When you’re about to have your third child, sometimes things get lost in the shuffle. I’m not talking here about the car keys (found them this morning, thank you very much), but rather things that you thought about a lot for the first baby. For example, giving birth to said baby.
As you all know, I’ve given a great deal of thought to being pregnant. You sort of have to, of course, because it’s not socially acceptable to go around town wearing pants that are unzipped and unbuttoned. Boy, I found that out the hard way. Being pregnant is pretty much in your face–or, in my case, uncomfortably wedged between my boobs and my cankles.
And all the evil eye/pu pu pu stuff notwithstanding, I’ve been starting to figure out what the heck this kid is going to sleep in, wear, etc. when it shows up in a carseat (crap, gotta get that, too) at my door. I secretly register for things. I order things that are kept in a warehouse ten minutes away, or my parents’ basement, until this kid is born and someone gives the ‘go’ order and they will make their way to my house. Why all this bizarre duplicity? This is because somehow, doing these contortion-ish things is not the same as actually having a baby shower and getting stuff in advance. Really, what it comes down to is that this is because we are Jews. We are a legalistic people who figure out ways to put strings around towns so we can carry things. We’re a weird bunch, but it all seems to work out.
But I have to say, until the other night, I’d given no thought whatsoever to exactly how this child was going to emerge from its current cocoon. That copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting? Still collecting dust on my husband’s bedside table. Both of us are generally “it’ll all work itself out” kinds of people. Which are great kinds of people to have around in certain situations, but in others…not so much.
So when I signed up for last week’s maternity ward tour, my husband sort of rolled his eyes a bit. His general take on such things is that he is a smart guy and can figure things out when the time comes. And this is true–he is a smart guy, and he can figure such things out when the time comes. I’m only suggesting the however-remote possibility that maybe, just maybe, his ability to figure things out when the time comes will be compromised by me screaming bloody murder and telling him it’s totally cool for him to park the goddamn car in the middle of the hospital’s helipad if he can’t find a freaking parking spot. Basically, he has only seen me as a rational human being. All that could change, my good man.
I also wanted us to go because my husband seems to have the idea that because I have done this whole giving-birth thing twice before, I know what’s going on and will explain it to him as we go along. You know, like translating a blessing in Hebrew, or telling him where I hid the remote. But he doesn’t seem to realize that when push comes to shove–literally–I’m not going to be explaining anything. I’m going to be losing my shit. Perhaps, again, literally. Read the rest of this entry →