Happy things.

My sister reminded me that I should look for something that made the day of Gabriel's birth happy or funny or positive, even if for a minute. Just to prove that it wasn't completely depressive. And of course I could list all the obvious things: I was a mother for a brief time, all that...but there is a funny story:

Tannah and I have a little tiny dog, she's a Schipperke poodle who's a little goofy and very headstrong. While I was in the hospital my parents offered to watch her, so Tannah could stay with me instead of having to worry about going home to feed her, walk her, all that. Well, after my contractions had gotten pretty close the anesthesiologist came in to give me all these reasons why he couldn't give me an epidural. And he was speaking so slowly, and asking me detailed questions about my past medical history. Well, when you're in pain, you aren't exactly thinking clearly. So in the middle of this, Tannah gets a phone call.

It was a woman who found our Pepper shivering outside of the front door of a house whose address didn't match the tag. So she called the number and Tannah knew Pepper was supposed to be with my parents but didn't know their home address off-hand. so he asked me.

So here I am, screaming, cursing, hating the anesthesiologist, asnwering his questions, and Tannah butts in with, "What's your parents' address?" and I don't remember what I said, but I'm sure it was crude, and mean-spirited, and I'm sure the woman heard it. After the hellacious contraction subsided and I could think again, I rattled it off, and it turns out Pepper was at my parents' front door...she had obviously escaped, and then decided against it.

Maybe that story isn't funny to anyone else but me, but the irony in timing was superb.