April 15th.

Not only is it Tax Day for America, it's also a special day at our house.

You see, six years ago today, I met someone new. How was I to know he'd end up being a blogger since I didn't even know what blogging was then?

Yes, your favorite former blogger, Busy D. is six years old!

Six years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with the weirdest feeling I've ever had.

It seemed the human that was supposed to be surgically removed from my body the next morning was ready to come out.

I have c-sections for a reason, this was so not in the plan.

So, off to the hospital we went.

We called my parents on the way, but of all times, their phone had somehow gotten knocked off the hook and they were unreachable.

Many of you know that my dad at least, has enough cell phone issues, so that wasn't an option.

The admitting office of the hospital was confused as to why I was reporting in so early for my scheduled procedure, but it was made crystal clear to the young lady when I had a contraction at her desk.

Turns out they can move kinda fast there, after all.

The staff hooked me up to the monitors, pronounced it was a girl based on the heart rate and some other voodoo.

The anesthesiologist came in and I pissed him off because I wouldn't give him my weight out loud and I asked for his clipboard to write it in myself.

He did, however get me back when he was giving my epidural.

He went a little fast when he was injecting the medicine and I apparently dropped my blood pressure and I got his attention when I started seeing dead relatives and was sure I was circling the drain (medical types will get that).

A little bit of Narcan later we were good to go to the OR even though my doctor wasn't there.

I was a little concerned that the nice, um very "earthy" Birkenstock-clad lady was going to try to perform my section "naturally" so I'd be a real woman, but my fears were unfounded.

Three OR tables later we were underway.

Yes, the first two tables didn't work, and there was actual talk of someone running out to Home Depot.

Non-working tables were very significant to the poor souls who had to move my paralyzed heft from one place to another multiple times.

Anyway, Busy D. was born without incident (Nurses: "A boy? Really?") and the nice earthy lady said her goodbyes.

This concerned me a great deal since I was pretty sure I was still open.

Then, like a Jack in the Box or something, my doctor popped up from behind the screen.

Total freakiness in my drug-induced state, maybe you had to be me then.

Anyway, birth story, birth story...blah blah blah...

Busy D. is six, hard to believe, but I can't imagine life any other way.