Never joke with a woman in labor.
It was in February of 1991, cold and snowy, and her water had broken. We were prepared with the bags and all, so I bundled her into the car and drove her to the hospital uneventfully. It happened to be the hospital where she worked as a nurse, so she knew some of the people on duty that night.

We got to Labor & Delivery, got her all signed in and situated, and she chatted with one of the nurses as we put her into her gown and onto the bed. Once the nurse left she looked a little uncomfortable. "It's Dr. Somenameiveforgotten on duty tonight. He's okay, I guess, but I'm not sure that I want him doing this because I already know him."

The doctor entered a few minutes later to check on her. He was short, balding with a fringe of white hair around the base of his skull, was rather fat and had a snub nose. He also had a big grin and a rather distinctive way of speaking and a distinctive chuckle... in fact, he was Elmer Fudd incarnate.

When he left I finally gave in to the giggles. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Shhhhh! Be vewwy vewwy quiet. She's having a baby! Huhuhuhuhuhuh."

"Now just a-"

"Wook! Contwactions! Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh."

"Goddammit-"

"Oooooh, you wascally baby! Come out of there!"

Her face was deep red with veins popping out by this point. Had she been able to get to her feet she would have ripped my throat out.

She requested a different doctor. And never forgave me.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sun 29 Sep 2013, 17:32, 4 replies)

The first Mr Quar felt my wrath in my first labour
We were left alone, just him, me and the contraction monitor, which bit of obstetrical kit fascinated him.

At one point I was lying on the bed and he was sitting on it with his back to me, staring at the monitor, watching the powerful contractions build up.

He warned me, 'Oooh! Here's one! And it's a BIG one!' and yes, it was, and at the height of it I started to feel that *pushing* thing. The baby was coming, he had the call bell in his hand, and he wasn't taking any notice of me, just the monitor.

I clung to the gas mask and frantically nudged him in the back with a knee to get his attention, and he said, never taking his eyes off the machine, 'If you need to kick me a bit that's OK, oooh, here's another BIGGIE!'

This went on for a while until the baby was nearly hanging out. I eventually drew back a foot and booted him as hard as I could, nearly knocking him off the bed, and as he turned to me in pain and puzzlement I yelled 'It's COMING! GET THE MIDWIFE!' and clamped the mask back on.

He finally got the point and pressed the bell, and Junior made her appearance in minutes.

He was never forgiven either.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sun 29 Sep 2013, 19:47, closed)

I learned the hard way
Never to try to engage a woman in conversation who is either vacuuming or in labour.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Mon 30 Sep 2013, 15:12, closed)

Or both...
.
(Barnetboy, Mon 30 Sep 2013, 15:44, closed)

Yes, been there, done that
It's the 'nesting instinct'. You want to leave your house spotless to bring the baby back to. It's weird.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Mon 30 Sep 2013, 18:54, closed)