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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Wednesday
May112011

Welcome To The Big Show Starring... My Vagina!

I really love it when y'all comment on my Babble stuff. I'm getting to know you more and more through the comments. Reading them confirms what I've always suspected. You kick ass and make me laugh and we could probably be best friends except I have that pesky social anxiety that makes me overly complimentary, ass kiss-y and I talk too loud and too much. It's weird. You'd think someone with social anxiety would sit quietly in the corner, hiding from people. Not me. I suppose I'm overcompensating for my inner discomfort. Anyway, we could probably be best friends but I'm annoying, is what I'm trying to tell you. Just ask Serge.

Back to Babble and all things baby. So what's the deal with delivery rooms anymore? Used to be dad wasn't even allowed. Now women are bringing in teams of people. Entourages that rival Snoop Dogg's posse. What's that about? Perhaps it's because deciding who's going to be in the delivery room when you give birth is awkward. Like selecting kickball teams in elementary school. This person assumes you want them on your team when you don't. That person is upset you picked someone else first and that other person is outraged you didn't pick them at all. Finally you just give up and invite the whole crew, is that it?

It's what I'm babbling about today.