good intentions

Back to our regularly scheduled programming this week -- all babies, all the time.

A lot and not a lot is happening at the same time. We went on a tour of the hospital with about fifteen other couples. At one point the tour leader asked if anyone in the group had a scheduled c-section, and I was the only one to raise my hand. We were asked to the front of the group so we could peer into the sterile hallway that leads to the operating rooms. Which is about when I started to feel like I wanted to vomit.

That moment was my greatest "I can't believe my body won't do this the old-fashioned way" moment. It's ok -- I don't need reassurance. I know that this is what it is and it's ok. I've even had moments when I was glad to be having a c-section. It'll be fast and predictable (hopefully) and then, bam, mommyhood.

Anyway, lots of those other bitches are gonna end up with c-sections, too; they just don't know it yet. Is that mean? Or just true? Both?

My husband asked me the other day: What if the placenta moves and you get to do it the other way? And I am thinking: That seems exactly like something that would happen, since I'm completely unprepared for a vaginal birth. There'd be a major last-minute cram-session is what would happen.

The nursery is nearly done. Some final details need to go up and then it will be ready for its photo shoot. I expect that moment to be the first and last time the nursery looks picture-ready.

My husband has been a weekend warrior, building furniture and other baby paraphernalia, cleaning, installing the car seat, embarking on trips to IKEA.... He's the one getting stuff done. And thank goodness, because I am almost useless. I've been reading books about getting your baby to sleep (which makes me soooo sleepy). I sometimes do the dishes and cook dinner. I tool around the nursery a bit until I find myself sitting in the glider, staring into space, and then wonder how long I've been doing that. During the week I manage to haul myself to the store or acupuncture or the doctor or whatever class I've signed us up for. That's about it.

There's this scene in The Big Lebowski when The Dude is being driven home by Maude's chauffeur, and the chauffeur is telling a joke: "So he says 'My wife's a pain in the ass. She's always busting my friggin' agates. My daughter's married to a real loser bastard. And I got a rash so bad on my ass, I can't even sit down. But you know me. I can't complain.'"

Which is sort of how I feel. Without discussing my ass, let's just say there are a number of aches and pains -- the greatest probably being my inability to sleep for more than an hour at a time -- but I can't complain. I know of many women who have had and do have it wayyy worse. I'll suck this up for another few weeks.