Note: Not really a funny blog. Just one in which I try to wrap my head around stuff.
As the cool kids would say, “shit’s getting real” around here. I had my latest OB appointment recently and it’s official: BY will join the party on 2/15 via scheduled c-section. Those of you who have gestated your own kids know what this kind of timeline is like: on one hand, it will feel like forever. On the other hand, I’m freaking out as that’s NO TIME AT ALL. Then again, there’s not a whole lot to do at this point. I guess we need to acquire a few new non-girlie baby outfits to supplement all the gender-neutral stuff we already had. Oh yeah: I guess I need to rewash that stuff. We’ll need to bulk up on tiny diapers. We need to get the swing and infant carrier back out and make sure those things are clean and intact. Will has several good plans for building a cosleeper, so that will be ready. I guess we need to try to ease Stella into the idea that she’ll soon be a big sister. We need a baby book. BY needs a bloody name.
Maybe there’s more to do than I thought.
There are some nerves about the procedure itself, although I am much more calm than last time. Sure, there are parts that I’m dreading (the IV, the catheter, the epidural, the mashing on the incision afterward by cruel nurses), but honestly, I don’t remember the first one being bad, really. I was out of the hospital in under 48 hours – my choice – and my doctor said that provided we’re doing well, I can shoot for that again. All of my angst now is centered around Stella: having to leave her at night for the first time ever and having limited contact with her for a couple days and how we’ll manage the day of the event. On the positive side, I really MIGHT live my Braveheart dream and scream “FREEDOM!” when they liberate BY from my abdominal cavity. I chickened out last time and felt that would be inappropriate.
I guess one thing I’m trying not to think much about is the bonus procedure I’m having done: the tying off of the old tubes. The doctor will be in there already so we may as well go for it. At this moment in time, I’ve re-decided that being pregnant is horrible. I hurt. I can’t sleep that well. I have to pee each and every time I stand up. I’m positively rotund. I’m having a hard time getting my kid out of the tub when I give her a bath. I can’t tie my shoes very well anymore. The world has been sort of crummy lately and some wine would have been pretty nice. Yada, yada, yada. I also know that I felt/said the same stuff the last time I was pregnant. It is true what all moms say: once you see your kid, you forget. I think I knew immediately that another baby was something I wanted.
But this time it IS different. 2 kids is more than 1 kid. I’m 39 freaking years old. We aren’t independently wealthy and I’m currently giving myself ulcers and migraines trying to figure out what we’re going to do about childcare and schooling – 2 very important things. Given my age and our resources, it would seriously be irresponsible to push it beyond 2. I’m already worried about how I’m going to care for 2 kiddos as well as I’ve managed (so far, I think) to care for one as a very hands-on mom-type. This procedure is the right thing to do, particularly since we’ve demonstrated that we are, indeed, quite fertile.
But there’s the “yeah buts” in my head as well. Lots of women are having kids later into their 40’s. What happens if we suddenly win lots of money and could afford great educations for all, a cleaning lady, and a slightly bigger house and yard? What happens if something happens to Stella and BY and I’m unable to have another baby (not that you can ever ever in a billion years replace a kid, but you know….sometimes your mind gets maudlin and goes there)?
It’s the right thing to do and I need to just not think about it anymore. So to my brain I say “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”