I don’t usually yell at my husband. I’m not a yeller. But in this instance, I was screaming my head off just inches from his ear.
“WHY IS NO ONE HELPING ME? I NEED SOME HELP!”
Daryl patted my arm and looked around in dismay.
“It’s transition,” mouthed one of the nurses. “This is totally normal.”
I’m one of those crunchy-hippie-granola folks who willingly chooses natural birth. It’s funny because I’m not that much of a hippie in real life. I wear black pencil skirts to work and I eat way more Skittles than granola.
But birth I do the natural way.
