The other day I found myself actually wishing I was in labour again.
When The Accountant and I are travelling, we often listen to the radio. Sometimes the airwaves if filled with such rabble it makes me agitated and gives me a headache. At which point I will inevitably say, “What is this rubbish?” as I reach to change the station. The Accountant will then inevitably say, “That’s AC DC. I like it. Leave it on.”
The other day as this scenario was playing out during a road trip, my mind recalled when I was in labour with The Baby. While gritting my teeth as another contraction hit, I was not at all soothed by the sound of AC DC blasting over the radio. As I went to change it, making my customary comment about it being rubbish, The Accountant made his customary defense of the band, at which point I snapped, “You don’t get to choose the music tonight.” Instantly The Accountant replied, “Fair enough” and not a word was said as I turned a CD with Diana Krall on for the remainder of the journey.
So, as I listened under duress to that awful music the other day, I actually remember wistfully thinking about the power I had over the radio 2 hours before giving birth.