The Waiting Game

Imagine you are going to have to saw your own arm off, except you don’t know exactly when it will happen, and people keep telling you everything will be OK, but to drink lots of water. This is where I’m at.

There’s something about the last two weeks of pregnancy that does something to you mentally. Physically it’s painful and uncomfortable, but if left alone in your own head you will most definitely start imagining 14 pound newborns and the teenage anesthesiologist claiming to be out of epidurals. Even dreams don’t provide any relief because that’s when you give birth to twin boys who can’t stop screaming, so when you finally wake up to search for them in your bed you see one confused husband and two sleepy dogs.

Besides some sort of magical Buddha that says, your baby will be born on this day at this time; all you really want is your OBGYN velcroed to you at all times, constantly repeating, “That’s normal”. I’ve set up my very own personal block to WebMD and unfortunately the one number we are allowed to dial at this point is Labor and Delivery. Ironically, this is the only time during the pregnancy when they throw caution to the wind and don't tell you to come in unless your baby is almost crowning.

It’s important to remind yourself that none of this is logical. There is an entirely formed human being camping out inside my watermelon sized uterus just waiting to call me, “Mom”. I’m the only person that can complete this task and thankfully I have my very own cheerleading squad of family and friends: we are having T-shirts made. It feels good that everyone has confidence in my abilities, and in the moments I’m not having contractions or I forget what’s about to happen, I too feel very capable. So here is the good news: this uncertainty, fear, and bowel-shaking panic sets the stage perfectly for what's to come in parenthood. 

What it's all for.

5 Things People Must Say to Extremely Pregnant Women

1). My guess is she’ll weigh…

This is a carnival game that I definitely don’t remember signing up for. It should be a general rule that all things related to weight and women should be off the limits, but since there are no boundaries when it comes to pregnancy, by all means estimate away and I’ll remember to high five you after she’s born if you’re correct.  

2). When is she coming?

If I knew that I wouldn’t be wasting my time talking to you, and I’d stop going on hotels.com looking for cheap rooms across the street from the hospital. Even when you go to your doctors appointments towards the end, they have no idea and give annoyingly vague answers like, “it could be today or two weeks from now.” I’m pretty sure that they are just making up words like "dilated" and "effaced" because it sounds helpful and they are just tired of answering the same questions.

3). When’s your due date again?

I’d like to have a shirt made (and by shirt I mean wearable tent): It’s a girl, no I won’t tell you her name because you’ll find a way to ruin it for me, her due date is September 25th. Have a nice day.

 4). How are you feeling?

We all know how I feel about this questions: but I will reiterate for emphasis. This doesn’t feel great people. I have a bowling ball dangerously close to my bladder and even though I’ve tried to avoid the waddle, sometimes it’s the only way that walking feels comfortable.  

5). I’m just so uncomfortable for you…

This is an odd form of sympathy, sort of like I feel your pain. Except that you don’t and unless you can magically birth this baby for me, your words are not helping and now I have to pee… again.

Parents are the Worst

7 reasons why I’m sorry, that we're not sorry.

1). From the moment they are born, our first topic of conversation at every gathering will be "our children". Even at dinner parties, for which we sacrificed our sanity and routine to attend, "pooping in the potty" stories are never off limits, even if the host is serving stew.

2). Parents are the worst kind of consumers and the most vocal. Nothing is safe enough, recall proof, or could ever have enough bells and whistles for our precious angels. A swing can no longer simply move back and forth, it needs to have a remote control which we can monitor from our smart phones, and look like it came from outer space. Our baby registries are ten times more extravagant than our wedding registries. Warning: we have access to message boards and we're not afraid to use them.

3). We can only use the words months or weeks to describe our children’s biological or gestational age (a phrase all of the non-parents are quickly checking out on Wikipedia). Rather than saying my kids will be a year and a half apart in age I tell people 19 months. To me, it sounds slightly less terrifying. To you, you’ll wish you paid better attention in junior high math.

4). We will absolutely try and recruit you. Parenthood is a cult and you should most definitely drink the Kool Aide.

5). We believe that everything about our children is fascinating and must therefore interest you as well. I will tell you every animal sound my daughter can say and the ones she struggles with, because you made the mistake of asking me how my day was going.

6). Did you want to see a picture of my child eating ice cream, at the beach, or petting our dog? Great, check it out my Instagram or Facebook page. It is has become a shrine to my family.      

7). You are no longer allowed to use phrases like I’m exhausted or I got NO sleep last night. We now own the rights to suffering and any non-parents using these expressions will be shot on site with our dagger eyes which are also trademarked, so don’t even try.