Scary moments

Yesterday at work, Z and I were talking, and he had decided that he was going to stay home last night and veg out at his place.  He was having a shit day, and apparently it got worse the longer it went.

So, I got the kids home, and fed and homework done, and we were just hanging out not doing much.

Z called, and had apparently had a change of heart.  His day had gone from bad to worse to shit to fuck in the course of the afternoon, and was threatening to spill over into today.  He needed a distraction, a place he could go, let go, relax and enjoy.  I felt pretty good knowing he thought being with me, at my place, kids and all was a good place to be to unwind from a horrible, terrible, rotten, no good, very bad day.

Around the time Z showed up, the girls were picking out a movie to watch.  Going through our collection of VHS tapes, Tate found the tape of her birth and of course latched on to the idea that would be perfect.  OH God help us all.  

Now, this home movie shows nothing graphic of the delivery (there was none of the conception, there is none of the delivery) and in fact it’s rather boring and mundane.  It’s got several shots of me laying in the hospital bed breathing through contractions and a few shots of the clock, and a few of other people in the room yada, yada, yada.  Then the fun starts, cleaning Tate up, and the whole rigamarow they put newborns through in the nursery.  

But really, when you’ve just been dating a guy for 6 weeks, do you really want him to see you at the hospital giving birth to a baby that is so very obviously not his?  No.  At least I don’t.

It was touch and go for a minute or two, but cooler, older, heads prevailed and we didn’t watch Tate make her entrance into this world.  At least not last night.