There I am in my van, talking with the kids about the randomness of life. So many useless subjects, so little time. And so goes the life of having all the kids in the car at once. Each one has some silly question, some ridiculousness about life, and I’m supposed to have the answers to all that is silly, ridiculous, and down right weird.
As the conversation progresses–or regresses–the subject of who was the easiest kid rears its ugly, sibling rivalry head. The questions come flying like some kamikaze verbal assault, and I’m surprised I was able to multitask that with defensive driving through the bad lands of the High Desert. So who was the easiest kid during pregnancy? River was. Who was delivered the fastest? River was. Who didn’t try to kill me during my nine month gestation? River didn’t.
Oh, you think that last question is odd? Ha! You don’t know my children and their plight to stump me. Who was the most difficult pregnancy? Dasan. Who was the longest delivery? Dasan. Who made an assassination on my life while in the womb? DASAN! Oh, if you knew my Dasan, you would just nod and say, “Yep, that makes a heck of a lot of sense.”
How does a child attempt an assassination while still in utero? As such: he wiggled around so much, I had to get up and walk to relieve some pressure. All part of his master plot, by the way. I decided to walk to a little restaurant a few block away, and as I did, the little goon up and sends a forceful drop kick directly into my bellybutton. Yes, dropkick! It was so vicious that I swore I saw little toe sillhouttes protruding from under my tank top. Yes, dropkick! The neonatal executioner was able to defeat my awkward center of balance and thrust me face down into the ground.
Bystanders pulled over their vehicles to stop and see if I was okay. Not only did I fall face first, but I was very visually pregnant . . . and I rolled off the sidewalk. Strange sight to see, I imagine. Must have looked like some scene straight out of Fight Club. I remember it all too well, now that my child brought up the memory that was recessed somewhere behind gestational PTSD. Ah, memories . . .
Am I mad about it? Nah! These kids give me the best writing material. #AdenturesInPregnancy #MothersLife #RevengeIsMine
Tania L Ramos, RN and Author Who Survived the Assassination Attempt
New Author Publishing 
I would have laughed harder, but my 37 month pregnant belly got in the way. I totally feel that your story could happen to me. My baby mule kicked me in the liver, and I went down on one knee. At least I was at home and not playing in traffic.
Ooooh, I never suffered liver kicks, just the all too often bladder punches. Oh, and my daughter stood up straight so her head pressed my diaphragm so I couldn’t breathe for an entire day. I love them all. Congrats to you and your very soon to be new addition,
Delightful read, Tania. Years later, I think I still have “gestational PTSD”!