My mother definitely influenced me with her left of traditional ideals about child birth, (thank heavens). Part of my mother's legacy was to render my sister and I horrified of labour pain and child birth. We had a mantra.."give me my epidural--now!"

Inciting terror into my sister and I from a young age was the only way my mother would truly be certain she had done her job--raised daughters not too proud to be comfortably numb during child birth.

Needless to say, my mother succeeded and her legacy certainly has lived on through me. I've always insisted that if I'm going to endure a major extraction I expect a hellovah anesthetic--I mean I wouldn't have root canal without gas and freezing I'm almost going to allow a 9 pound infant to exit my body through a port hole the size of a grapefruit, sans anaesthesia. Forget about it--sometimes, an anaesthesiologist is a girl's best friend.

Believe me when the time comes you need your alliances and I made bloody sure that anaesthesiologist and I were on a first name basis--hell, I'd even have his baby if that's what it took--this guy had just better be making damn sure he's Johny on the spot with another round when my bag is sinking low!

When I come to take a load off my fanny I'll be doing it pain free--so, Ms Moses take that anesthetic and put a load in me--ya, put a load in me....while I'm on The Band wagon what woman in her right mind wouldn't want to be--pain free? Besides--it's a major outing and childbirth, may be a woman's last night to party---once I ship out color me hassel free, don't even think about calling me to work until wayyyy after this baby's docked.

So, needless to day my upbringing, heavily, anchored my position. The only thing I was going to experience during labour was the cool spring of anesthesia washing down my spine drowning all my pain. My bias, was subtly unveiled when I hauled my ass off the floor mat during the second Lamaze class, grabbed my pillow and barked at my husband--we're outta here.

Meanwhile, the place was teeming with pregos--lousey with them--fertility goddesses sprawled all over yoga mats doing these weird breathing exercises--like pear--shaped mimes auditioning for a balloon contest--I had, had enough. Their partners were assuming--some--"I'm here for you honey," macho--position, awkwardly spooning their wives and girlfriends rubbing Buddha bellies and doing this whole fake breathing thing--I'm thinking---"oh--this is great. Who wouldn't want natural birth? That whole Buddha business breathing thing--O.K, I can see how this would throw off the pain and suffering thing."

My exit plan was executed as discreetly as possible, (just try sneaking out of a room full of beached ladies when you look and feel like a flesh zeplin). The instructor noticed me bailing and turned off her Enya Lamaze music and asked me if everything was alright.

"I'm getting drugs. My mom already told me about this stuff so I don't need to breath," I exploded. Appalled, panting, prego faces glowered up at me in shock and disgust. My husband was doing his best, I don't know this woman trying to marshal me out the door thing--(nice try, I'm thinking, like me sneaking out--almost. Face it--you're an accomplice, my partner in crime--a less than perfect, planned, premeditated, crime, aided and abetted BY YOU--I might add), I felt like bawling but I was too ticked.

My perky kindergarten--like prenatal instructor said, "well, maybe you should just learn Lamaze breathing in case you change your mind!"

"why would I change my mind?" (come to think of it, I also dropped out of kindergarten when I was 5).

The Star of the week--glowing Madonna, piped up and said--"because--you'll want to experrrience it--"

"When's the last time you experienced a major extraction without freezing? Is that what you're going to tell your dentist the next time you need root canal? Oh--no freezing for me thanks--I want to experrrience it..I am getting the drugs."

I stormed out with my pillow and my water bottle. It was June and hot--I was not happy. My husband was mortified. I'm thinking--what's your issue? I'll tell you what's your issue--this 9 pound butterball I've got to deliver thanks to you, is your issue--what have you got to be embarrassed about?--in fact, I might add--you are biologically excluded from this whole thing!

Poor, lamb, I'm thinking--and sure, I did go back to kindergarten after I dropped out when I was 5 because I could not endure the shame and I wanted to graduate from kindergarten with the other kids and I did--but--I am not ashamed to drop out of these crumby, stupid, prenatal Lamaze classes--I won't go back--I won't go back-I WON'T, I WON'T, I WON'T--- and you can't make me--so there.

I called my mom when I got home and unlike kindergaten, she totally supported me dropping out of prenatal classes. In fact, I think she phoned the teacher--actually no, she didn't, I called the teacher and that teacher wouldn't even give me back my prego money--whata jip.

I did eventually have my baby and I did get my much sought after epidural. I had to push for hours and eventually had to have an emergency C-section at 4:00 in the morning but at least I had no pain. The whole birth thing was fine. Just don't get me started on that French Catholic nurse I was hostage to during the day shift after my water broke!

That nurse was in my face doing this whole Montreal French Quebec breathing ting and telling me to find a spot and focus on it and saying, "no, no you're doing it wrong! It's like this," (just because she had 4 kids, naturally--yes, I had to hear about it)--meanwhile I'm pushing and waving her away, telling her I didn't practise the whole Lamaze thing because I knew I wanted drugs! She was almost sympathetic, right.

In addition to no pain relief I had to endure the embarrassment and indignation of someone that didn't do her homework---dropped out of prenatal classes. I felt like I was back in Jr. High, ready to cheat on a math exam, staring at the empty desk of the--would--be--my--savour--geek--in--front--of--me--I--paid--to--cheat--off--but they were home with sick the flue. Yes, I wish I would have studied.

Any way--I survived to tell the tale and epidurals are not cheating! They are amazing--the best, my mom was right. No one is going to name a maternity ward after you if you brave childbirth sans morphine and the epidural. If you're going to become a mother, let's face it you are already a martyr. The saint status is yours for the taking you don't have to go through a screaming rite of passage to qualify. Have your baby in comfort and enjoy yourself--you are still very brave and strong and you are already some-body's hero.