"Labor? Painless."

"Giving birth didn't hurt much."

The passage of time had blessedly softened the memories for the well-meaning tutu who told me this past year when I was hapai.

"I see," I responded, then, as an anxious first-time mother-to-be, immediately began researching childbirth preparation classes.

Weary of lugging around 35 extra pounds may be why the natural childbirth course sounded particularly enticing: "darkness, quiet ... pillows and closed eyes."

The subtitle, "Husband-Coached Childbirth," also seemed to ensure the involvement of my slightly skeptical spouse. For several months, we hoisted four pillows to each class as we learned about surviving labor without drugs.

Exactly on the morning of my due date, I began having regular contractions. Knowing that walking would speed up labor, my husband and I went to run errands.

"Your due date is today?" one salesman exclaimed. "Just don't give birth in this store!"

That evening, my husband and I returned home as the pain was intensifying. When we phoned the grandparents-to-be, they admonished, "Don't have the baby in your bathroom!" and "Shouldn't you be heading to the hospital now?"

After hearing numerous stories of how first-time parents check into the hospital so early that some are sent home, we were determined to labor at home as long as possible. When we called our instructor, she believed it was still the first stage of labor and advised me to sleep through it.

Sleep? I thought incredulously. Through this? The contractions started surging, one on top of another.

"Isn't there supposed to be a break between contractions in early labor?" I gasped. "Help! I want to push!"

Push?

Suddenly, something clicked in my husband-the-physician's brain.

"That's the LAST stage of labor, not the first!" he said.

We hastened to the car. Every red light seemed like an eternity. Finally, we pulled up to the hospital. I sank into a wheelchair, but between our overnight bags and all of the pillows, my husband had no hands left to maneuver it. I sprang up and somehow walked to my destination.

Five minutes after checking in, my water broke. There was no time to even finish checking my vital signs. The staff called the doctor with an urgent message: "We have a very, um, active patient."

The obstetrician appeared instantaneously and did an examination.

"How far along is she?" my husband asked.

"Eleven centimeters and +2 station!"

This became clear when my husband yelped, "I can see the head!"

Three sets of pushes and the baby literally popped out.

It's hard to believe that less than half an hour after arriving at the hospital, our precious daughter was born. But labor painless? Hardly.

Yet even now, just a year later, the initial agony seems overshadowed by all of the sweet moments since: the first smile, her uninhibited laughter and countless captivating antics.

So in the future, forgive me if I reminisce, "Childbirth? It wasn't that bad. ..."

Monica Quock Chan is a freelance writer who lives in Honolulu with her husband and daughter.

Reach Monica Quock Chan at (Unknown address).