I’m currently enjoying the state of not being pregnant, and the fun of losing 10 pounds a week while keeping up my rigorous donut regimen. The postpartum period is a lot more pleasant than the 41st week of pregnancy.
Other than the fact that it dragged on for a week too long, my pregnancy was pretty easy. I had no significant discomfort or any of the nasty side effects or secondary symptoms, except for a few small stretch marks. Since I’d had such an easy time, I was worried that I hadn’t been mentally toughened up enough to handle birth, and I braced myself for a comparatively unpleasant childbirth process. But the birth itself was also easy and not too uncomfortable, as these things go.
So, having certainly used up all my good karma on the birth, I figured the newborn period would be a pain in the butt. Again, not so much. JB the Baby acts like she’s competing in some “World’s Mellowest Baby” competition. I’m getting 8 hours of sleep a night (albeit in 3- and 4- hour chunks), and on the rare occasions she cries she can be quieted in a few minutes by cuddling. Mostly she just sleeps or looks around with big googly eyes and makes funny faces. Sometimes she pokes herself in the face. I sit around and keep myself entertained with books and TV while I wait for her to wake up and need something. It’s nowhere near as difficult or as stressful as I was expecting.
I assume that this is some temporary newborn state, and that sooner or later JB will perk up and start giving me trouble. I’ll try to enjoy this while it lasts.
Dear everyone who is calling me twice a day,
The reason I haven’t called or emailed to tell you about the baby being born is not because I am overwhelmed with new motherhood, laying on the floor incapacitated by contractions unable to reach a phone, or using your new grandchild/niece as a pawn in a strange mindgame.
It is because the baby has not been born. Yes, I know it’s supposed to be any day now. Yes, I am getting pretty tired of being pregnant. That’s why I’m ignoring you and everything else that reminds me of said pregnancy. When the baby is born, I will let you know.
If you are licking clean a bowl of tiramisu as your spouse gets up from the couch, and you hand him the bowl and say “Honey, if you’re going in the kitchen could you get me some tiramisu or a piece of cake or a donut?”, you might be nine months pregnant.
This will sound pretty weird, and you’ll want to skip this if uterine parasites gross you out, but when Wiggly the Enormous Nine-month-old Fetus stretches her legs and pushes against my abdominal wall with her butt, it feels good.
But when she does the same thing with one foot wedged against an ovary? Not so good at all.
Sidekick: [annoying comment about animated commercial on TV].
Me: [insightful witty comment about art in general totally refuting his lame point].
Sidekick: Art shmart
Me: I don’t know why I bother talking to you.
Sidekick: Because I am the father of your child!
Sidekick, in Nelson Muntz voice: Ha-ha!
Does it look like I’ve had the baby? Do you see a baby anywhere around here?
Since we found out we’re having a girl, the sidekick and I have been more interested in the next-door-neighbor children. They’re fraternal twin girls, 4 years old, and unlike the twins I’ve met who seem to match, between them they cover a spectrum of female characteristics.
The other day the twins proudly showed off t-shirts they’d picked out for the first day of preschool. One twin’s said “Princess” and the other twin’s said “Soccer”. This sums up each of their personalities. One of them, Girly Twin, always wears dresses and enjoys drama and all things princessy. Sporty Twin, on the other hand, always wears shorts and t-shirts and loves being athletic. She’s making decent progress with the whiffle ball and bat.
They have pretty much the same genes and are being raised in the same environment, so how are they so different? Did each of them have the innate potential for certain interests when they were born?
This is why the sidekick and I fear that in spite of our introverted geek dork personalities and a fairly gender-role-balanced home environment we’ll end up with an extroverted princess daughter who wants to wear short skirts and cheer for boys.