In the wee hours of this morning, I helped Angelina Jolie birth her next child. A girl, in case you were wondering. Cute thing.
See, I didn't plan on being Angie's midwife. It all started with Brad Pitt and George Clooney were in my house. Never saw George. But Brad needed to mail a package and the nearest Fed-Ex was on Broad Street. Only he didn't understand my directions (men apparently can't balance beauty and brains) so since I had a package to mail myself (baby clothes to my younger sister) I figured I'd drive him. In my extremely small car. Cheap version of a mini Cooper. Must have been a Ford Fiesta.
So after we mailed our packages, he said he needed to go see Angie. When we arrived, sure enough she was in labor. One of their kids was running around without underwear. Probably Shiloh. Although she looked a lot like my daughter Niley, only with blonde hair. And a full moon.
Now I was holding Angie's hands and telling her to breathe and whatnot during the contractions because that's what a midwife does. Then Brad said "Shouldn't I be holding her hands? After all, I'm the dad and you're only her best friend."
When did Angelina Jolie and I become BFFs? I'd just met the chicka. But that's neither here nor there considering the woman was in labor and doing it without an epidural. We chatted about how neither of us liked to take drugs during labor. She was so calm and relaxed. I'm sure I was lying because I happily took drugs during all five of my labor/deliveries. Guess you say whatever you have to to a woman in labor. Most logical.
Well, I had to walk away from Brad and Angie to check on their kids (no one else was watching them), only to find the one didn't have underwear on underneath her dress (very Britney Spears of her). Must be a celebrity thing, although my kids each have gone through the no-underwear and all-I-wear-is-underwear phases so I empathized with the parents.
Being the good mom I am, I quickly found the critter some panties, then Angie yelled at me to "get back over here." Baby slid out. Brad grabbed it and wrapped it up before I could. Which I was kinda glad because blood and muck-covered babies aren't my thing. I made my labor docs clean my critters up before I'd hold them. Yes, a girl has to have standards. Even one who doesn't get her nails manicured.
Plus, let's face it: Muck-covered babies aren't cute. Of course, they don't smell like teen-age boys fresh from two-a-day football practice, so I'll give them props for that.
I said, "Congrats on the baby. Umm, what is it?"
Brad peaked under the bundling. I did too. Hey, I helped this child in the world. No time for modesty. 'Twas a girl. Yay, me! Although I didn't really do anything but put underwear on the panti-less child...and take Brad to Fed-Ex so he could mail his package.
Oh, then I did manage to make it back over to Angie to see her purge the afterbirth. Blech. Whoever said childbirth was beautiful was either blind or on drugs. Watching the movie Alien and Aliens is far more pleasant. The only good thing about labor and delivery is the baby and having someone(s) wait on your every need...and whim.
All in all, I can say that if hubby ever offers me Sonic cheddar peppers at 9pm at night, I shall refuse.