Wednesday, January 11, 2006

And so the great countdown begins...

According to the medical experts monitoring his gestation, Little A is due to arrive on January 15. This science is apparently about as accurate as a blind baboon with a slingshot, yet doctors will insist on treating the estimated due date as gospel truth written in stone by The Almighty. Even though about 3% of all women actually go into labor and deliver on this due date. This doesn't stop doctors from taking evasive action should the baby not come "on time" which means sticking your uterus with something or pumping you full of some sort of drug to move things along.

As much as I am beginning to get totally frustrated with this whole pregnancy thing, I am not too keen on the idea of being chemically "motivated" to push this kid out. I certainly understand there would be medical reasons for inducing labor, but just because a few days have passed since the due date (which is a total shot in the dark anyway), I don't want anyone poking around in my body to coax out Little A. What if he isn't quite ready? Maybe he knows intuitively that his mom isn't quite ready for this whole labor-delivery-motherhood thing.

I'm am so over being pregant. Granted the extra attention can be nice (although sometimes annoying) and it's probably the one time in my life when everyone is interested in my health and well-being. But right now I am a fucking tick. My belly is HUGE. I nearly gave myself an injury trying to put tights on this morning. All of my maternity clothing is starting to get snug. My legs are swollen and look like tree trunks. My hips and pelvis are sore almost all the time. I feel the need to eat everything in sight. I long for the morning when I can sit up straight in bed instead of doing this weird side-roll thing to get up and to the bathroom.

Yet, I will miss having Little A with me all the time. This will be the only time in his life when he is quiet, totally portable, and uncomplicated. Sigh.

Then again, the idea of suddenly being responsible for this totally helpless lifeform is terrifying. The way I see it, the margin of error on this is ENORMOUS. I can't even begin to count all the ways I can totally screw up motherhood. Compared to motherhood, pregnancy is a cakewalk.

Finally there is the whole labor and delivery process. Yikes. I think I've overeducated myself in this area with all the reading and class-taking I've been doing. The sheer number of things that can occur with ones body is mind-boggling. Makes me kind of wish for the days when women were knocked out before birth. Then there are all these stories I keep hearing and according to these women-NO ONE has a normal labor. They all went through some sort of disaster that resulted in C-sections, bodily trauma, or lots of drugs.

How is it that my great-grandmother managed to birth 16 children at home and live to tell about each one? It's bloody amazing we've survived as a species this long.

Sometimes I wish I was stupid and didn't think about these things.

Sometimes I wish I was a bird.

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