Thirty-eight weeks. Still pregnant. Still crazy. People keep asking me how I’m doing. Well, last week I gave the finger to a school bus. So that should tell you everything you need to know. My husband […]
Thirty-eight weeks. Still pregnant. Still crazy.
People keep asking me how I’m doing. Well, last week I gave the finger to a school bus. So that should tell you everything you need to know.
My husband emailed me last week and asked what he could do to help me feel less stressed. I told him: 1. Reduce the amount of crazy hormones in my body; and 2. Win the lottery. I don’t know how winning the lottery would help, exactly, but it certainly seems like it wouldn’t hurt.
The hormones are crazy. I am crazy. I can tell that I’m being crazy. I feel like it’s a bad sign if you’re able to recognize your own crazy.
We decided that the thing to do to prepare for Baby No. 4 was to buy a car. We traded in the minivan for a giant SUV. Because WHY NOT? We purchased a car when three of our four children were born. For the other one, we bought a house. Obviously.
When I am faced with too many options, I tend to shut down and do nothing. This is what has happened with regards to purchasing a new swing for Baby No. 4. I was torn between buying the new-and-fancy Mamaroo swing, which—for some unknown reason—has me captivated, and staying with the tried-and-true Fisher Price Snugabunny swing that worked like a charm for Babies No. 2 and No. 3. I mean, the obvious answer is to stick with what I know. And yet, AND YET, I still cannot decide. Why? Who knows! There is no earthly reason.
So I finally convinced myself last week to just buy the Snugabunny, and I went to good, old Amazon and put one Snugabunny into my cart. And then I read that it was new and improved with “Smart Swing Technology.” New and improved? That sounded suspicious considering the old model was perfect in every way. I needed to know what this “Smart Swing Technology” was all about. So I Googled it and found out that apparently it means that the swing shuts itself off automatically after 45 minutes (even if it’s powered by the AC adapter as opposed to batteries). OK. Hold up. So the definition of “smart” is something that turns itself off—even if I don’t want it to? What if it shuts itself off at a time when, more than likely, the baby has just stopped wailing? So out of the Amazon Shopping Cart went the Snugabunny. Fortunately, I was able to procure a Snugapuppy (seriously, what’s with these names?) which is old and “dumb” and doesn’t shut off until I tell it to.
This is how I spend my time nowadays, thinking and worrying and wondering and pondering and worrying and stressing and thinking and worrying and stressing some more about which godforsaken swing I want to buy. I deserve to be punched.
So I ordered the swing and some kind of newborn sleeper thing (which I’m sure we don’t need but which I could not NOT buy). So I suppose that is progress. Are they put together? Um, no. They actually haven’t even arrived yet. Because rather than go to the store and buy them, I chose the easy (read: lazy) method of ordering them on Amazon and then waiting for them to show up at my door. So, as of this writing, we aren’t actually in possession of either item. Details.
I found a box of newborn clothes. Did I wash them and fold them and put them away? No. Did I even bother to open the box to see if they’re boy clothes or girl clothes? Also no.
I found myself lying in bed the other night, unable to fall asleep because I haven’t packed a bag for the hospital yet. Did that cause me to pack the bag? NO. It did cause me to wonder what I need to pack. And then that made me think about how I think it’s so depressing that after giving birth, I still have to squeeze my now floppy, flappy, squishy, squashy belly into maternity clothes. It’s a real slap in the face, even on my fourth go round.
I realize that all of this is completely outside the realm of common sense. I KNOW. And yet, the only reaction I am having to any of it is to throw my hands up and declare that WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE.
Makes complete sense to me.
My friend, the one with the perfect nursery, had her baby last week. This made me panic a little because it means that MY baby could, theoretically, arrive any time now. Her baby was right around two weeks early. And here we are, two weeks out from my due date (13 days if we’re being technical).
But I think the reason I’m not more motivated to actually get things done (aside from the fact that I am obviously completely off the reservation crazy) is that I know that this baby isn’t coming early. The earliest any of my babies has arrived is -9 days. Then -4. Then +2 (and even then, she had to be removed by force). So each of my babies has arrived later than the one before it. So I figure this baby isn’t in any hurry. Because, I mean, that’s how science works, right?
NO. OBVIOUSLY THAT’S NOT HOW SCIENCE WORKS. THE BABY COULD BE HERE AT ANY MOMENT.
WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.