First, this needs to happen. Hit it, Gob Bluth!
Not quite as awesome as this guy, but pretty close. Pretty, pretty, pretty close.
Last week, at my weekly (gulp) checkup, my midwife asked me, “So, are you ready?” This is a question I get quite a lot. Some days, the answer is, “Yes!” for several reasons:
a) I’m tired, achy, and just recently officially became uncomfortable.
b) It’s insanely hot; too hot to be nine months pregnant living in a house without air conditioning.
c) The unpredictability of labor is freaky; I mean, it’s gone well in the past, but every time is different. You never get past all the scary “what if?” factors involved.
d) I can’t wait to see what she looks like and find out what her personality is like.
e) I’m really quite tired of getting up and going to work every day in my present condition.
(note: I am fully aware that writing using lists and outlines is lazy writing, but guess what? Add this to the list of things I don’t give a shit about anymore. I promise I’ll return to semi-decent quality writing after the baby is born.)
Other days, the answer is “NNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”, for the following reasons:
a) I still have a lot of irrational cleaning to finish, like removing the layers of milk and yogurt from my end table and entertainment center and generally getting the house into “constantly ready for company” mode, so that when I do go into labor, I can come back to a reasonably clean house and won’t be completely embarrassed by the amount of dirty dishes my family sees in the sink.
b) Bringing home a newborn baby in 100 degree weather does not seem like good times.
c) This is most likely the last time I’ll ever be pregnant. Once it’s over, that’s it. Forever. It’s like closing a chapter of your life, as cliche as that sounds. I keep telling myself not to wish away the last few weeks of an experience I’ll never have again, and to just try to enjoy the sensation of a little baby poking her elbow out of my side and strangers opening doors for me. I try to remember how just a short year ago, I was jealous of every pregnant woman I saw, and now that I am that pregnant woman, I should enjoy it while it lasts.
d) What if (and this is probably the biggest reason I get nervous) I’m about to screw up the good thing we’ve got going right now? The girls are happy, and we have (for the most part) a pretty decent routine set up, especially with bedtime. They’re more independent than ever. In general, they’ve come to like the way their little lives work. What if this new baby screws everything up? What if the girls are unhappy? What if this nice little happy life we’ve figured out is just a thing of the past? What if the girls don’t like having a new baby sister? In my rational mind, I know all this is temporary, that the keel will right itself after awhile, and the girls (and the grownups in the house) will adjust to being a family of five. It doesn’t stop me from stressing and worrying about it, though.
The girls are most definitely ready. Phaedra cannot stand how long this whole baby-making situation has taken. Bella just really needs a distraction from chasing the dog and grabbing his weiner. Although, you know you’re living in a strange fucking house if you’ve ever thought, “Man, how am I going to hold a newborn and stop Bella from grabbing the dog’s penis at the same time?”
Students and faculty at work are totally ready to see my fat ass out the door, too. To them, “the nice librarian” has been replaced by “the big pregnant one that used to be nice, but now is kind of an asshole”. I walked away from a teacher trying to throw a fit about something dumb a few days ago. I shrugged my shoulders at a student throwing a temper tantrum about our checkout policy. Little things to most people, but pretty abnormal for me. More than one student has also expressed to me that they feel as if I have been pregnant “forever”. There are some students on campus that have never known me as anything but pregnant, since this pregnancy has now spanned four quarters. How they’ll know who I am in the fall, I have no idea. Hopefully, I’m not “the one who’s always got milk stains on her shirt”. That would be a bummer.
So anyways, since we are indeed nearly done with this super-fun pregnancy, I’m going to try to post more on the reg, so no one has to wonder if I’m busy having a baby or just being my usual, lazy, non-posting self. Although I can’t promise each and every post will be super-creative; as my awesome friend Nicole said when I mentioned this idea, I suspect many of the posts near the end will just say something like, “I’m still fucking pregnant. DEUCES.”
So, I guess there’s that to look forward to, right?