Take This Maira Kalman!

My due date has come. My due date has gone. My due date has come and gone. My doctor has vanished like a rabbit from a magician's hat and who knows what will happen next.

I live in a bubble. My husband works very hard all day and most nights. When he is finished working, sort of, he comes to my bed side, closes his eyes and melts into a sleep-like state. He spends approximately six minutes telling me that he has no desire to jog or go to the gym and then, finally, he goes. When he returns, he diligently, though lovelessly, rubs my aching lower back until his hand hurts and proceeds to read a magazine and then falls asleep. It is unlikely that we exchange twenty words a day lately. Yet, he loves me and I love him. Sometimes, he tells me about a work project but most of the time he says he is trying to figure something out. A lot of numbers go through his head and I don't understand anyway, so I am probably not his best sounding board although I try.

I have no desire to cook any food. I am tired of chicken and beef. I don't really eat pork. I am not a great cooker of fish although I do find lobster, crab, and shrimp rather tasty. I would be content with a can of chocolate icing and a spoon. Sometimes, I wander to the kitchen, open the refrigerator, open the pantry, stare at all the contents and leave. At more motivated times, I will cook lavishly. I enjoy watching my husband eat meals I have made because he is a kind and grateful eater. These are not motivated times. Today, I am struggling to even put on clothes and go outside.

We are out of showering soap and garbage bags. The bathroom trashcan needs to be emptied. There is folded laundry to put away. These boring tasks await me yet I will not do them until I can't stand it any longer. Housework never ends.

Everytime I take a shower, there is a knocking sound on the tile. It is creepy. There are workmen next door and they are renovating the house. But a shower is not the place one wishes to hear knocking. Generally, it is a good place to be left alone. I want to scream at them "Fuck OFF." I could because they would not hear me. I wish they would finish and leave. Their noises will not be good for a newborn baby should one decide to arrive.

I have a serious candle wax problem. I enjoy burning candles. Especially when I find one that smells yummy of say lemons and cloves, I like to burn the candle all day long. At some point though, the wax will spill all over. I have destroyed several pieces of furniture this way, not to mention Belly, my stuffed bear, and platypus, both vicitms to neighboring candle wax accidents. I can't seem to help myself. I enjoy the quiet light and the smell. My Big Book of Stain Solutions hasn't really panned out all that well and the best solution I've discovered is simply to scrape the dried wax off of the furniture or animal. But there are traces of my crimes.

When I have energy, I go outside to be a part of the world. The world is not waiting for a baby. Only I am. Well, and my immediate circle and perhaps a few co-workers. The world though, carries on. It makes for a strange merging, when I am in it as I don't quite belong. Then again, when I sit around the house going slightly mad, I feel hostile and begin to hate the world I'm avoiding.

There is nothing worse than nighttime when the baby kicks me and I cannot breathe. Sometimes I sleep but many nights I can't. It makes me hate everyone who sleeps. She is very large at this point and has taken over the upper half of my body. It feels a little as though we are in a battle for my body. We can no longer both have it, but we are in a bit of a tug of war over it. I am hoping to win and by doing so, convince her to leave and join us in the real world. She doesn't seem convinced though. I am trying not to get mad at her for keeping us all on hold, but sometimes I do.

Once in awhile, I find myself thinking that I will die during some fluke in labor. Part of this fear is the thought that it happens to someone, that person probably doesn't expect it either and it happens more in this country than in others. If it does happen, how pitiful that these days are not treasured as they should be. While I am attempting to step back, be grateful for the peace and the quiet, a certain level of anxiety and frustration prevent that from happening entirely. A trip to the beach and a strawberry colada would certainly help. But if these do happen to be my last days, let me state for the record that I know my better half will be an excellent parent and that I love him so. He is my truly, truly even when I want to strangle him.
Perhaps throttle.

There is a lovely orange piece of paper hanging over our bed which I made for our wedding. It contains envelopes holding marital advice from some of our couple friends who have enjoyed their marraiges for many years. It is falling apart and will break soon if we don't make an effort to preserve it. We have yet to read a single word of advice although this may be a good time to dip in. When I made it, I was thinking about how hard it is for people to commit and stay happy in a long term relationship. No one ever claimed that marraige is easy. I figured we could use all the advice anyone has to offer. Now, I see it more as a reminder. A reminder of the years as they will pass slowly before us. But if it should break, I would be sad and see it as a bad sign. I am a bit superstitious that way.

When I really get going, I fear that my unborn daughter hates me and is trying to kill me by choking me to death. I fear she will be a mass murderer and kill us in our sleep. I am perfectly capable of fantastical dramas, delusions, and madness. This is why it is better when I have the energy to be in the world. The world is less dangerous than my head.

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?