It has recently occurred to me that my pregnancy is eventually going to reach the point where the baby is going to have to come out.
My nether-regions are going to automatically contract and stretch without me telling them to and a huge mountain of living flesh is going to be pushed through a hole that up to this point has primarily been used to transport not much more than a stream of urine out of my body. WTF. It’s miraculous or whatever, but it’s also bizarre. A new person is coming out of an old person. It’s wacko in its shear normalcy.
And it’s going to hurt. A lot. There is an actual term for when the baby’s head crowns, and it’s called “the ring of fire.” You have got to be kidding me. Really? We chose this point not to sugarcoat things? I’d prefer the feeling of my vagina being engulfed in flames to be a surprise, thank you very much.
And there’s no way of knowing how long it will last. Apparently I could start having contractions weeks in advance (although I may not feel them). My water could break 24 hours before the baby comes, or it could have to be broken for me. Yeah, didn’t know that. So what exactly will we be timing the contractions for? Just for fun?
And I am probably going to be really mean to my husband and yell at him even though he’s trying his hardest to be helpful. Yeah, yeah, I know, “He won’t take it personally” or “Well, he was the one who got you in this position in the first place.” Sorry, but I’ve really taken a liking to my spouse, so much that I decided to have a baby with him. He’s just that great. So I don’t like being mean to him :/
And after the baby comes, the fun’s not over. Oh no. Then it’s time to deliver the placenta. Not that it’s going to hurt all that much or at all, but it’s another chore. It’s like, “Did you enjoy your meal at Charlie Trotters? Yeah? Well, guess what, everyone else did too and now it’s time for you to wash all the dishes.”
One more chore. THEN you get to try to breastfeed the baby. In my thorough, spooked research comprised of accounts from shell-shocked new mothers, I have found few examples of this being a successful enterprise. The baby sometimes won’t latch on for quite some time. I am trying to be optimistic by assuming that the disheartening stories I’ve read about starting out breastfeeding are really only recorded because they are out of the ordinary or meant to assuage other frustrated moms. But I don’t know who Bebe really is, so I don’t know how quickly (s)he’ll take to being breastfed. If she’s anything like me, she’ll just want some flippin’ coffee, so I’m going to have to arrange a bottle of coffee to be ready just in case. That will be a good bonding moment, I think.
All this to say, with my pleasantly rounding belly, I am beginning to realize that Bebe’s not just a little fig anymore. (S)he’s a real person (!!!!) and she’s going to make an entrance. And I’ve gotta be there. It is for sure the most daunting activity I’ve ever known in advance that I’d be integrally involved in.
I’m going to have to have the baby.