Siri: How do I deliver my own baby?
I am becoming increasingly nervous about my commute to work. Per doctor’s orders, I am only driving in three times a week, but even so I have this recurring nightmare about going into labor solo on the side of I-75S. If you’ve read Rosie’s birth story, you know this is not an impossibility. Maybe I should look into a police escort. Or at the very least, put clean towels in the passenger seat, just in case.
A couple of weeks ago, we told Noah the baby’s name. (But not Rosie, because that would be like announcing it on Facebook. Or on national television.) We told him it was a secret, and he has been like a CIA recruit with the knowledge. Ain’t no one getting that info, son. In the meantime, he whispers goodbye to my belly using the name in hushed tones when I drop him off at school, or sometimes spells it out when Rosie’s around, just because he can. It was a good idea to tell him, I think.
Somehow my brain is under the impression I already had this baby and therefore is functioning under newborn sleep-deprived mode early. Simple tasks, I am not completing them so well. The number of people I have emailed about subjects entirely unrelated to them is too numerous to count, and a couple of times I have just plumb forgotten to start dinner (once because I fell asleep on the couch, but still). Plus, I drop stuff all the damn time. No, but ALL the time. I don’t know if this is a puffy finger thing, or a cruel joke that the Universe is playing because it likes to watch attempt to bend over to retrieve all the things or what, but it’s stupid and no thank you.
We can do it
Rosie has mentioned her desire to “grow up and be a mama” several times to me, which I find endearing and also slightly alarming, like I need to affirm that choice but also make sure she gets enough rah rah feminist talk to balance things out? I mean, I’m pro-being-a-mama, obviously, but am also in favor of that being an “in addition to …” statement. Maybe for a fun Saturday activity we will learn how to weld or perhaps burn my bra in the front yard. Something. I’ll keep you posted.