Pregnancy sucks. There are a number of reasons for this statement, but I will focus on the actual delivery because it is more interesting (and comes free if takes more than 30 minutes).
Here you are, a 9 month pregnant chick, who has vomited for weeks, gained 40 lbs., feels like shit half the time, and has had to let the doctor shove her hand up your vagical play land more in under a year than I have in my whole life (because I don't have a vagical play land). Then you finally hit your big day. Haven't you?
Ok, the doctor told you if you are having contractions 5 min apart, come in. Or if your water breaks. Well you are having some constant pain, maybe it's getting worse every 5 minutes. Or maybe it's not. And you are leaking something. Although with a person kicking your bladder with a force that could create a Chuck Norris joke, you may be just relieving yourself.
Maybe you should just go in. It's 3:30am and it's all getting pretty bad, just go in.
So you go to Labor and Delivery Traige. They put you on a monitor. A monitor that has never proven to change outcomes (but has proven to put Lawyers' children through college), thereby confining you to a bed for the rest of the time you are in the hospital. But that's a good thing because giving birth confined to a bed is natural. As we all know, evolutionarily, those that walked around during their birthing experience were in severe danger of getting spotted by the predators already eating your pregnant neighbor who gave birth while staying still.
Then the doctor comes in, shoves her hand in your vagelina jolie, looks at the monitor, smears your personal, home-made goo on a slide and tells you to go home, you aren't in labor. "Those" aren't contractions, those are pelvic pressure. "That's" not your water, that's miracle of life vaginal secretions. Now go home.
You go home. It gets worse. You come back. Monitor on, hand in vagelly bean, goo on slide, go home. Day later. Monitor, vag hand, goo slide, go. 4 days later. Monvaggoo...pause, "You are in labor, congrats! Get in a room."
You get placed in a room. You can't eat, you can't get up, and it hurts like hell. This continues for hours. Every two hours, a doctor comes in (not your doctor by the way, he's at home sleeping) and shoves a hand up there, yanks it out, shakes her head and tells you it's only 4cm dilated. This is devastating to you. Mostly because you forgot how to convert centimeters to inches and can hear Mrs. Farmer laughing at you all the way from 7th grade. Also you know that you need that number to be 10 or that baby ain't coming out. And that number is 4.
More Vagina Jokes Continued in Part 2