Redneck Review

Monday, September 05, 2005

That Ain't No Way to Treat Hillbilly Mom

Yesterday I promised to out Hillbilly Husband as a worse caretaker
of me when I'm sick than I am of him when he's sick. Did you follow
that? Here is a short history of his imaginary crimes. Let's start with
something big, shall we?

Delivering the #1 Son. The day I went into labor, HH had driven
me all over creation and back in a 1980 Chevy Silverado that needed
shocks. This was apparent to me every time we hit a bump, which was
often, because we were driving around the South 40 of my grandma's
Christmas tree farm, trying to pick out a tree. We had HH's two boys
with us. They were 14 and 13 then, and four of us were crammed into
the cab of that pick-up truck. But I was forgiving...hey, it was December
11...Christmas was a-comin'.

That evening, HH took the boys back to their mom's house, and
went to visit his 80-year-old friend. No matter that I told him I wasn't
feeling too well. HH said, "I visit him every Sunday. It's just right up
the street. You know the number. " (1994. Before cell phones in
Redneckland). I remember well. I was watching The Simpsons. It
came on at 6:00 pm. By 6:20, I was having contractions 5 minutes
apart. I called HH. He said, "I just got here. I'll be there in a few
minutes." This guy lived half a mile from us. HH got home after 7:00.
I was standing up, leaning over the back of the couch, because it
hurt to sit or stand. I told HH my bag was packed, and I was ready
to go. He said, "OK, I'll be right there." I went into the kitchen for
a drink, (No, silly. Water.) because I didn't know when they'd let
me have water at the hospital. I had to stop to lean on the kitchen
table, and I heard water running. HH was taking a shower! He
finally came out after about 20 minutes, and said he wanted to be
clean, because we might be there a while. He had to grab a few
things. He was packing a bag, because he said it looked like he'd
have to stay overnight. He packed candy bars and deodorant and
some other shoes. By now the contractions were 3 minutes apart.
HH's response: "You're not the first woman ever to have a baby."
Comforting, huh?

It was a 30 minute ride to the hospital, then we had to go through
admitting, then they had to do a fetal monitor, then they said, "Oh,
you're in labor all right. You are 7 cm dilated. It won't do any good
to call in the anaesthsiologist. By the time he gets here, it will be too
late for an epidural." Okaaaayyyy. By this time it was 11:30 pm.
So they put me in a labor room, and wouldn't you know it, stubborn
old #1 wouldn't move, so they hooked me up to a pitocin drip, which
gives you, like, ubercontractions....with no painkillers. Along about
2:00 am, the sour-faced grim spinster-looking labor nurse called the
doctor and said she kind of thought I might need something, so he
authorized a shot of stadol, which I'm sure is like morphine safe for
labor or something, and old Nursie gave me half a hypodermic of it.
She said, "You might need the other half later." Darn tootin'! I needed
it about 1 minute later, but she made me wait a couple hours for it.
She and HH looked at each other over my head, in that let's just
humor her, she's wacked out of her mind look. Was HH helping
me breathe, holding my hand, wiping my brow? No. He sat in a
rocking chair, eating a Milky Way, asking Nursie if she could turn
up the heat, he was kind of cold, even wearing his jacket. Oh, don't
mind me, dripping buckets of sweat, all not-meant-to-be-seen parts
of me blowin' in the wind. We must make sure HH is comfy. Which
he must have been, because not long after that, he drifted off to sleep.
I must say his snores were particularly annoying while trying to push
out his big bowling-ball-headed baby who we came to find out was
face-up. Which means his skull had been grinding on my spine all
night instead of his malleable little face, thus explaining the
excruciating pain they all thought I was faking. HH still denies any
wrongdoing in this scenario. He says, "I knew we had plenty of time.
You didn't feel anything after that shot, anyway." I beg to differ.

The Week of Bed Rest. The next time I needed any help from
HH was 3 years later, when I was 6 months pregnant with #2. I had
a kidney infection, which caused premature contractions. The doctor
said he wanted me on a week of bed rest.

Oh, I had high hopes that HH would take care of me. He acted like
he was going to. He took a week off from work. And he told his boss
it was to take care of me, because I was on bed rest. Duh...it was
November, known in Redneckland as "Deer Season." HH would get
up in the morning and say he'd be back pretty soon. Then I wouldn't
see him until around 5:00 pm. Let's not forget that I had almost-3-year-
old #1 to look after. No, he was not potty-trained. It took a threat from
Christmas-tree-farm Santa a month later to achieve that. So I would lie
on the couch and have #1 bring me things I needed. I managed pretty
well. The worst part is that HH expected supper on the table when he
came home. I mentioned the whole week of bed rest thing to him, and
I believe his exact words were: "I don't think the doctor meant that you
can't stand up for a half hour to cook and do the dishes."

The Vasectomy. #2 son was due February 28. Along about the end
of January, HH tells me he's having a vasectomy on Friday. What?!?
I thought this was something you have to discuss with your partner.
Oh, HH assured me, he told the doctor he had discussed it with me.
Except he hadn't. And it wasn't so much the vasectomy that bothered
me as the timing. Now not only was I ready to deliver #2, but I had to
take care of Big Baby and #1. Because you know, ladies, that HH had
to be waited on hand and foot after his "surgery," which was just a little
snip, for gosh sakes, and you'd have thought he was dying from how he
carried on. Oh, and let's not forget that he couldn't lift anything, so that
left me getting #1 in and out of his car seat in the 2nd seat of a Ford
Aerostar van. And into a grocery cart so I could do the shopping and
not leave #1 home for HH to look after. And carry in the groceries.
Yep, it's perfectly OK for an 8-months-pregnant woman to lift a
30-pounder. That may be why #2 came two weeks early. He wanted
in on the "wait on me hand and foot" action. The best part of this
whole ordeal was being able to tell Whiny McWhinerson: "You're
not the first man ever to have a vasectomy."

The Gallstones. The only other time I needed HH was my gallstone
surgery. Well, he didn't actually do the surgery. He didn't actually do
much of anything. I had to stay in the hospital 4 days to get some enzyme
level down low enough so they could operate. HH came to visit me for
about an hour each morning and evening. Aside from that, he was free
to roam the countryside, because my Hillbilly Mama was worried to
death about him watching his own kids, who were 4 and 1. She took
on that duty, and he got off scott-free. He felt no guilt. I wasn't the
first woman ever to have her gallbladder removed, you know.

7 Comments:

  • At 6:26 PM, Blogger deadpanann said…

    I can't believe he did you so wrong when you were birthing his bowling ball headed child! If you had shot him, they couldn't have found a jury in all of Redneckland to convict you.

     
  • At 6:57 PM, Blogger Rebecca said…

    HI Hillbilly Mom,
    Oh go on, don't hold back, tell us what you really think. lol
    If the 'men' didn't have to rest up like this after things, then they would not be able to gloat to their mates about how they were at Death's Door, but they pulled themselves through.
    HooRoo
    Bec

     
  • At 10:38 AM, Blogger Rachy said…

    Let me echo Ann's disbelief at HH's reaction to your childbirth. And I did gasp about the dishwashing comment. Maybe you could have used that half an hour of energy to give him a right hook! Men can be such babies

     
  • At 5:17 PM, Blogger Redneck Diva said…

    They have to be related, your husband and mine.

    Now granted, when I had #1, he was great. Helped me with the breathing, cried as she was delivered, stood by my side for hours. When #2 was born, he stood across the room, arms crossed across his chest, just kind of like James Dean. When the doc AND my mother said, "Do you want up here closer so you can see?" He shook his head and said, "Nah. I've seen it before." He was better with #3, but by then I wasn't taking my chances of a repeat of #2 so I had my mother and sister with me and they kind of took over.

    Week of bedrest because his #3 child was threatening to come early - nah, let Diva Mom take care of the wife and other children. Gall stones, kidney stones? Nah, she can fend for herself and YES he said, "She's not the first woman to have kidney/gall stones."

    Oh yeah, they have to be related.

     
  • At 5:47 PM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…

    Miss Ann,
    I knew I should have hooked up with the other guy I had my eye on at our apartment complex. He was pin-headed, which would have made for easier birthin' of the babies.

    Bec,
    I am so shy and retiring, it is hard to let my feelings out. I thought the trip to the emergency room with the sore throat would be unique to HH, but a teacher at school said her husband did the same thing. I guess we didn't validate their pain, so they sought attention elsewhere.

    Rachy,
    I have never hit him, but I DID fling a roll of toilet paper at him in a fit of rage when I was sick and there were no tissues, just a roll of toilet paper that didn't even hurt him, really, because I buy the soft kind that the bears use in the woods (if you have seen any of those commercials).

    However, after it hit him in the middle of the back as he scurried out of the bedroom like a cockroach in the kitchen light (no, we don't have roaches) HH grabbed that roll and stalked back into the bedroom to shout at me while waving it: "Did YOU throw this at me?" Duh. Did he think the Halloween TP-ers had come early, or what?

    Diva,
    I told you long ago, I think you and I share the same husband. Too many coincidences. You have my sympathy. Have you ever thought about how in some cultures, men have multiple wives, but you don't hear of any cultures where women have multiple husbands.

    HH's buddy asked his wife one time if she was cheating on him, and she said, "Why the HELL would I want ANOTHER one?"

     
  • At 9:59 PM, Blogger Redneck Diva said…

    My husband asked me the exact same thing - if I was cheating - and I threw a bottle of Baby Magic at him (it was what happened to be in my hand at the time) and screamed "WHY ON EARTH WOULD I WANT TWO ASSHOLES IN MY LIFE????? ONE IS PLENTY."

    If we ever got HH and Mr. Diva together, what do you think the chances would be that they'd hate each other? LOL

     
  • At 10:26 PM, Blogger Hillbilly Mom said…

    Diva,
    I think they'd do the male bonding thing and trash-talk US! Like there's anything we do wrong...What's not to like? They don't know how lucky they got it!

    We're not the first women to throw things at their husbands, you know!

     

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