Happy birthday, again
The other two babies were born yesterday the remaining two out of the three my friends conceived while I was experiencing my excellent ectopic adventure. I should be grateful that they were organized enough to emerge on the same day, sparing me two separate freakouts.
I wonder if I you can get post-traumatic stress disorder from situations like this. At this point all you have to do is start going on about pounds, inches, and duration of labor or showing those pictures of an exhausted, triumphant woman holding a tiny, crabbed wean and I start having sweaty palms and flashbacks.
I hope no one's offended when I dive under the table for cover and start hurling dinner forks and butter pats at the imagined approaching enemy, yelling, "This one's for the tube, motherfucker!"