Labor Negotiations

Ahhh, where to begin...

The child is still on the inside, but I am hopeful that this will change soon. Maybe a little too hopeful. Every twinge, every cramp, every wiggle leads me to think, this is it. On Friday morning, at about 1:30, I woke up to contractions. I did what I usually do when I suspect false labor -- I took a warm bath and downed a glass of warm milk. The contractions invariably go away, but this time they did not. Scholar was still awake, perusing the circulars and debating whether to go to Black Friday. We decided that since we were both up anyway, and since the stores were on the way to the hospital, we would have ourselves a little adventure. We showered and trucked out of the driveway at about 3:30 a.m. Stopped at Denny's for breakfast, and realized we were so out of our league.

Holy crap, there are some hardcore shoppers in the world. Seriously, have any of my two faithful readers ever been to a Black Friday? I knew we were in trouble when the six ladies in the booth adjacent to ours pulled out laminated store maps of Wal-Mart and began to strategize. I am not kidding, people. Laminated maps. Each woman had a brown paper bag full of circulars, and typed orders about where to go and what to grab first. I overheard General Patton telling her troops, "Don't head for the rounders; that's where everyone else will go first. Go right to the shelves. Get as many E-Z Bake Ovens as you can."

Then some other women came in, and they all kissed their greetings. "Where have you girls been?" Patton asked. "Your eyes are red."

The ringleader of this second party smiled indulgently. "The outlet mall opened at midnight."

Folks, the only outlet mall near us is a one hour and twenty-minute drive from that Denny's. I began to get a chilling feeling that we were about to enter a new world -- a harsh, cruel world where shoppers eat each other and sales clerks hide under counters in fear. And the contractions continued to intensify.

What, you may be asking yourselves, were we even thinking?

We were still game, though, so we headed over to the electronics store. Scholar dropped me off in front of the store. He was going to look for parking while I began to gather those items we wanted. The cramping was steady, but not unbearable (that should have been my first clue). When I walked into the store, I wanted to duck and cover.

There were at least 500 people in the television section alone.

I have never seen so many people crammed into one space. No, wait -- that's not true. I have been to fraternity parties, so I do have something to compare this to. The line was as long as the ones to the girls' bathrooms at a beer blast. Difference there, of course, was that no one was shedding her clothes, vomiting on the ground, peeing in the aisle, or sharing beer. Why was I here again?

I did a prefunctory squeeze around the store, threading my elephantine body through the madding crowd, contorting myself into positions that were sure to cause damage. It suddenly occured to me that no nine-months pregnant woman in her right mind would be doing this. Not to save $30 on a wireless router. I decided then and there that I would march right outside, find my husband and the car, and exit post haste.

Problem was, I was trapped in the store. I weasled my way out by saying I was in labor. I know, I know -- I milked it, but I still wasn't absolutely sure that I wasn't, and the crowds did part for me. No, I'm lying -- no one cared. But I felt justified in pushing my way through. And suddenly, I heard my name being paged over the loudspeaker, and I knew Scholar was searching for me. I pushed harder. One lady gave me the look of death, and I volleyed it right back at her. "Get a grip, woman," I snarled. "I'm not cutting in line: I'm trying to freaking leave."

Finally, the crowd thinned, and I saw Scholar standing at the exit door. He looked pale and worried; he scanned the crowd with fearful intensity. I swear to God, faithful readers, I ran to him. It was just like in the movies. I ran to him and hugged him as hard as I could, and he breathed into my hair, "Oh, thank God!"

Never, never, never again. We will never dare Black Friday again. Life is too precious.

As for the contractions...yeah, they kept going. We went to the hospital on our doctor's advice. We were monitored for twenty minutes, and I got my very own cup of fruit juice before they sent us home. False labor, dammit, dammit, dammit. And somehow, the nurse did not seem at all sympathetic when I casually mentioned that we had just come from Circuit City. She laughed.

I sincerely wish her a month of Black Fridays. So there.