…but just for a few minutes. Bear with me.
There’s a person inside me. A PERSON. Every time I think about this (and how it will be eventually making its way OUT of me), I freak out a little. My husband -while thrilled- does not appear to be as awestruck by the phenomenon of having a kid. Every day or so we have a conversation that goes something like this:
Me: [pointing at basketball-sized belly] “There’s a baby in here. A LIVE person is INSIDE ME. Can you believe that?”
Him: “Yep. Pretty cool.”
Me: “That doesn’t freak you out at all?”
Him: “Nope. It happens to people all the time.”
Me: “We’re going to have a FUCKING BABY.”
We’re almost done with her room (as much as Wrigley would like to think this is all for her), and it is starting to sink in that we’re doing it because there’s going to be a person living in there pretty soon. A PERSON… (repeat freakout).
All that’s missing is a chair that we stupidly waited until now to order and won’t be delivered for 12 weeks. Who’d have thought a damn chair would take 12 weeks? In that time, I could have birthed a litter of kittens.
Anyidratherbebirthingalitterofkittens, we took a class yesterday called Newborn Basics where we learned things like infant CPR, swaddling, bathing and diapering, and what to do if it’s been crying for four hours and you’re contemplating murder-suicide:
At the beginning of class we had to introduce ourselves, and share our due date and primary concern about having a baby. I made some crack like, “just not doing something stupid and killing it,” which didn’t really go over that well. A couple of people tittered. I heard one murmur of shock.
Everyone else shared more appropriate concerns like proper hygiene, nutrition, breastfeeding, medical emergencies. One girl said they were doing the cloth diaper thing and she was afraid it was going to be disgusting. (No reason to be scared, hon: it will be disgusting. Move on.)
So I’m really the only one who’s afraid she might trip over one of the cats, fall and crush the baby?