Story time...

My son, Quinton, went and gave blood the other day and we were laughing, remembering this funny story...

It‘s a Friday night in August. Quinton, our little miracle baby, is five days overdue. My in-laws pop over for a visit with homemade peach pie. A few minutes later, my husband, Gord, comes home from work.

All of a sudden, I go into full-on labour.

We call my very young doctor. “The baby’s coming!”

”Okay,” she’s says calmly from the restaurant where she’s having a romantic dinner with her boyfriend. ”Remember, this is your first baby so it’s going to be hours and hours. How far apart are the contractions?”

”Five minutes...at the most.”

”Five minutes!”

”Yes. Maybe less.”

”Okay...uh...go to the hospital! I’ll meet you there.”

So, we hop in the car, my in-laws hop in their car, and we all go to the hospital together.

Now, I’m a wuss with zero pain tolerance. I have no intention of going through natural childbirth.

“I‘d like all the drugs, please.”

“There’s no time,” the nurse tells me. “By the time they kick in, the baby will be here.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” I reply, not thinking straight by this point.

So, about thirty minutes later, they wheel something into the delivery room.

For some reason, I think it looks like a vacuum cleaner.

I let out a sigh of relief after putting two and two together.

They felt bad for not giving me any pain medication. That machine must be to gently pull Quinton out so I don’t have to push anymore.

My doctor laughs. And laughs some more. “No...it’s a mirror to see better.”

Huge disappointment.

But...

Fifteen minutes later, Quinton is born.

The nurse chuckles and tells me, “If you have another baby in the future, make sure you get to the hospital asap. You’re the kind we’ll be hearing about on the news because the cab driver had to deliver a baby in the taxi.”

Anyhow, I’m over-the-moon, holding Quinton in my arms.

I looked over at the hospital bassinet beside the bed and there’s a chart on it.

It says:

Name: Baby Boy Lowe

Date: August 16th

Mother: A-

My eyes widen when I see that.

Mother: A-

I burst into tears.

Gord’s head jerks back. “What’s wrong?”

”I just went through natural childbirth. I was super nice to everyone. I didn’t yell or scream...and they only gave me an A-.”

Gord’s brow furrows in confusion and I point at the chart.

“Don’t you think I deserved an A+?”

He had to bite his lips to keep from laughing. “They weren’t grading you, dear. That’s your blood type.”