Dudes, I’m so full of baby I feel like if I burped, I could probably give birth that way.
Which, frankly, seems these days like a perfectly fine way to give birth. The longer he’s in there, the less I care how he gets out. Is that weird?
Birth plan? Yeah, we made one. But it’s super flex. Like, SUPER flex. At this point, I don’t want a c-section and that’s about it.
Sure, the plan is still to try and go drug-free, to try out the water thing, to eat fettucine alfredo afterward (you guys have all seen that video, no?). But if it doesn’t happen that way? Well, surely by now we’re expecting that.
We are hopefully at the end of the long domino chain of crap we’ve encountered in the last two months. A is out of her brace, and is mostly off of crutches (unless there’s lots of walking or lots of people, in which case she’s not as steady) and is fully in physical therapy (12 weeks of that – uff). She can also drive again, which is great news for baby-having.
AND the dude stayed inside long enough for the new insurance to kick over, which is like the first bit of good luck we’ve had in a bit. (No, I take it back – I tested negative for GBS, which I was quite sure wouldn’t be the case, given the recent string of events, but hats off to the gods for that one.)
All that is to say that — I know I said this like a month ago, but in retrospect I didn’t mean it — we’re really releasing our feelings of control over this. We’re doing what we can to be ready, but at the end of the day, the dude will come when the dude comes, and the universe will decide a lot of the rest. We’re trying to roll with the punches here.
Speaking of ready, A is frantically trying to work on/finish up projects and grading and etc. before the dude comes. I am compulsively doing laundry and buying the rest of the necessary baby supplies (I think we’re basically set on the starter stuff, anyway).
Mentally, things are less prepared. I think A is faring better on this front than I am. She has more shit to finish before he gets here, but she’s more ready to meet him. I’m ready for him to not be in me anymore (still uncomfortable, still over being pregnant), but I’ve spent this week pretty weirded out by the prospect of him actually showing up. It’s that thing where I can’t connect the roiling mass in my abdomen with this “baby” we’ve been talking, thinking, buying about. I’m kind of alarmed that, like, a BABY is going to come live here. With us. Every day. And then, despite my alarm, I get pre-sad about him *not* being a baby anymore. Yesterday I got weepy thinking about him moving out to go to college. Because *that* is where I’m at emotionally, folks. What. A. Mess.
At least I’m not so irrational that I don’t think this is all normal. It is, after all, only the beginning. It’s the weird anticipation getting to me, maybe; he could come TODAY. Or, then again, maybe not for a month…
UPDATED: with the link to the fettucine alfredo lady.