Does that come with a beaver tail?

Our third son was born in a planned hospital birth, a successful and triumphant VBAC. My wonderful OB was able to finally solve the mystery of what had stalled the second baby's labor. Walking into my room the next morning, he announced, "You have a platypelloid pelvis."

"A what?" I thought he said platypus. For a minute I felt like a Bond villianness: Platypussy.

"Your pelvis is elliptical. Your first baby was small enough to get through, third baby at eight pounds, barely. The second one at nine pounds plus, forget it."

I was relieved. The C-section hadn't been for lack of trying. We had made the right choice. But one thing bothered me.

"Dr. Harrrison?"

"Yes?"

"Are you saying I have a sideways vagina?"

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This is the epilogue to the MUCH longer birthstory I started writing on January 6, my son's sixth birthday (don't even talk to me about scrapbooks), and finished this afternoon. It's a really great story, of how I got my Mother Superior attitude adjusted and how my husband kidnapped the baby out of ICU, chased by armed guards. But it's so damn long, I have decided to post it here instead. Get a cup of tea or a glass of wine before you start in.