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Sunday, 1 February, 6:00 PM
The Pregnant Pizza has effectively rendered me laborless and poopless. Consigned to the reality that I will never give birth to my garlic baby, we settle into the garlic haze of the bedroom to watch the Super Bowl. Perhaps it's the garlic hangover or perhaps it's because we're reasonable adults, but we rewind the halftime boob malfunction only once. Jon asks with barely any interest, "Was that her boob?" and I say, "I think so." I've got bigger boobs to worry about.
Sunday, 6:30 PM
I start feeling lower back pain in throbbing 60 second bursts. The pain is noticeable enough that Jon breaks out his watch and starts timing the intervals between bursts. One interval is eight minutes. The next interval is five minutes. Some are 15 minutes, but there is definitely a start and stop to the pain.
Sunday, 9:30 PM
I've been having three consecutive hours of random 60 second back pain. Jon has been diligently tracking each interval. We're both quietly giddy. I suddenly come to the glorious realization that I need to poop! Pooping is glorious! I spend the next hour in the bathroom passing My Garlic Poop which leaves me with gigantic garlic hemorrhoids. The random 60 second back pain completely stops.
Sunday, 11:00 PM
Jon is still trying to reconcile the fact that he wasted three precious hours of his life timing poop labor.
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