would cry. A lot.
  • But he would also be that dad that right before the show starts, as the lights are dimming, he stands up and shouts,
  • “Go Y/n!”
  • His proud dad tweets would be never ending that night
  • After the production he was sure to be the first backstage and the first to hug you.
  • “You did it, you did it! I’m so proud of you, mi ángel. Congratulations!”
  • You’d be lying to yourself if you said your dad didn’t have a surprise party planned for after the play because he did.
  • Not to be a downer but there would be days where Lin would cry himself to sleep thinking he hasn’t done enough, or given you the life you deserve. He worked himself far too hard to make sure you had everything you could ever need and knew you were loved, but sometimes he couldn’t help but fear the worst.
  • Although at times he can be overbearing, you wouldn’t want it anyway else.

This was so fun to write oh my lord, hope you enjoyed!

-Daizy xx


Request: Hi there! I’ve just discovered your blog. I wondered if you could do a really flirty/sexy deanxreader one shot for me where Dean joked about the reader never seducing anyone so one night she has an idea of acting like as sexy as she can by straddling him (they aren’t together and Dean is like really surprised at what came over her) and eating whipped cream off him but it’s funny as well because she knocks stuff over and basically things just go wrong. Then it’s full of snarky comments?

Summary: Dean x Reader. 

Triggers: None

Word Count: 2432

Y/N = Your name  Y/L/N = Your last name  Y/H/C = Your hair colour

Sorry this took so long! I am awful Oo

“Damn it! If we can’t find a way to get closer to him we’ll never get the info we need,” Dean said, unceremoniously dropping the book he was reading back onto the mahogany table.

“Well, this guy likes women right?” You said, thinking out loud from where you were lounging on the couch with a book of your own. “What if I go in? Try to seduce the info out of him so to speak,” Placing the book you had been reading on the table beside you before twisting  to turn so that you were lying on your stomach, facing the guys at the large study table.

Dean’s eyes widened, as he looked at you. Nearly choking on his drink at your suggestion. “You? And what could you do (Y/N)?” He chuckled, looking down at you from his seat with mild amusement. As if the idea of you seducing someone was nothing if not laughable.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

What's medaka box. never heard of it





Let me tell you about the most balla ass ballaest ballin work of fiction in all of modern day fiction.

First off Let me just say this isn’t about to be some composed wikipedia article on medaka box. I am a fan neigh a follower no a Beleiver in this manga. It’s ended but it will never EVER!! stop being my favourite manga/anime/work of fiction. (Although my hero academia is chasing it’s tail quite closely). Neither is it going to be why Medaka box is champion of diverse modern fiction. I don’t have time for that. It’d take too Long and most people would suck their teeth, scroll past and move on. Plus I’m not good at outlining things like that I’d miss phrase things and get shit wrong. Probably make some people angry at me. My advice. Go read it . It is not a waste of time go track this down and read it it is Beautiful.

Now that that’s out of the way lets get into it shall we? Medaka Box is about this girl.

Her name is Kurokami Medaka (Or Medaka Kurokami f you wanna be all western about it) She is Basically the personification of that old preschool song ♫Anything You can do I can do better. I can do anything better than you♫ That’s it!. Her power is basically she will take whatever fancy shit you can do MAKE IT BETTER!!AND THEN FUCK YOU UP WITH IT!!   

This of course, Makes her Super Uber OP and is a main focus of the entire series. See because she’s so over powered. She doesn’t really understand what it’s like to be a normal person. She doesn’t know what it’s like to fail at something. She doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle to learn something , and because of that she envies normal people.She wishes to connect with them and understand what it’s like to be a Normal Person. So , she runs for student council  president Wins! and decides to implement a Suggestion Box.

The entire first Arc of the Manga is Her (by herself) recruiting her own student council and all in all making her school a better Place through her Suggestion Box. After this. It becomes more of your typical shonen manga fair except for one Little thing. 





Seriously The Women in this manga  are a work of art. Literally and figuratively, and the best thing about it is at no point do they try and be abrasive about it. They aren’t like “mmm we’re better than men I am woman hear me roar” No. They are just there and they’re powerful and it really makes for some good fun. That’s not to say the Male characters aren’t done well. 

Zenkich her right hand man (and love interest) would make a perfect P.O.V Character were this manga a Novel. The thing I like about him most is that he isn’t your typical shonen support. I mean yeah at times he strives to live up to medaka but he doesn’t try to overtake her, nor is he jealous of her (at least not intentionally) He spends the entire series being a supportive friend and anchor that Humanizes her anytime she seems beyond reach, and even though it is romantic it isn’t his core reason for following medaka. In his mind she’s always been above him. and he just wants to be there to support and help her. I could go on and on about how Zenkichi is the actual example of a “Nice Guy” rather than the thirsty ulterior motive guys that complain about the friend zone.) but another time. Another place.

There are Lots of other cool male characters too.

But of course No Medaka Box post, discussion or interaction would be complete without the Mention of my absolute favorite asshole in all of Fiction.


This glorious magnificent piece of filth is my Number one reason for Loving this manga. He is the personification of our generation. A misanthropic,unapologetic sociopath with the ability to turn anything into nothing.Like literally Anything, You Like the color Blue? boom that shit never existed. Computer errors are Now called P.S.O.D(Pink Screen Of Death). You Like the sun That shit don’t exist no more yo. Fuck all your solar powered shit. How bout the universe? you like that right. Fuck all that noise this Bitch gives NO FUCKs!! 

Not to mention his wonderful fourth wall breaking moments.

Seriously I can’t stress enough How awesome this manga is. Go read it Nonny do it sooner than later cause this shiznit is awesome.

A Labor Story: Fuck This Shit

I generally believe that it is impossible to find a woman that hated being pregnant more than me. From start to finish, I found it insufferable. There was the hyperemesis gravidarum and ten pound weight loss. Oh, and the bleeding episodes that sent me racing to the doctor in tears, only to find my baby dancing like Mary J Blige on ultrasound–

Originally posted by everythingyntk

completely and totally fucking unbothered while the world around me burned. Did I mention a huge ovarian cyst with torsion that almost sent me into emergency surgery? THIS WAS JUST THE FIRST TRIMESTER. 

I got sciatica that started in week seven and progressively worsened, coupled with SPD that made walking all but impossible towards the end. I wanted to get around like this: 

Originally posted by mtv

So, yeah. Being pregnant sucked and I looked so very forward to labor and delivery from very early on in my fecund period. Because I have a previous uterine incision (hello, trash ass fibroids), I was originally told that I could only deliver a baby via c-section. Well. I did my research and determined that my risk of uterine rupture was lower than that of complications from a c-section and set about finding a doctor to actually look at my medical records instead of practicing ‘one size fits all’ medicine. After a three-year search in which I took the latest studies, my medical records and surgical reports complete with pictures and an, ‘I’m not an idiot willing to be blindly lead’ attitude into the offices of several doctors, I found my obstetrical soul mate. She evaluated everything I brought in and agreed that there was no reason I couldn’t at least do a trial of labor. She didn’t even think I needed to be monitored like a VBAC patient, based on the fact that my uterine cavity wasn’t breached during my myomectomy. So when I did get pregnant (the very first month in which we tried—SWAG), I was excited to approach labor and delivery with the knowledge that I had a chance at pushing my baby out and avoiding another surgery. 

BUT. The more medical interventions that take place during your delivery, the more likely you are to end up with a c-section (in general). I really, really wanted to avoid a c-section, so I wanted to deliver sans medication. That included the epidural. It is here that you’re probably beginning to think I’m crazy. Bitch, I might be. 

So. Natural labor in a hospital setting. Trust in my body. I am woman, hear me roar. With these decisions made, I spent my pregnancy prepping for facing the challenge of labor. I hired a doula (because studies show they’re associated with positive outcomes in labor and delivery, especially for women opting not to use pain medication). I read up on pain coping techniques (The Big Book of Birth by Erica Lyon is an AMAZING book and I cannot recommend it enough for ALL expectant moms, whether you’re planning an unmedicated or medicated delivery). I sat on my birthing ball until my ass cheeks were numb. I drank red raspberry leaf tea. I stuck evening primrose capsules in areas they weren’t manufactured for. I walked. I did pelvic rocking and tucking. I did these things with fuck ass sciatica and SPD. I went for weekly chiropractic care to treat those things and loosen the pelvic ligaments and outlet. I kegeled so much I can shoot inanimate objects out of my vagina. Well, wait. I did that before getting pregnant because… NOTHING LIKE WALLS THAT GRIP THE D LIKE A FIRM HANDSHAKE AND STAVING OFF EVENTUAL URINARY INCONTINENCE. Don’t fucking judge me. 

As I approached my ninth month, I felt ready. Partially because ALL women feel ready at the end of pregnancy because it sucks and Mother Nature is a ho; but also because I was genuinely excited about labor and the chance to see just what my body is capable of. I’m not a particularly crunchy type of person, but I felt as though my body was built for this and I trusted it completely to see my son and I through it. 

I’ll spare you the details of the misery of my ninth month. Just know that there were days that I woke up and cried simply because I couldn’t bear the idea of facing yet another day pregnant. So it was with much anxiety that I approached my weekly doctor’s visits, HOPING AND WISHING for a sign that labor was imminent. 



Week 38: 1.5 cm dilated. 50-60% effaced. SWAG ME THE FUCK OUT. 

My visits fell late in my gestational weeks. So my week 38 visit was at damn near 39 weeks. I WAS DESPERATE. Which lead me to make a very bad decision (for me)… I asked my doctor to sweep my membranes instead of just waiting for labor to begin on its own. My doula and I had discussed this prior and I’d researched it. I knew it would either work or it wouldn’t, and if it did, I could expect to go into labor within 48 hours. I was ready, because seriously, fuck this shit. It went somewhat against my mantra of allowing things to take place when my body and son felt it was time, but since it was a very low-tech intervention, I figured it wouldn’t hurt. PLUS, I WAS TIRED AS THE WIGS IN TYLER PERRY MOVIES, OK? 

My doctor conducted the sweep as gently as she could and commended me on my high tolerance for pain as I didn’t hit the ceiling or yelp. Don’t get me wrong. It hurt. But it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. The, “Holy shit, what was that?!?!?” contraction my uterus immediately spasmed into was worse, yet still not unbearable. 

Membranes swept, I left my appointment and went to brunch. Heavy cramping started almost immediately, accompanied by light bleeding that my doctor had warned me to expect. I began feeling mentally foggy and was beset by a distracted feeling I can only describe as an impending heaviness. It was like my body was telling me something big was coming and that I needed to conserve my energy to be ready. People would speak to me and I was like, “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear anything you said,” because I was unable to focus. After brunch, I took a nap and awoke to more bleeding and chunks of mucous. TMI, but you will deal. Plenty of y’all ASKED for this shit. I began to truly believe the sweep had worked and that my baby would be born that weekend. 

Following my nap, I went for a mani/pedi so as to be fly from head to toe upon admission to the hospital, because vain (see: continued Brazilian waxes throughout pregnancy—ouch). When I got home, my lower back ached and the cramps continued at a regular pace. I was pretty grumpy and continued to feel very foggy and distracted. I ate and went to bed early that FRIDAY (this will be important later) evening on the advice of my doula. She wanted me well rested for the big show. I’ll tell you what happened next through texts to my doula:


7:58 am: “Morning. Just giving you a quick update. Last night I went to bed crampy at 9. Fell asleep by 10:45. Woke up at 3 am to the first contraction strong enough to wake me. Slept between and had five or six between then and six. Had a few between six and seven. Started timing at 7. Had one at 7:11, 7:35, 7:44 and 7:52. Still irregular and not too painful. Just enough that I cannot sleep through one. They last about 20 or 30 seconds. Going to keep trying to sleep between them for now.” 

8:27 am: “Still timing and I just had two more at 8:07 and 8:22. Going to stay in bed and rest until I feel like that is futile. Will check in with you then.” 

11:11 am: “Contractions stopped completely at 9:30. I had breakfast and then mopped the basement stairs. I came back to bed to read and/or nap, but am wondering should I do something like go shopping to get some walking in, or is resting the better idea.” 

I set about going to walk the aisles and spend money at my favorite baby and home stores, per my doula’s advice. 

4:51 pm: “I just got back home from running errands two minutes ago. Contractions have restarted, but are sporadic and light. Putting away all the stuff I bought and trying to decide if I will walk more around the house or rest for a bit. I am thinking walking and tinkering around the house is a good idea.” 

8:08 pm: “Did three hours on the ball. Contractions have picked back up. They hurt but aren’t unbearable. I am tired, grumpy and find myself rocking and swaying when I stand up. Thinking I should probably try resting again in case things are about to pick up overnight or in the morning.” 

8:23 pm: “Just lost quite a bit of bloody mucous and clots in the toilet. Not sure how much that means, but going to take a bath and get into the bed.” 

My doula assured me that this was a good sign my cervix had been dilating. I went to bed frustrated that the day hadn’t ended with a hospital admission, but hopeful Sunday would be the day. 


9:08 am: “Morning! Last night was OK. Fell asleep at about 9:30. Slept solidly until 12. Had painful (not the worst, but much stronger than yesterday) contractions that involved my back fairly regularly until 3:30 with lots of bloody show when I’d go pee. Slept in between those. They tapered off by 4 and I was able to go back to sleep. They are still coming, just irregularly. Still in bed, but been trying to switch positions a lot because the contractions seem to pick up when I do.” 

My doula instructed me to spend the day walking, sitting on the ball, and pelvic rocking on my hands and knees. 

1:08 pm: “Made breakfast, cleaned the basement from top to bottom and went to the store to walk the aisles. Contractions are back. Sitting on the ball now and will walk some more.” 

By ‘top to bottom,’ I meant that shit. I was scrubbing baseboards by hand in an attempt to work the baby out. I sent my husband off to work, excitedly telling him to keep his phone nearby because today was probably the day. I was wrong. As fuck. 

My doula then asked me to do one activity for an hour and time the contractions. I chose to sit on the ball. 

2:59 pm: “They were about five minutes apart (ranging 8 to 20 minutes) and 25 seconds long until 2:30. None since. Not painful like they were last night. I’m still sitting on the ball. Passing lots of bloody show. Have to wear a pad. I guess I will get up and walk.” 

After expressing hope that this was the beginning of a good pattern, my doula encouraged me to keep moving. 

6:12 pm: “Walked around the house for three hours. Nothing other than irregular contractions that aren’t painful. I am pretty exhausted now and my back is killing me. Think I am going to shower and rest. Still lots of bloody show. Trying not to get frustrated, but I am failing at that.” 

“I am so thankful that I haven’t been in terrible pain this whole time. But that is making me think these contractions have been ineffective. I will work on centering and breathing.” 

My doula assured me that the bloody show was a sign that I was actually dilating and all of this activity wasn’t for naught. She reminded me that active labor could kick in at any time and told me I could do it. I was all, “Girl. Ok.”


My doula sent a text to check on me at 10:30 am. 

11:19 am: “Good morning! I slept well last night. No contractions that I could feel and I am well rested. Just had a couple of contractions after breakfast, but they were quick. More pressure than pain. Still losing lots of brown/pink gunk, but otherwise? Nothing to report. About to sit on the ball for awhile, but otherwise gonna take it easy. Sciatica is killing me from all the walking and swaying this weekend.” 

7:19 pm: “Today has been uneventful. I sat on the ball for five hours and just finished doing some rocking and pelvic tilts. No real contractions to speak of and the bloody show has almost completely tapered off. It started back up again after hands and knees pelvic tilts. The baby has been very active.” 

She inquired whether I felt any more pelvic pressure or like the baby had dropped. 

7:26 pm: “Not really. His butt lowered a bit from where I normally feel it over the weekend, but no change today. No increase in pelvic pressure. I am worried that maybe a fibroid (I have several) is in his way and keeping him from engaging.” 

She asked whether my OB mentioned this as a possible problem. 

7:31 pm: “No, but I’ve read it in most of my books as something that can prevent babies from getting head down or engaging. It just occurred to me today. My OB was mainly worried about the fibroids possibly causing premature labor. She hasn’t mentioned them since my last U/S at 32 weeks.” 

“I had no less than ten scans and they never ID’d one as being in the way of him eventually engaging or delivery. But on every scan they’d find more. I think I have 5 or 6 now, with a few fairly sizable. I’m wondering if one got bigger or shifted in a way that’s keeping him from dropping in the last two months. I will ask about it on Friday. DAMN IT. I could cry right now because I was really hoping last Friday would be my last appointment.” 

My doula told me not to get discouraged, reminded me that either the sweep worked or it didn’t, that all the contractions over the weekend were great for my cervix and that she thought I probably wouldn’t make it to Friday’s appointment.

I clung to her words like a B’Day era lacefront to Beyonce on tour and tried to remain positive. 

That night, my contractions took on what was becoming a regular pattern. Between 12 and 3 am, they’d start, gradually increasing in intensity, duration and frequency. They’d work up to a level that was juuuuust painful and frequent enough that I couldn’t sleep between them. They’d continue unabated until roughly 8 or 9 am, at which time they’d either stop or taper off dramatically. 


When I’d finally say, “Fuck it,” and get up for the day, I wasn’t napping, either. I was so emotionally wound up over trying to figure out if this would be the day my child arrived and then being inconsolable when it turned out not to be. I was fried. I couldn’t shut my brain off. NOR COULD I STOP ENGAGING IN VIGOROUS PHYSICAL ACTIVITY IN AN ATTEMPT TO MOVE THINGS ALONG. I walked. I squatted. I lunged. I walked up and down my steps for hours at a time. I contorted my body in ridiculous ways reminiscent of yoga poses. I moved boxes. I swept. I mopped. I dusted. I cleaned the baseboards by hand. AGAIN. My house has honestly never been cleaner. I did all of this while “in labor,” but never quite working up to an active pattern that would support an admission to the hospital. 

Two major snowstorms walloped us during the week. Each time, I’d think my baby would decide to make his grand entrance when my doula would be unable to get to me and we’d be unable to reach the hospital. Of course, this didn’t happen, but I certainly worked myself into a tizzy thinking about it on top of everything else. 

Know what else I did during this time? I LIED. I LIED MY FUCKING FACE OFF. Every time a concerned relative would call, I’d tell them we had no news to report and that my cervix was still closed tighter than the guest list to a Presidential fundraising dinner. I saw no point in riling people up, only to have them continuing to wait like in the financial aid office at an HBCU. 

This went on for days. Each night, the contractions showed up earlier and became progressively more painful. This, of course, meant even less sleep for me. I’ll just tell you now that by the time I delivered my son, I hadn’t slept more than 20 minutes in over 72 hours. 

By Tuesday, I began to dread nightfall, knowing that pain and frustration awaited. I’d also become convinced that I was never going to go into active labor on my own and that I’d end up with the induction and c-section I’d spent years trying to avoid. I kept in touch with my doula during this time via text and a few phone calls. 

Looking back, I was clearly moving in the right direction. Contractions were coming earlier each evening, lasting longer, becoming more painful and tapering off later each day. The bloody show continued. My labor was progressing, albeit slooooowwwllly. But at the time, I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. 

So there I am each evening: EXHAUSTED from the lack of sleep the night before, PHYSICALLY SPENT from cumulative days of constantly moving around to try to kick myself from early into active labor, falling into bed… to… stare into the darkness and wait for some bullshit with clenched teeth (and booty cheeks, if we’re being honest). It was physical and mental torture. There’s really no other way to describe it. 

I’d spend the pre-dawn hours halfheartedly timing contractions and praying for things to move along, while staring homicidally at my husband while he slept blissfully if I didn’t move around too much. Also, I cried. I cried a lot. I cried more when well-meaning people would ask if I’d had the baby (I’m looking at YOU, Twitter), not knowing that I was in the midst of the purgatory of a stalled early labor. 

I spent all day Wednesday (yes, WEDNESDAY. THIS BULLSHIT STARTED ON FRIDAY) having mildly painful contractions every 30 to 40 minutes. My maternity leave had begun the prior Friday, so I’d spent each day alone with my thoughts, these fuck ass infrequent contractions, the ball and HGTV. 

That evening, I went to bed tired, dejected and anxious. But at 11:30, I felt a contraction that I believed meant business. Was this finally it? 

Maybe. These relatively painful contractions (maybe a 6 on a 10 point scale) continued all night, peaking in frequency and duration at about 5 am. By then, they were about 30 seconds long and anywhere from two to four minutes apart. I wanted to be in TRULY active labor before going to the hospital, so I was looking for a pattern of three minutes apart, one minute long for one hour. So we played the waiting game some more. My husband timed. Neither of us slept. I changed positions in bed frequently and advised him confidently that today was probably going to be the day, because I’m stupid. 

At 7 am, THURSDAY morning (FUCKING THURSDAY) I called my doula. I explained what had been happening all night and she said it sounded encouraging. She told me to get up, shower and have a light breakfast. If the contractions continued after that, she’d be on her way to help until it was time to go to the hospital. I envisioned being admitted to the hospital by 2 pm and having a baby in my tired arms by 9 pm, again, because I’m stupid. 

I showered, and the contractions slowed to 10 minutes apart. My doula assured me that this was normal and encouraged me to get on the ball. I did and the contractions picked back up to 4-5 minutes apart. I had a light breakfast while sitting on the ball. As I nervously chewed my sausage, I was hit with a contraction that said, “Girl. Batten down the hatches of your wig.” It was probably a 7 on the pain scale. I smiled through it because, “YES. BUST THAT CERVIX OPEN IN THE ISLANDS OF WAIKIKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII.” 

I stayed glued to the ball for three hours. Contractions were frequent, but manageable. I sent my husband to call off work and take a nap so that one of us would be worth a damn as the day progressed. Finally, I felt confident that this was truly it. I asked my doula to come at 10 am. While I waited for her to arrive, I watched an old school video block on VH1 Soul and danced around the living room, stopping only to brace myself against the wall or a piece of furniture during more intense contractions. I felt very confident. I was coping with the (relatively minor) pain really well and I was looking forward to the process of labor and delivery. It felt like a really good fucking day to have a baby. 

At 11 am, my doula arrived. She brought with her tools for pain management, her comforting demeanor and a patience and determination that matched mine. We were going to need it, because… 


She felt this was probably a normal lull in labor and nothing that we couldn’t manage or restart. I wasn’t so sure. 

To kick my labor back into active gear, she kept me moving. I walked. I rocked. I lunged (have you ever seen a nine-month pregnant woman lunge?) around the entire first floor of the house. I walked up and down the steps until I was sweaty and breathless. I spent countless minutes sitting on the toilet, because sitting there would always guarantee at least one strong contraction. I sat on the ball. I lied on the ball. I used pillows to keep my pelvis open during the rare moments where I rested. She continued timing and logging the contractions. 

My husband nervously tinkered around the house, but otherwise stayed out of the way. My dogs stayed close, aware, I’m sure, that something important was afoot. 

Contractions eventually restarted with some consistency, but they were brief. They didn’t seem to be increasing in duration and it became clear labor had stalled out again. To her credit, my doula didn’t say this to me. She stayed positive and tried every trick she knew. She even reached out to other doulas on the doula batline to try to see if there was more we could do. 

I stayed hydrated and ate a lunch of Jimmy John’s. My husband applied counter pressure during the rare contraction strong enough to require it. My doula marveled at my pain tolerance and told me that it wouldn’t be much longer. 

Of course, the contractions stopped again. By this time, it was 5 pm and we were all desperate. As a last ditch Hail Mary, the doula suggested that I get in the soaking tub in the master bathroom. Once in the soothing water, she had me contort myself weirdly to see if the weightlessness of the water helped the baby move down to bring his head into contact with my cervix and bring on some stronger, more regular contractions. This helped some and I had about five contractions in that bath. God bless that bath. She sat on the floor next to me and talked to me about any and everything other than labor. 

After an hour, she helped me out of the tub and into some new pajamas. She then sent me to the couch to try and rest because I was spent. I physically could not do anything more. I’d spent the entire day doing cardio, basically. There, she positioned my pelvis with pillows and paced while waiting to see what my contractions did. They stopped again. OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DID. 

By this time it was 7 pm, twelve hours after I’d originally called her to say, “This might be it.” We discussed prodromal labor (this torture has a name) and I told her to go home. I wanted her to be rested for when things did actually pick up. She told me that she was worried about my stamina because I hadn’t really rested in days and wanted me to promise to try REALLY hard to get some sleep because she felt active labor was imminent. I promised that I would and she said, “I have a feeling I’ll be back tonight.” I was like, “Girl, whatever. This baby is never going to come. I’m going to go to my 39 week appointment tomorrow, they’re going to tell me my cervix hasn’t changed and I’m going to kill myself.” What I was REALLY going to do was ask if they could give me a sleeping aid that would help me sleep through each night of torture before I went into active labor, because I was so desperate to get some sleep. She agreed that would be a good idea, but said again, very gently, “I don’t think you’re going to need to do that. I think I’ll be back tonight.” I was too tired to understand that she was telling me, in her professional wisdom, that shit was about to get real. I said wistfully that I hoped they’d find I was at least 3 to 4 cm tomorrow morning, and that would give me the resolve I needed to keep going. I had to know that all of this hadn’t been for naught. 


I told him that he was crazy if he thought I was exercising either of those options and walked the doula to the door. 

I then went to bed without another word and cried. After I cried… I dozed off. I slept for five blissful minutes. Like, a HEAVY sleep. But then, I was awakened by a contraction. And not a pansy ass one. This was a… CONTRACTION. It felt like a horse had kicked me from the inside. I thought, “GREAT. They’re starting already. I’m not gonna get ANY sleep tonight. I thought I at least had until 12 or 1 am.” I was so tired and discouraged that I didn’t realize that this was the opening salvo of active labor. 

Realizing trying to sleep would be futile, I ambled downstairs and decided to eat. While trying to eat some buffalo wings and sautéed Brussels sprouts, I had two more of those contractions. I told my husband I was sure it was nothing other than the natural progression of the week’s torture and I went back to bed. I MISSED SCANDAL, BITCH. 

These painful (8 or 9 on the scale) contractions started off at about 30 minutes apart, gradually increasing in length, duration and frequency all night. TEXTBOOK BUILD UP. ACTIVE LABOR. Do you think I realized this is what was happening? NOPE. 

They eventually began to take all of my resources to cope and I’d dread the start of each one. I’d feel a tightening in my back that would wrap around to my front with an intense HOT pain that had a build up, peak and tail. I climbed out of bed and began walking. I moaned. I crawled. I took blankets into the bathroom and parked on the toilet for awhile. All I kept thinking is, “I just have to make it to my appointment at 9:50 am. They’ll give me something for pain and I’ll be able to sleep until active labor starts.” I… wasn’t… all… there. 

At 4 am FRIDAY MORNING (FUCKING FRIDAY—A FULL SEVEN DAYS AFTER I HAD MY MEMBRANES SWEPT), I got back in the bed and positioned myself the way my doula had me in the tub. It was pretty unbearable, so I got back up. I shook my husband and said, “I need help. I need you to help me with these contractions. Rub my back.” He did and said, “Babe. I think we should time these.” I snapped back, “YOU DO IT! I CAN’T FOCUS ON THAT RIGHT NOW.” 

I. Still. Did. Not. Understand. That. I. Was. In. Active. Labor. Telling you this now, I realize how utterly ridiculous that is. But at the time, it was like I couldn’t allow myself to get my hopes up, only to have them crushed again when daylight broke. This explains why I was in a ton of pain, but didn’t bother calling my doula back to help. I didn’t want her to waste her time again. 

My husband timed contractions for one hour and we figured out that they were 60-90 seconds long and between two and four minutes apart. MY IDIOT ASS STILL DIDN’T KNOW I WAS IN ACTIVE LABOR. I was still focused on that doctor’s appointment and some sleeping pills. 

By 6 am, we’d made our way downstairs, realizing that trying to rest was futile. We sat (well, I laid) on the couch watching infomercials as I moaned my way through contractions. I ate half of a bagel and stared at the clock, WILLING my appointment time to arrive. 

Just after 7, my husband suggested I reach out to the doula, “just in case.” His ass didn’t realize I was in active labor, either. Dumb and Dumber. 

I sent her a text. 

7:25 am: “Contractions started back up at 20-30 minute intervals at 8 pm. They are 8 or 9 on my pain scale. They kept getting closer/longer until peaking at 60-90 seconds and two to four minutes apart at 5 am. I tried to doze between them, but they hurt so badly that sleeping between even the 20 minute ones was impossible. I was rocking, walking and trying to keep my pelvis open. Came downstairs at 6 am and they are still coming, but back at 15 to 20 minutes.”

“Still very painful. I’m just trying to make it to my appointment to find out what, if anything, they can give for pain/sleep until this turns into active labor. I need help because I am completely depleted and overwhelmed. I don’t know if I can do another day or night of this.” 

She responded that 60-90 seconds was much better than what we’d seen previously, asked if they were still 20 minutes apart, and told me to take a bath and see if I could get an earlier appointment. 

7:30 am: “They spread out to 20 minutes as soon as we came downstairs. Upstairs, I was sitting in the bed like you had me in the tub, sitting on the toilet or walking. Downstairs, I wanted to walk, but I was so exhausted I sat on the ball and then laid on my left side because I can hardly sit up anymore through this fatigue. I will try a bath and see about an earlier appointment.” 

She told me to have breakfast if I hadn’t and try to relax instead of doing things to push labor along. She realized at this point that I didn’t need to, as it was humming along on its own. I STILL DIDN’T UNDERSTAND THAT. This really is the most absurd thing. 

I took a shower because waiting for a bath to run was honestly more than I had to give to life at that point. My husband called the doctor’s office and they said I couldn’t get in any earlier. They might have gotten me in soon IF WE’D ONLY TOLD THEM I WAS IN ACTIVE LABOR, BUT ALAS, WE DIDN’T KNOW I WAS AND SO COULDN’T PLAY THAT CARD. 

I let my doula know and she said she’d meet us at the office for my appointment. She then said, “Take your hospital bag. I don’t think you’re going back home.” I dutifully obliged, all while thinking I was still going to be coming back home. She told me to keep deep breathing and moaning and try to stay relaxed. I did try. But it was hard when my whole abdomen felt like it was being tightened in a fiery vise. The pain wasn’t a level that I felt I absolutely couldn’t manage, but it was pretty shitty. The thing about contractions and labor is that they’re HARD. They’re really taxing. They require effort to get through them. And effort? REQUIRES ENERGY. ENERGY THAT I DIDN’T HAVE BECAUSE I’D NOT HAD ANY SLEEP IN THREE DAYS. 

At 9, my doula checked in with me. I let her know that the contractions were about 10 minutes apart and still very intense. I was dressed in clean pajamas (because fuck everything), a headscarf, Chuck Taylor sneakers and an aura of desperation. We loaded my bags into the car and then headed for the doctor’s office after a delay because three back-to-back contractions immobilized me. Still no clue I’m in active labor, by the way. 

Because those contractions were going to make us late for my appointment, I called ahead to the office and let them know we were running about ten minutes late. I explained that I was having contractions and the receptionist assured me they’d get me in an exam room as soon as I arrived. 

I had three trash ass contractions during the drive. 

My doula was waiting in the lobby when we got there. I had two contractions from the lobby to the office. She supported my weight through each and whispered encouragement in my ear. She, and everyone in the doctor’s office (receptionist, nurses, ultrasound tech) all took one look at me and knew I was in active labor. My dumb ass still did not. 

In the exam room, contractions made undressing from the waist down pretty difficult. My husband and the doula helped and we waited for my doctor for about two minutes. 

She came in and said, “I heard you’re having some contractions!” 

I said, “YES. THIS WEEK HAS BEEN AWFUL,” and launched into a miserable litany of everything that had happened since she’d swept my membranes. 

She lamented, “Ai-yi-yi. Prodromal labor. I’m sorry. It sucks. It happened to me.” 


She laughed and said, “You hated everything about pregnancy. I didn’t need to scare you with more. Plus, there was no way of knowing this would happen to you. I really hoped last Friday would be your last appointment.” 

I told her that I really, really needed something to help me sleep because I hadn’t slept in days. 

She told me that some women are stuck in this pattern for weeks and I just about passed out, because I thought that was going to be me. Then she said, “We have a couple of options. I can write you a prescription for some sleeping pills that are safe for pregnancy. Or we can admit you to the hospital for a few hours with an IV drip of a pain medication that will make it so you can sleep through the contractions for awhile. We call that therapeutic sleep. Or… we could induce you. But first, how about we take a look at your cervix and see where things stand?” 

I endured a pretty painful cervical check. She popped her head back up with a bright smile and said, “You’re four centimeters! Let’s go have a baby.” 

I burst into tears of joy and relief. I wasn’t going home after all. All the work hadn’t been for naught. I WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO HAVE A BABY. While I processed that, she continued poking around my cervix and I just about hit the ceiling. She’d swept my membranes again to be DOUBLY sure that my labor didn’t stall out again. Grrr. She talked to my doula for a bit and asked her some questions about whether my contractions had been “coupling” all week and they talked shop talk for a moment. 

Through my tears, we then talked about the hospital admission and how things would go from this point forward. She said she’d be kept abreast throughout the day and hopefully she’d see me later that afternoon to deliver my son. She then left to call the hospital. 

It was close to 11 am. I was still exhausted, but I had a brief burst of energy and renewed confidence. We drove down the street to the hospital and made our way to the L&D floor. I refused a wheelchair at the hospital’s front admissions desk, even though that sweep had unleashed hell. I was having strong, hard contractions, back-to-back with nearly no breaks in between them. I wanted to walk because I was still determined to have my natural labor and I needed to help things along. The staff couldn’t believe I refused the wheelchair. I requested a room with a tub and was given one. 

Once inside, I put on the hospital gowns. Yes, gowns. I wasn’t gonna be assed out. I then sat still for fetal and contraction monitoring while we went over my medical history, the events of the last week, and our birth plan with the nurse. They were completely supportive of an unmedicated delivery with no routine IV fluid and intermittent monitoring. I’d be allowed to hydrate to comfort by mouth with water, Gatorade, ice and frozen treats. I had a hep-lock installed just in case. This would come back to bite me later, but for now was in line with my birth plan. They also drew a vial of blood and did another cervical check to make sure I was really 4 cm. They agreed with my doctor’s assessment. Four centimeters out this bitch, and a station that said the baby was still floating pretty high in my pelvis. 

Once they’d established that my contractions were in a good pattern and the baby was doing well, they turned me loose. I’d be allowed to walk and do whatever I wanted for 45 minutes out of every hour. Then, I’d have to return for 15 minutes of monitoring. So we got moving. My husband, my doula and I walked the corridors of the L&D floor. Well, walk is an overstatement. It took really long to get anywhere because we kept having to stop for contractions. I simply could not believe how frequently they were coming. My doula said they seemed to be in a pattern similar to transition, which meant my labor might not be long (MIGHT NOT BE LONG AFTER SIX DAYS). I was griping about how quickly they were coming and she assured me that this is what we wanted. My husband would support my weight while she applied counter pressure. The pain. Oh, sweet Jesus, the pain. It wasn’t completely unmanageable. But it was hard and it definitely required some fight. The issue was I was just so tired. I needed to rest. After one hour of walking and lunging, we returned to the room. I was hopeful that I’d progressed to 6 cm so that I could use the tub. They’d told me I couldn’t until then because they didn’t want labor to stall out. I just needed to rest and take the edge off. 

So it was with bated breath that I endured yet another painful cervical check… only to be told I was still 4 cm. Womp. So I got on the ball. I used heat pads and counter pressure and massage and visualization and I tried really hard to battle through over the next hour. But I was so tired it was hard for me to sit up unsupported anymore. I said that I wasn’t sure I could do this and my husband, the nurse and my doula said, “Oh, but girl. You ARE doing it.” The nurse marveled at my ability to cope with the pain, because I wasn’t completely losing my shit. I was moaning softly through each contraction and trying my best to surrender to each wave. 

All of a sudden, I started being unable to focus my eyes. Like, I was so tired, I could not fix my eyes on a single point. I knew then that I HAD to get some rest. But there was no way I’d be able to sleep through the contractions. So I asked about temporary pain relief that would allow me a quick nap. The nurse reminded me of my birth plan and asked if I was really sure and I said that I was. She talked to us about analgesics and I briefly considered them. The side effects, particularly those for the baby, frightened me and gave my husband INCREDIBLE pause. But I didn’t want that goddamned epidural. I didn’t want the increased monitoring, the lack of movement, the potential for fever, blood pressure drops, etc. I. DID. NOT. 

So I tabled the discussion and went back to lunging around the room for thirty more minutes. Then I hit my wall. I was simply physically incapable of doing anything more. I had no reserves left with which to do this. Labor is physical work. Physical work requires energy. Energy requires rest. I AIN’T HAVE NONE OF THAT SHIT. I was delirious. 

I locked eyes with my doula and said, “I want the epidural.” She said, “I think that’s a great choice for you right now. You absolutely need to rest.” 

We summoned the nurse and told her. She said, “Let me tell you something. I do this for a living. I see lots of women go through this process. You can tell when someone is going to be able to manage the pain. You were rocking it. I have no doubt in my mind that if you’d have had a textbook labor and some sleep in the past few days? You’d have done this without the epidural. But right now? You DEFINITELY need to rest. We’re going to make it so that you can.” And with that, she started making the calls to get the nurse anesthetist. 

Remember how I said I only had a hep-lock and no IV fluid? Well… To get an epidural, you have to be pre-loaded with one or two bags of saline solution to prevent a catastrophic drop in blood pressure. That takes about an hour. Fuck everything. Seriously. 

Once you make the decision to get an epidural, you want it placed and you want relief NOW. That wasn’t to be for me. Not only did I have to wait for the fluids to come, be hooked into my hep-lock and slooooowwwllly drip into me, I had to have my blood drawn AGAIN and rushed to the lab because they lost my first sample and they couldn’t give me the epidural without analyzing it first. MY NIGGA, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I actually moaned, “This is some bullshit. I can’t.” My wonderful nurse (seriously, she was awesome) apologized profusely and told me how well I was doing. I had to endure all of this while sitting perfectly still on the bed, because the IV had restricted my movement. So I couldn’t even move around to use pain management techniques. My doula massaged my extremities and lower back as best she could, while my husband held my hand and whispered encouragement into my ears. 

The nurse anesthetist FINALLY arrived at 1:30, only to find that her preferred sterile scrub for my back wasn’t available. THIS BITCH simply couldn’t do without it, so she had the nursing staff calling all over looking for this specific thing that no one seemed to be familiar with and I’m thinking, “USE WHAT THEY HAVE ON THE TRAY, HO.” 

They’d kicked my husband and doula out to maintain a sterile field at this point, so I’m sitting there with just the nurse, enduring contraction after contraction. The nurse was very encouraging and told me how great I was doing, but I didn’t give a shit about her superlatives. I wanted my epidural, my doula and my husband, in that motherfucking order. 

After THIRTY MINUTES, Picky Patty’s preferred scrub is procured and we’re able to get to the process of placing the epidural. It took a very long time. And I spent it hunched over, having massive contractions (seriously, the stupid nurse anesthetist looked at the monitor and ACTUALLY SAID they were some of the strongest she’d ever seen—fuck her) trying to stay completely still. The nurse was supporting me and talking me through each. “You’re going to get through this contraction. You’re going to stay perfectly still. The epidural will be placed and you will sleep. Good job,” and so on. Her soothing voice and reassuring touch are the only reason I wasn’t in tears at this point. Thirty more minutes, FOURTEEN CONTRACTIONS (I counted), two rushed emergency appearances from the resident on call when the monitors lost my baby’s heartbeat because of how I was contorted, and three placement attempts later (I apparently have very narrow spaces between my vertebra), the epidural was in. There were a few spots where it didn’t initially take, so I had to flop around like a fish until the medicine was fully distributed. Twenty minutes after that, it had fully kicked in, and it was off to sleep for me. 

Except that it wasn’t. They immediately came to do another cervical check and to break my water, so that the epidural wouldn’t slow my labor down. Don’t you know I’d dilated to 6 cm while WAITING for the goddamned epidural? 

Then it was off to sleep… Or not. The epidural made me shake so violently that it was impossible to sleep through it. So I laid there. I laid there with a sleep mask on, wishing desperately to sleep… and not sleeping. My doula tried some massage techniques and pressure points to try to make the shaking stop, all to no avail. So she went back to work positioning me to keep my pelvis open to support continued dilation and help the baby move down. She used a peanut ball and flopped my legs around. I maintained good control over my pelvis, hips and right leg (I could lift and move all of them), but my left leg was dead to the world. The pain had stopped, but I could still feel the tightening of the contractions and could tell when they would start, peak and end. 

And so, we waited. We waited for me to dilate and for my son to descend. As it turned out, we didn’t wait long. At 3:30, the nurse came back to do a cervical check. I was 10 cm. I’d gone from 6 to 10 cm in approximately an hour and a half. I found it incredibly infuriating that after a full week of slow early labor things were now progressing so quickly, but I was thankful nonetheless. My son still wasn’t with the idea of being born, because he was still floating up a little high. As both of our vitals were stable (minus a fever I’d developed from the epidural), they were happy to let me continue to rest and allow him to work himself down, rather than have me try to push him down. My doula went back to work on positioning me to help (I looked a fool with my dead leg) and I allowed myself to finally really get excited over the prospect of seeing my son. 

For the next two hours, they monitored my rising fever, but otherwise left me alone. At nearly six, they came back for another check and my son was at whatever station he needed to be in order to be born. They called my doctor and she wasn’t on call for that evening. She tried really hard to find someone to take her kids so she could come deliver me. While that happened, I rested and my fever grew even higher. They started me on prophylactic antibiotics (see why I didn’t want that damned epidural originally?), but remained chill about it. They mentioned the prospect of possibly having to do the same for my son, but assured me I’d still get my hour of skin-to-skin time immediately after birth. 

It turned out that my doctor wasn’t going to be able to attend me, so they called the doctor on call. While we waited for her, I watched as they wheeled in the tray with everything she’d need to deliver my son. It is at this moment that it REALLY hit me that I was going to have a baby. Like, a whole ass human being that I’d carried and made was going to luge out of my vagina with my assistance. HOLY SHIT. 

I’d never met the doctor on call, and that made me nervous. As it turned out, my fears were unfounded. She was an amazing woman who made my delivery hilarious and fun. She arrived at about 7:30—breezed in actually—introduced herself and immediately put me at ease with her warm bedside manner and some pretty funny jokes. She instructed me on how pushing would go and said it would probably take about an hour. Then, she asked me to do a test push with the next contraction to see if I had the hang of it. I did, and she said, “Yeah, no. Pushing isn’t going to take you an hour. In fact, let me get ready now.” ALL THOSE MOTHERFUCKING KEGELS CAME IN HANDY. She quickly changed, donned the splash guard and assembled her tools. 

My husband took a leg and the nurse took another. It was go time.

They asked if I wanted the mirror down. I said yes, but quickly realized I couldn’t push and look into it at the same time. Between contractions, I’d steal peeks and I saw my son’s head and hair… hair that the doctor lovingly sculpted into a Mohawk as it peeked out of my vagina (seriously—LOL), so he’d be “photo ready” upon birth. 

At 8:02 pm, seven days after my membrane sweep, six days of early labor, 24 hours of active labor, five contractions and fifteen minutes after I started pushing, my son was born. The doctor, nurses and doula couldn’t believe how quickly and easily I’d pushed him out as a first time mom. I was grateful that there was SOMETHING about my labor and birth that went more quickly than expected. They placed my 6 lb,13 oz and 20 inch long boy on my chest, where he promptly took a shit to let me know how he felt about being born, and I fell in love. The end. 

Well, not quite. I had a postpartum hemorrhage, courtesy my fibroids. The doctor handled it quickly and calmly, but I watched in the mirror with alarm as she ordered, and then shoved Cytotec into my ass. Literally. SHE SHOVED CYTOTEC PILLS INTO MY ASS. My son and I both ended up on antibiotics and I had a preeclampsia blood pressure spike that earned us an extra night in the hospital, but other than that we did well. 

You should also know that I didn’t shit on the delivery table.

I didn’t tear and my postpartum nurse checked me on day two and said, “Good grief. It doesn’t even look like you had a baby!” I knew then that me and my vagina were gonna be alright. GLORAY. PAY HOMAGE TO MY PERINEUM AND ITS INCREDIBLE ELASTICITY. No. Seriously. Pay homage. 

Characters from Luke Cage and Lyrics from rap song that I thought fit

Luke Cage: “What a god to a non-believer” (No Church in the Wild)-Jay Z and Kanye West

Misty Knight:”Everything these haters do just to degrade ya,Only made me stronger so thanks for the favor.“ (All Good)-LIL’ Kim

Mariah Dillard: “You can be the King,but watch the Queen Conquer” (Monster Nicki Minaj Verse)

Herman “Shades” Alvarez:“Cause we’ve been through the worst times and the best times,But it was our time, even if it was part-time” (I’m Real)-JaRule ft J.Lo I couldn’t resist

Claire Temple:”I am woman, hear me roar,Comin’ out fresher and flyer than I did before”-(I am Woman)-MC Lyte

Cornell “Cottonmouth” Stokes: "Watch the blimp read, ‘The World Is Mine.'” (If I Ruled the World)-Nas ft Lauryn Hill

Willis “Diamondback” Stryker: ”Catch me if you can like the GingerBread man- (Struggle) Biggie Smalls

Henry “Pops” Hunter: “God is smilin’ on you but he’s frownin’ too,Because only God knows what you’ll go through” (The Message)-Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five

Occasionally Rafael Scarfe especially when he killed Chico,and That one guy who didn’t want to save Luke even though Misty ask him to: “Fuck the Police” (Fuck the Police)-NWA

If anyone disagrees ,or got suggestion the floor is yours.


Dakota just said something really inspiring about “putting on her big girl pants,” and I was extremely stoked follow suit. That is until I realized that I haven’t blogged about seeing Justin Vernon last night.

So Justin Vernon has come into my life twice now. The first time he and I crossed paths, I was hardly 18 and didn’t know how to do my hair tastefully or write a film paper very well. I am now on the downhill slide towards year 21, and I can write a damn good film paper, as well as curl my hair a few times a week in under 15 minutes. Therefore I am an academic woman hear me roar or whatever. 

I don’t think I have ever seen a show like last night’s. Not only was the music spot on and tight, but the entire 4 hours of standing down front at the Neptune…. was so intimate. Justin Vernon came out bearing modesty on his sleeve as he greeted the crowd. There wasn’t an ounce of “You know who I am,” or “Yeah I’m Mr. Bon Iver” in the air. He just came out smiling, PBR is one hand and a red solo cup in the other. Three chunks of thready hair were combed over his wide forehead. A baggy “Marijuana Deathsquad” shirt hung on his shoulders, his arms peppered with all sorts of tattoos. With a wide grin on his face that could only come from a solid upbringing in the Wisconsinian wilderness and a heart that known real love and pain, he opened, (and commenced to complete,) one of the most personal and genuine concerts I’ve seen in my time. 

There was this moment where he was kneeling with his back to the audience, shaking a tambourine. He was bent over behind his podium, so I could only see the back of his beautiful balding head as me synced up to the rhythm of the rest of the band. It made me realize how much I’ve idolized him, and how ridiculous that is. Because Justin Vernon is a real person, just a 31 year old guy who worked hard for his trade. There is not this invisible barrier between him and I. He is not better than me, and I’m not better than him. If I got up on that stage, I could touch him, and his skin would bear startling resemblance to mine. I can’t sing the way he can, but our pain is the same, and his expression has taught me about my expression. And when I watched him on that floor, kneeling and giving himself away to the music, it all became so very clear. 

We’re all on this journey together. This life we share with each other is beautiful and limited, and even if some of us are signed with recording labels, or are in beautiful relationships, or have time consuming jobs, or have trouble getting out of bed, or even forgot to feed our fish this morning, we’re all inexplicably bound. Something about last night made that all so clear. 

And for that, I say thank you Mr. Vernon. Your modesty and accesability is beautiful, and we could all learn from that.

She hardly got to know [Carter]. She lost him just when she was coming around to believing in the inevitability of their love for one another. But the progressive, ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ version of her is unlike every other lifetime she’s lived where she too had died and they were reborn together all over again. What makes this version of Kendra different is she has the other Legends. She can be a hero without him, and she has to stand up to Savage alone and vanquish him by herself.
—  Phil Klemmer

Full confession: “Can creative get the roles of the babyfaces and heels right? For example, you have Sasha Banks, talking about wanting to wrestle since she was a kid, women who have inspired her and pretty much giving these “I am woman, hear me roar!” female empowerment speeches, just so she can fat shame Dana Brooke 2 seconds later. Also, you have loveable babyface Enzo Amore, being a Jersey Shore dirtbag trying to sleep with a married woman and hitting on her from the start, just for the supposed heel that’s Rusev to defend her honor and beat the shit out of the guy who even considered sleeping with his wife.”