The wo/mb/man who gave birth to these words, Sarah Blackwood, is my nomination for a “pull, it’s her” prize for this essay. Sorry for the very terrible pun and word play — but let’s face it, both were better than childbirth.

As for me, after 12 hours of labor when presented with a paper I was asked to sign giving Mr. Doctor permission to perform a cesarean, I asked for a consult with my lawyer (also my husband). “This is a contract,” I said, “and I am not going to sign it! They want me to agree to be cut and I do not want that!”

A week later, when my lawyer drove me and the baby for my post-op appointment, we parked next to Mr. Doctor’s shiny new sports car. “Your surgery paid for part of that car,” said the baby’s barrister.

“That’s why it’s the color of blood,” I said.