The Perfect Alibi

So, you know when you’ve had an epidural?

And haven’t slept for 40 hours?

You know how things get a little fuzzy?

Just bear with me here if you don’t.

So, when you’re really drugged up and have gone through a lot of pain with no sleep things get a little fuzzy.

True story.

So, I remember the day that Alex was born but it’s like reaching through thick cotton. I remember feelings and events but few details.

For instance, a resident helped bring our child into the world. I have absolutely no idea what that dude’s name was. I don’t remember if they even told me his name. I don’t remember thinking to ask.

It’s possible that I remembered to ask and then promptly forgot his name and the fact that I’d asked. Which should be a little frightening. Instead it’s kind of “Meh. I was having a child, I can’t be responsible for my actions at that time.”

That, in fact, would be an argument I would totally accept if I were ever a juror on a murder trial. “Oh, she was in labor when she murdered him? Innocent.” (Unless she killed the baby’s father)

As a result of this cottony-memory, I ask David about my labor a lot. What is it like? What was I like? What even happened? I want to remember it more clearly – so I’m trying to steal his memories.

So now, I learn things that I’m not sure are true.

Like the fact that I screamed during the car ride to the hospital.

Or the fact that when the doctor told me to push I responded, “I am f-cking pushing!”

Those things don’t jive with my cotton memory of things just sort of…happening. Of me being a gracious, quiet pregnant lady enduring her pain with fortitude and grace. That’s not to say they didn’t happen…just that they are jarring to me. It’s not what I remember.

What I do distinctly remember that as it was time to start pushing, “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” started on the hospital TV. Not having any desire for a silent birth and no energy to change the channel, I let it play.

I remember through out the birth the doctor, my husband, the nurse all asking “What the hell are we watching?”

I remember saying “It’s ‘Paul Blart: Mall Cop’. I’m too tired to change the channel.”

I remember them asking repeatedly but never changing the channel.

However, I do not remember one single thing that happened during that entire movie. Not an iota of it was absorbed by my brain. Which is probably a good thing.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I didn’t murder anyone and forget it.

Or that if I did, at least it was someone who really deserved it.