The following podcast is a deer media production.

Hi, everybody. It's me, Jackie. But from now on, you can call me Mama Bear.

A lot has changed since we last spoke two weeks ago. On July 19, I had my hospital bags packed.

I had my aroma diffuser, flameless candles, a baby receiving blanket, freshly washed with hypoallergenic baby detergent,

a pack of bedazzled Virginia slims, a bottle of blue guvodka, funneled into a Fiji water bottle,

a face mask, and some black market zofran packed securely in my roly-poly hospital bag.

Two hours before I was headed to the hospital, I was sent a letter from my doctor's office saying there was an alleged cease and desist being drafted from said medical group.

Because two other cut anonymous patients had said that I recorded my doctor's visits and broadcasted on my podcast without consent, which is both untrue and highly illegal.

We'll get more into that later.

Disgruntled and emotional, I decided to forego my nighttime induction until the next morning, so I could collect myself and not be arrested for physical assaults at my delivery hospital.

My first foray into my impending motherly sacrifice.

I decided I'll wait twelve hours because I wanted a calm, tranquil environment for my son to enter the world, with a mama well-selected and less raging and usual.

The very next morning, I shoved my fat ass into a maternity unit heart, burnt Hello Santa around my vagina, and had a very diabolical, 14-minute mirror pep talk, to the rocky soundtrack, and then headed to the hospital to deliver my baby boy.

I gave birth to my son, at eight pounds, ten ounces, in approximately eight and a half minutes, seven and a half pushes, with a level two perennial tear in my asshole.

I'm happy to report there was no delivery defecation. I also had a picture-perfect blow-dry, and an enviable chic highlight that would stand the test of time.

The second they laid my son, and my saggy ass tits, complete with a few dark, rogue nipple hairs, and I locked eyes with like gorgeous, and I repeat, gorgeous, symmetrical, non-inwrap-looking son, and his highly engorged test of his.

I knew too that I was being people, into someone braver, fatter, bitchier, a mother.

Oprah Winfrey, who made the smart decision never to have children once said, to become a mother is the choice to become one of the greatest spiritual teachers there is.

I know for sure that few callings are more honorable.

Thanks, Hopi.

Interesting quote from somebody who once again never had children, lives in a gorgeous mansion with a bunch of cockapoo's, and her live-in boyfriend boy toy-fuck-boy-steadman in Monocito.

Sounds like a better option.

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