Week Seven

The child is not herself this week. This week being, week seven of her existence. Ok, so who exactly is "herself," and who am I to say that she is not being herself? I am her biological mother this is true, but it is unlikely that she is too aware of that apart from the smell of the boob. That established, she does appear to be having a clingfest combined with a possession. She is only calm when I hold her, facing inward, squished up like a grapefruit. The only way I managed to calm her today was to place her in the ergo carrier and walk around with her until she fell asleep. Otherwise she just cried and cried. Real tears. Real tears make everything much more drastic. I feel a thousand times the worse mother thanks to the real tears. Oh damn you tear ducts! That and the dirt under her finger nails, must I now bathe her daily? Or the acne, should I alter my diet? (My diet of chocolate and bagels. Oh how healthy we have become).

She poo'ed all over me today, and the duvet cover, followed after the clean up, by a pee, rinse and repeat. Charmed, I'm sure. She screams hysterically every single time I change her diapers or change her clothes and little distractions, say rattle shakes or loud music, work to appease her for seconds, at best.

Andrew got a few minutes peace with Metallica or so he said, but I was in no mood for his remedies having endured about seven hours of non-stop joie de pill.

She also likes to HOWL after I remove her from the boob.

So, she doesn't know who I am, but only wants to be with or on me.
She has no sense of self and yet has managed to convince us all that she is satan's offspring.
She is covered once again in baby acne and has me feeling extra guilty for my lousy diet.

and yet... she is perfection and I love her.

But when she finally sleeps I will pluck out the eye boogers and trim her nails. Oh yes, and then I'll smear Aquaphor all over her dry, acne face and hope she doesn't wake up.

Last night, my husband saved me from myself. I gathered up the courage to admit out loud that I was bored and he said then let's go out. The weather was horrible. But we put on our scarves and hats and witnery coats, grabbed our umbrellas and went for a very long walk. We walked over the Manhattan Bridge into Chinatown and there we stopped for a thirty minute massage. Well, I got a foot rub and he got a massage. We went to this slightly seedy, culturally confused pay by the minute sort of place of which there are hundreds in Chinatown. These folks were in the process of installing a new computer and a karoke system. I got the feeling that they couldn't wait to get rid of us so that they could get down to some impressive singing. They had five mics! The woman who rubbed my feet spoke very little English but had a kind face and seemed happy to help push the accupressure points I indicated to attempt to induce labor. Meanwhile, I could hear the slapping and taps on Andrew's back in a nearby room. Then, we walked over the Brooklyn Bridge although the sleet had really picked up and cars soaked us as they drove by. I laughed into the wind. I hadn't felt that alive in months. It was physically challenging and felt sort of crazy. There were so few people on either bridges and the views of the Manhattan skylines were so unique because of the mist and the sleet. When we got back into Brooklyn, we stopped again at a small plates joint in Brooklyn Heights where Andrew ordered little beef burgers and I ate all of his fries. We each had a glass of wine, he had a Chianti and I forgot what I had. When we left, I went nearby to have some ice cream as we still had a mile to trudge and at that point I was in serious need of some inspiration. It was sort of a perfect date for a nine month + lady and her hubby. I needed that anyway. Tonight, I've sent him out to a pub to be with his male friends which I think is something he is in serious need of given how surrounded by vaginas the poor guy is. I entertained myself today but with less moodiness. I took myself to see the new Woody Allen movie, "Cassandra's Dream," which was a TOTAL stinker. I HATED it. It made me wish that Woody Allen would retire and go live in exhile or something as the more he continues to make films, the worse his legacy will be. He has lost it completely. It is so sad.
In baby land news, there is no news. I am not sure what the best plan is marching forth. Is castor oil a waste of time? Should I be less afraid of the Petocin than I am? Is it ok that I will not see my doctor if nothing happens naturally until the 24th now? I am just hoping that labor will just begin magically as it seems it does for everyone eventually. It's hard for me to not believe that somehow this is my fault, that my fear is causing her not to come, or that it's because of some anxiety or that there is something wrong and I just don't know it yet. I guess, everyone must go through this. It certainly isn't pleasant. Meanwhile, the phone calls keep coming. My stepmother and my mother-in-law are in some sort of super odd competition. It seems to be about which of them is more able to control themselves. It manifests itself as follows:
stepmother calls: Your mother-in-law is SO excited about the baby. She emails me so many times a day. I bet she'll be on the next plane.
mother in law calls: Your stepmother is So excited about the baby. She emails me so many times a day. I bet she will move in!
It is a truly bizarre competition and the winner is my dad because he is mostly leaving me alone. Honestly, they both need to grow up and realize that right now the best thing is to sit tight. When we have news, we will share it. Until then, we are trying to maintain at least a facade of normalcy, even if perhaps for me it is more of a facade than an actuality. I think for Andrew things are pretty much status quo, except maybe that I am around more. It's WEIRD and kind of hard not being at work. I feel like a drifter. I am excited to have the baby so that I will be busy again. I am not so great with too much time on my hands. At least not so far. I think I could be better if I wasn't so enormous and didn't have such extreme energy lags. I could do more.

Come out, Come out, Whereever You Are

My official due date is tomorrow. I am *trying* to "go with the flow," and just hope that this baby decides to come on out soon. I have had three, today will be number four, days of semi-encouraging Braxton-Hicks contractions. I guess they are Braxton-Hicks because they stop and have not lead to "real" labor. They seem to start around nine p.m. and last until about midnight. When I awake, they are gone.

It is so frustrating and inconsistent, that I begin to convince myself that the whole experience is my imagination and that nothing is happening at all. However, my doctor, who has a wee bit more experience with this whole baby thing than I, truly believed that I would deliver over the weekend, so I can't be completely insane.

I've tried actupuncture, massage, red wine, walking, spicy food, no food, too much food, fat food, fried food, sex and all sorts of ridiculous visualizations, mantras and chants. Nothing is too kooky for me at this point. It's not even that having her around inside is *that* uncomfortable. It is no worse, or no better than the previous eight months, it's just that I am BORED. I am tired of the transition phase. I want to meet my daughter. I want to endure the labor, deal with the pain, and move on. Enough talk already, let's have some action.

I'm fairly sure, in fact, that the evolutionary plan is to break down any sense of control ever felt on my part in order to allow me to endure the pain of child birth. I no longer am saying to myself "it's going to happen today, or tomorrow, or .." I am just thinking, asking, begging, her to come, and to come soon. I am resigned.

Yet, I am fearful of the induced route threatened for the 22nd of January. I'd prefer not to have to do that. Although, increasingly, even that seems acceptable if nothing happens prior. I can deal with that too. Natural or not, drug-induced or not, I just want to meet her. To see her, to know that she is in fact ok, alive and kicking and to begin being a mother.

My own mother's absence is so prevalent at the moment. I want to ask her so many questions and wonder what she would be experiencing or saying were she alive.

Meanwhile, the living relatives make me nuts. I've turned my telephone into a baby update line in order to avoid how is your vagina conversations which frankly, bore me to tears.

Flip side of that is, not so much interests me either. I am in a bit of a fog. I feel between worlds, semi-alive, zombie-like, going through the motions of a day but not with much sincerity or interest which is a shame. I should really be thriving and enjoying these quiet times, these peaceful days. these work-free afternoons. But I can't make myself enjoy them. I can't guilt trip myself into productivity or zen living, I have to accept a certain degree of anxiety and mixed emotions. Chalk a few of them up to raging hormones, a few to boredom, and a few to frustration. Pure and unadulterated.

Little B's kicks hurt now. She is large, I fear, VERY large and she needs to come out before I explode. I can't quite figure out how she manages to stay in there given how large she feels. Sometimes, she kicks me and I curl over. I think she is a big baby. Yikes. I can't tell what parts she is sitting on, but I do know she is wedged down there, awaiting her exit plan, so at least I have that going for me. We have that going for us?

When does the I become the Us exactly? Sometimes I feel it has, but at other moments, I don't feel that way at all. I have moments even of wondering if this desire to have a child is even a good desire, I know it's biological, evolutionary, and has felt very real, but does that make it mine? I also know that I love her and will love her and will do my best to be a decent parent, whatever that means, but that doesn't make the occasional ambivilence dissipate much. I have selfish times when I fear that my marraige will suffer because of parenthood or that I will lose my identity or become less of a person because of mommy-dom, or is it mommy-dumb? Does this make me a freak or human?