“We have lights we wanna set up. We have music. We have a whole other suitcase packed.”

Good grief.

Now here’s something I found a little…over-the-top, for lack of a better description about some of today’s new (or maybe just New York) parents: A delivery room playlist.

The verdict is in, my non-American friends. If you’ve ever caught scenes on TV where women in labour scream for their music, it’s not just make-believe. Real people do that.

And I thought having a hospital room with its own waiting lounge, an adjoining bathroom, and TV was living the dream. God I’m jealous. All I can remember were the rhythmic thuds of Rae and Sky’s heartbeats, interspersed with a constant beeping of hospital equipment and the languid footsteps of nurses and doctors and interns strolling in and out of my ward, sticking their gloved fingers into my cervix and then declaring more waiting, and not to mention my own laboured breathing and groaning.

Music? What Music?

So what music were you listening  to when you were giving birth? What was YOUR going-into-labour iPod playlist?

You know, a list of songs you play on your iPod?

An iPod?

Never mind.