As you may remember John and I bet when Cameron would arrive, because we thought it would definitely be before late October but couldn’t decide on when.  If it was before the 12th, John won. If it was after the 15th, I won.  If it was in between, it was neutral.  I went into labor on the 13th, he was born on the 14th.  He couldn’t have planned it any better.  This kid is trouble.  

I totally won.  After a disastrous class the week before, I gave birth one hour and twenty minutes before the final class began.  I personally feel that makes me the childbirth class winner as I gave birth right before the last class.  I was so good and paid such close attention I had my child!  This was debated somewhat, but I stand by my win.

Way better than we ever imagined.  Sam (dog) has adopted Cameron as his own.  He adores him and checks on him all the time to make sure he is o.k. Serena (dog) is missing being the center of every one’s attention but hasn’t put together that this is because of the new creature hanging around.  She does occasionally go over and sniff him, mostly I think because she sees Sam do it and he gets lots of love for doing it.  The cats are fairly indifferent.  None of them are in love with Cameron, but none have tried to harm him in any way either, so that’s success in our book.  Well, my book.  Success in John’s book is if they were all horrible and he got to send them away.  

If there are any other burning questions out there, feel free to ask!

I met with the midwife today, although after deciding to just stay with my midwife, I ended up with a different one because they had a scheduling problem. It turned out to be alright because the new midwife was great, not at all like the previous one that scared me off from meeting new ones.  She also helped calm a lot of the anxieties I had after Tuesday.  We talked about Bogey being separated from me (she said no way if I didn’t want it) and that the midwives are the ones who discharge me and as far as they are concerned, if I’m healthy I can get out of there as soon as I want.  She said to talk to the pediatrician about how they feel having him leave early because that will be more of the hitch. We already have an appt. scheduled Monday with a potential pediatrician so that question will be on our list.  She also said, bottom line, if they are trying to do something I don’t want to do there is nothing wrong with breaking convention and doing it how I want.  She had no idea who she was talking to.  I could feel John wince as the words came out of her mouth.  

Things are going great with Bogey and me.  I am Group B Strep negative which means no IV unless it becomes necessary down the line, ie medication is needed, fluids are needed, etc.  But they will not put one in until that point.  It also means that it is likely both of us can get out of the hospital faster than if I had tested positive.  I am two centimeters dilated and 70% effaced. This is awesome news as it means I am progressing as I should, but doesn’t mean labor is right around the corner.  I could sit like this for a month.  But it is better for my brain than if I were no centimeters dilated and 0% effaced.  

Bogey is continuing to rock his textbook positioning.  He is in the exact same place as he has been for the last few weeks, which is good.  His head is as far down as it can possibly go without actually exiting my body.  She was pretty surprised by that. This has been something debated by the midwives due to my uber strong pelvic muscles. They’ve all said he had dropped, but they couldn’t agree on how far he’d dropped because the muscles were in the way. Once she got in there and tried to push up, she said, wow, he is completely dropped because she could not budge him.  This was impressive to her because his butt is wedged high up in my uterus making him an impressive size from one end to the other.  I of course immediately get an image of a 20lb baby coming out with combat boots on, but John pointed out it is not necessarily a weight thing, he could just be a long baby.  So I’m now visualizing long and narrow, not fat and round.  

We’ll continue our weekly visits until he’s here, hopefully that means there will be only a couple more!

Even the Baskin Robbins’ picture is brighter as a new store has just popped up maybe a minute from our house so I now have options in case one store is out of a particular flavor.  

More pictures to come soon. . .

Tonight was the hospital tour. Upon further reflection, we probably should have just skipped this one as I am terrified of hospitals and they cause my anxiety level to skyrocket at the mere mention of them. I thought that seeing a labor and delivery room and the postpartum area would make me feel better. Fear of the unknown and all that. Wrong.

We go up there and are informed that all of the L&D rooms are full tonight. They are over capacity. We can’t see one of them. This brings up a question I had never thought of: What happens if they are full when I go into labor? John asked this for me as I had already turned in on myself and was in a ball on the floor, similar to an armadillo before it gets run over by a car. Oh, the instructor says, they put you in a regular hospital room. That’s what they’ve been doing tonight.

This may not seem like a big deal, except for the fact that there are a few differences between the two rooms. A few BIG differences for midwife patients. The bed? In a normal hospital room, it is a normal hospital bed. No ability to maneuver it to sit up, to take it apart so it is more like a birthing chair, no ability to really change positions for the actual birth. The room is at least half the size, not nearly the freedom of movement in the room or ability to use things such as birthing balls. Then there is the shower. Not meant for a laboring woman. Not as big, no chair, no movable shower head that can be used to massage the back. Few differences there.

Then she started talking about the baby. And the two hours here and there they would take him for bathing or an assessment or, or, or. It was at this point I began focusing on not running out of the room screaming and barricading myself in my house until after Bogey goes to college. I figured if I did that they would admit me to the hospital immediately and my biggest problem would not be what bed I would be in, but whether or not I would be strapped to that bed in a white coat.

As she finished talking about everything, I turned to John and told him I had to go. Go to the conference room where the next part of class is going to take place, he asked? Um, no. I. HAVE. TO. GO. Out of the hospital, he asked? He didn’t really need me to answer as he saw my wild eyed look frantically searching out the exit signs.

We left the hospital, John threw me (by this point in tears) in the car, and decided to stop by Baskin Robbins as a treat. They were out of Mint Chocolate Chip. Until that moment, I would have sworn to you that Baskin Robbins couldn’t run out of Mint Chocolate Chip. Or if they did, the store would be closed. No Mint Chocolate Chip? An impossibility. That is their signature flavor. I told John just to take me home so I could revert back to the curled up ball and pretend the evening didn’t happen after I washed off the hospital smell that leapt on me as we walked through the doors. He decided to take me to Target instead and we loaded up on Ice Cream Sundae makings. It was a pretty effective move. It at least got me home and out of the car. He didn’t even have to wrestle the keys from me so I didn’t drive back to NC.

Perhaps I’m not quite ready for Bogey to get here. Perhaps I need some quick therapy to get over my hospital anxieties. Perhaps I need to focus my energy on what I can control opposed to what I cannot.

It wasn’t a completely wasted evening though. I rode in an elevator twice tonight. With multiple pregnant women in the elevator with me. That is tempting fate. That is laughing at fate. But I did it. Without passing out, without screaming, without going into labor, without scaring all the other women to the point of inducing their labor. And while not enough to redeem my failure in class, I think it was a sign of progress in my fragile psyche.

Bogey is wonderful.  Again, he is totally over having the doppler done and spiked his little heartbeat trying to wiggle away when she did it. Labor is going to be tougher on him than he realizes.  He is not only head down, but she said he is tucked way down in there and is engaged. For those who don’t know pregnancy stuff, that does not mean he found his true love already (although who really knows what goes on in there), it means his head has dropped down into my pelvic bone, a helpful and necessary step for him getting out of there.  

It’s October, hopefully there will be a baby here by the end of the month. If not, hopefully a certain team will have won the world series.  If not, hopefully a bluish tint to early November.  And if not, we’re doing the month over again. 

There were four of us pregnant ladies.  I was the only one who apparently did not get the memo for the cute pregnancy outfits. Casual yet chic.  Hmmm…  Sounds familiar.  Ah, yes because I missed that memo in childbirth class too.  I’m guessing perhaps I missed that memo entirely as it was sent out to all pregnant ladies upon the moment of conception.  I had been proud of myself that I actually put on my cargo pants and not my sweats for the class.  

The instructor asked (before the students got there) how far along everyone was. The other three knew to the day how far along they were.  I tried to be definitive, but really had no idea exactly how far along I was and had to fall back on my midwife, who was able to answer for me. That’s why I keep her around.  

There was one midwife there who looked at me and another woman who was a couple of weeks behind me and said late October huh?  My first baby was due in late October.  He was born near Thanksgiving.  I had him at 43 weeks.  He was 10 lbs.  chirp, chirp, chirp, giggle, giggle, giggle.  I just stared at her and asked very calmly if she was one of the midwives who attended deliveries. She said oh gosh no, only an instructor right now, she was taking a break from deliveries. I smiled and thought good, because if I was at 40 weeks and she told me oh chirp, chirp, chirp, giggle, giggle, giggle you have three more weeks and your kid will be the size of a toddler I’m pretty sure I would force her into my uterus at gunpoint to retrieve my child for me. 

We were then all separated into exam rooms with one instructor. Luckily, I had a different instructor with me.  During the first exam, the students were feeling for position of the baby, after a lot of poking and prodding the instructor looked at me and said oh, are you having a contraction?  I looked at her, and the student, desperately hoping one of them would answer for me, because as far as I knew, I hadn’t been having any contractions, but alas, they both just stared at me.  So I hedged my bets and tentatively said, yes…because why else would she have asked?  She immediately dove in to tell the student how she could tell and that when the uterus is stimulated as much as it was tonight, it was common for it to contract, blah, blah, blah.

While she was sharing all of this with the student I pulled out my failed pregnant lady passport and put another stamp in it.  This time because that “movement” I’ve been feeling from Bogey? Where it feels kind of tight across my already tight abdomen?  That would be a contraction. Whoops.  Been having those for awhile now.  

Back to the exam.  The students LOVED Bogey.  Well, all of them except the one that looked like she thought she might break me if she touched me in any way.  She was a little scary and Bogey made her night pretty miserable.  He kept moving when she touched him so she couldn’t figure out where he was.  Then when she got the doppler out to listen for his heartbeat, as soon as she got it, he shifted away from the doppler so his heartbeat would drop out.  The instructor finally told her to just let it be because obviously he was not going to cooperate with her.  But he was perfect for everyone else.  They said his positioning was textbook and made it super easy to figure out.  My pelvic muscles are apparently rock hard strong, making it nearly impossible for them to figure out where his head was.  Hopefully this means those muscles will shoot Bogey out like a torpedo.  John said he’ll have the catcher’s mitt ready.

I left Monday night proud of my baby and his stellar cooperation.  I also gloated to John how I actually had been having contractions, but they did not hurt one bit, it was just like tightening a muscle a little. Oh happy day happy pregnant lady with your happy baby and happy uterus. 

Then Tuesday hit.  Apparently, Bogey did not actually like all that poking and prodding.  Or at least my super painless happy uterus didn’t like it.  I could not sit down for more than about ten minutes without the pain from the constant contractions forcing me up and walking around. That felt better, but eventually my feet got sore from all the walking and standing so I’d sit, only to be greeted by waves of painful contractions.  This went on all day long until I finally got home, laid down, and apologized to the pregnancy gods I’d offended.  

Today was better, all back to normal, so don’t get excited that I’m imminently going to go into labor.  I’m perhaps wishing that was true, but it is not going to happen for a little while longer.  

Midwife appt. tomorrow, more updates about how we’re both doing then. 

What? We support Obama? How could that be? We live in TN where you have to cut your finger and write Fred Thompson’s name in your blood so they have your Republican DNA on file anytime you get pulled over for a speeding ticket. Apparently, we missed the finger cutting day most likely because I was too busy promoting abortions as I am pro choice and that’s what that means, right?  I like to kill all babies?  It does make this whole pregnancy thing seem to be a bit of a conundrum when you think about it.  

Due to falling through the cracks, we are able to travel in the dusk of afternoon to sketchy locations, such as Obama’s headquarters.  We then volunteered to do terrible things.  I for one called people to harass them about the yard signs they had requested.  I told them the signs had arrived and could be picked up at their convenience.  That in essence translates directly into vandalism as people will now LITTER THEIR YARDS with such smut as Obama/Biden ‘08. Cover the children’s eyes.  Cover their eyes.

No political issues here.

So….the midwife appt.  We continued our round robin of midwives and I didn’t like this one as much as the others.  John pointed out I don’t like a lot of women so it is not unreasonable to think in a practice made up of lots of women I might run across one I didn’t like too much. Point taken, but I decided I’m done with the round robin and am just going to stick with my usual midwife.  Whoever is going to deliver Bogey will be there whether I meet her first or not.  

Bogey is doing well. He has flipped around and is all snuggled into his head down position. Hopefully he will stay that way.  His butt is sticking straight out my left side, and his arms and legs are all mushed up under my ribs on my right side.  The midwife asked if I’d been feeling any kicks on that right side and I said yes, in fact if you look close enough you can see the Nike imprint from his cleats.   I’m not sure about his choice of endorsements, but I don’t want to stifle him too much. I just hope he didn’t sign a long term contract so he can wear all of those converse I’ve already bought him.  

The midwife was amazed at how tight my belly was and how incredibly easy it is to feel each little bit of him due to the lack of anything but baby in my belly.  On the one hand I was quite flattered by the comment, but on the other hand, as someone who has NEVER had a tight, perfect belly, I feel the universe is laughing at me by giving me a tight, perfect belly now, when it is also the size of a small planet.  

His heart continues to be super easy to find and his heartbeat is strong.  Next time I think I’m going to challenge them to find the heartbeat just by looking. Our next appt. is in two weeks at which point I will have my Group B Strep test and we have to come up with our birth plan. We are going to try and behave and come up with something serious as I don’t think the midwife quite got that I was joking when I said my birth plan was to have a baby.  I suggested a choose your own adventure birth plan as another option.  At least the midwife student laughed at that one.

On to Childbirth Class:  Week Two.  The start did not put me in the best frame of mind.  It was in a smaller, cramped room where I couldn’t sit up high and watch everyone and then gossip to John about them.  And when I walked in there were two girls chit-chatting about their midwives and omigosh they had the same midwife and omigosh she was like so fabulous and omigosh they just LOVED her.  And oh my gosh, she was the same midwife I had just seen and disliked. 

I also don’t think I was the best at childbirth class this week.  Jury is still out, but it wasn’t as clear cut a victory as last week.  The first problem was that I forgot my book. The one that I have looked at once so I could make fun of the pain assessment scale.  But the instructor said we didn’t actually need to bring it.  Only if we wanted to follow along as she went through things in class.  To be honest, the video of the woman’s vagina ripping in half is really plenty for me, I don’t actually have to read about it in full detail as well.  

The second problem was that I apparently did not follow the “childbirth class dress code” which is, look comfy yet chic, and always accessorize with a bottle of water.  I was THE ONLY pregnant lady in scrubs, without (gasp) a bottle of water.  I drink water.  I drink lots of water. But I don’t have it by my side 24/7, which I now realize is a grave error on my part.  I got really excited at the break when the docile, “good” wife pregnant lady came back with a coke.  But then I realized she was the docile, “good” wife pregnant lady and had gone and bought it for her husband. So much I’ve yet to learn.  

I told John next week I’d bring a partially empty 40 or maybe just a few Red Bulls to set on the desk.  He asked why I would stop there and suggested bringing a paper bag with a bottle in it and swish some sort of alcohol around in my mouth just before i went in the room. He gets me. That’s how this whole marriage thing works so well.

Another week down, four more to go.  We’re moving back to the other classroom next week, so I can have my “A” game ready.  John doesn’t think I won best in class for the week, but I pointed out I picked the seat closest to the door.  So when it was break time and a dozen+ pregnant ladies charged out for the one bathroom?  Who do you think was already done peeing as the second wave of women were still wobbling out of their seats? 

That’s got to count for best of something.  

Last night was our first childbirth class. We went back and forth on whether we should even bother with it, and decided it wouldn’t hurt anything. Everyone kept telling us one of the best reasons to do it was for the social aspect so we could meet other pregnant couples.  I really don’t know why that appealed at the time.  I don’t do social.  It was a long evening. 

While driving to class:

L: You know, you’re going to be one of those people.

J: What people?

L: Those people. That guy. That guy that everyone goes home from childbirth class and says, wow. You will not believe this guy in our childbirth class. I feel kind of sorry for his wife.

J: That’s not fair. You’re not even giving me a chance.

L: It is totally fair.

J: No it’s not. Although I am going to tell all the women there is no way their vaginas are big enough for this whole thing.

L: Exactly.

While walking to class and spotting another couple obviously going to the same class:

L: Am I bigger than her?

J: No.

L: I’m still going to be better than her at childbirth class.

J: YOU are going to be one of those people.

L: What are you talking about? I’m just saying, I’m going to be the best at childbirth class.

J: You realize this isn’t a competition right? There is nothing to be better at. It’s about relaxation and education.

L: Right. And I will be the best at it. Now drop back a little. We don’t want to get too close and have to socialize.

We arrive at the class. It is a classroom, but one of those stadium seating auditorium classrooms.  We sit up top, where we can look down and see everyone.  And so I’m close to the exit so I can get to the bathroom first.  Although if you asked John, he would probably say so I can sit from above and make judgements about people.  

Our instructor starts the class by saying we are all going to introduce ourselves, say what our jobs are, when our due date is, do we have a name for the baby, do we know the sex of the baby, what our pain level is, our greatest fears, etc.

Let me just take a moment and talk about the pain level assessment. It ranges from a +10 to a -10. +10 would be for women who not only don’t want to feel pain during labor, but really would prefer to take a couple of valium before they even think about labor. And actually, maybe could they have some for the class as well? A -10 is for women who are into S&M. Truly. Here is the actual definition of a -10: “Desire that the mother forgo all medications, even for cesarean delivery.” That sounds bad, but John and I both think maybe -9 is even worse. -9: ” Desire that you and the staff deny the mother pain medication, even if she requests it.” I’m pretty sure that definition is a DSM-IV diagnosis.

Back to class. The first couple speaks. The woman says she wants an epidural. 100%, no labor pain, thanks for playing, she doesn’t want to feel a thing. The next couple goes. The third couple goes and the fairly gruff, blunt husband says, “I thought this was a class for people who wanted natural childbirth only.” ie, NOT PEOPLE WHO WANT EPIDURALS.  Silence. Five minutes into the class and a world class awkward moment of total and complete silence. I must say my interest perked up a little.  Perhaps this class wouldn’t be too bad.

I told John when it was our turn, I was absolutely going to rate myself as a -9 or -10. We couldn’t decide which one to pick. John decided we should go with -9, and he would tell everyone it was because he was just the teensiest bit curious to see what would happen if he actually denied me pain medication I asked for while in labor.

He is currently scared to deny me a glass of water.

We are second to last to introduce ourselves.  So far, everyone except for epidural lady, is a -5. Pretty much average in the pain scale for a bunch of first time, want to have natural birth women.  No medication unless it gets too bad, blah, blah, blah. I was definitely going for that -9. Every one’s fear was of complications, not being able to stay calm, blah, blah, blah.  One woman’s fear was actually that she was going to curse during labor. And she didn’t mean put a hex on someone.  She meant, the use of foul language. Because if she cursed at someone, she would have to live with that the rest of her life. She was not kidding.

Um…  We are about to go through the most incredibly painful life changing event there is. Staying calm?  Not cursing? Please.  If I manage to get out of there without physically assaulting someone I think we can consider that a good birth.  

Our turn.  We say what we do, what the sex of the baby is, no, no name yet, and I’m ready for my -9, but she never asks!  She skips right to my fear.  All joking aside, I do have a fear.  My biggest fear is once Bogey is here.  It is that everything will go o.k. and I will be ready to take him home and he will spike a temp.  A newborn with a temp is a rule out sepsis.  You can’t leave the hospital. Blood cultures are drawn, antibiotics started, it is a one-way ticket to the inpatient peds unit.  My fear is I can’t get him out of the hospital.  

What does the teacher say?  How does she allay my fears as she has done for everyone else?  ”Oh, yeah.  That is a good point.  Especially as you all are having children born in the fall, during…”  I finish her sentence, “RSV and flu season?”  ”Yeah.  Remind me during our newborn class, with your background, I want you to talk about that with everybody.”

So I don’t get to reveal my -9, which is probably best as I don’t think many people would have understood it was a joke and we don’t want to alienate ourselves completely during the first class.  My fear is not only not helped, but validated as something everyone should be worried about and could I please teach everyone about it?  We have guided relaxation time at the end in which Bogey spends the entire time drop kicking my sides, dampening that relaxation just a little.  

There are 14 couples in the class, including us.  Out of 14 couples, my baby is due first.  

That means I totally won the first night of childbirth class.  

We are slowly closing in on the homestretch. I’m in week 34 now (plus or minus a couple of days, I have so much trouble keeping exact track of these weeks), which means I’m about six weeks from the actual due date and only about three from his fully cooked date. 

Everyone at work can’t possibly see that I’ll make it the whole time. They’re predicting a mid-October birth. John set October 12th as his over/under date. I chose over, he chose under. Then he changed it to October 15th, which clearly violated the over/under rules as you can’t change your original value set. He disagreed. I disagreed.  So the 12th-15th are neutral days. If he’s born before the 12th, John wins. If he’s born after the 15th, I win. If he’s born in that neutral time, it’s a tie. John is concerned I will hold him in just to win.  I said, um, no. For once in my life I think the competitiveness loses out. The desire to have this wonderful little squirming, kicking HARD HEADED baby out of me wins.

Not that pregnancy isn’t still wonderful. Again, I have been incredibly lucky with remarkably few pregnancy problems. I love having little man with me and feeling him moving around and snuggling. The problem lately has been that he has chosen to snuggle with my right lung.Smart choice by Bogey as the right lung is the one with more cushioning, what with that extra lobe and all, but really, when he tucks himself up in there, it is not so comfortable. I might go as far as to say uncomfortable. He wedges his head up into my ribs as far as he possibly can, and then kicks his legs out on the other side, rearranging those ribs as well. I think he likes the feel of intercostal muscle between his toes. After he has snuggled in there for awhile he’ll do a flip-kick so you can feel (and actually watch) his butt move across my abdomen, and settle into the newly vacated space in the right lung. All my fears about the recessive ADD familial genes kicking in are being realized.

I haven’t done any more family introductions of the animals for awhile because I’m deciding who will actually still be a member of the family when Bogey arrives. One cat was violently ill for the last couple of weeks. One cat has decided to wage a personal war with one of the dogs. One cat is now spending her dawn hours howling, waiting for that blissful two hour window between times I get up to pee when I manage to get back to sleep to actually commence with her howling. One dog has lost all bed privileges until further notice due to some territorial behavior on the bed, which she knows does not fly around here. I guess the other dog has been o.k. Although he did kill a cat a few weeks ago. Not one of ours. Which at the time I thought was a good thing.  I’m reconsidering…

I will pay for shipment of animals for those interested in some cuddly friends.  

Today was the first visit where we start to meet the other midwives. I was a little apprehensive about this as I liked my other midwife and was terrified that if I met the new one and didn’t like her there would be this dread over the next two months of just KNOWING she would be the one delivering him.  Somehow not knowing was much better to me.  However, she was great and I can continue my midwife quest with a little less apprehension.

She explained all the third trimester changes going on and how the hormones from the first trimester come back with a vengeance now because they have lots to do such as softening the pelvis and the uterus and the cervix.  John sits there and says contemplatively, with an absolute straight face:  ah.  yes.  your pelvis has been feeling softer.  The midwife starts to respond and then it really settles in what he’s said and she then realizes she paused while letting it settle, and I look horrified and then she can’t come up with what to say and then she starts laughing and then she leaves the room. 

John turns to me when she’s gone, knowing the look that will be on my face and says, I was going to say cervix.  Aren’t you at least glad I didn’t say cervix?  Or uterus?  She wanted to meet me.  This is meeting me!    

This whole round robin of midwives is going to be a lot more taxing than I thought.  Or at least taxing for different reasons than I thought.  

The appt. went quickly, the longest part being when we got to the car and I realized I didn’t have my keys and they weren’t in my bag.  My bag, which I started carrying to help me keep everything together because I kept setting things down and losing them.  So we went back in and retraced my steps, although it didn’t take very long  because I first went to my Most Frequently Visited Place and they were right there.  Sitting on the back of the toilet. John asked if I really looked to make sure they were mine and not some other wandering pregnant woman’s keys.  

The miracle of life is not actually the birth of the baby, but the fact that the father is still alive at that time.  

Yesterday I was around a group of people (women to be specific, which explains the resulting anxiety) and they started asking me questions.  Pointed awful questions and demanding answers as they cackled over their cauldrons and all of their female knowledge and power swirled around me as I suffocated and disappeared into the ground.  

O.k. maybe not exactly how it happened.  It was a lovely group and they were just conversing. Every now and then the conversation would dip in towards me and there would be questions about names, what I’m doing about work, all that good stuff.  No, we still do not have a name.  I work with nurses so I plan on working until he is born and if they have to deliver him, well, we do have an emergency kit with us at all times.  Then the conversation turned to college savings plans and they ALL KNEW EXACTLY THE NUMBER CODE NAMES OF THESE EDUCATION SAVINGS PLANS.  They were like, what’s your plan and I was like, move back to NC and give him a brochure to UNC. Not the right answer.  This was already after I had managed to send a hush over the crowd by saying I had not picked a daycare if we decided we needed one. Apparently we are a few years behind on that one.  

Honestly though, if he won’t be able to go to college because we didn’t save any money for him, does it really matter what daycare I get him into? And because I have no idea about work I don’t know about the daycare thing.  It really is just a giant snowball of unpreparedness.  

Then there is the serious stuff like diapers.  And the biggy.  The decision of all decisions. Do we snip off that little extra bit of skin hiding under those cloth or disposable or yet to be invented all natural green diaper that is made out of water runoff from electric cars? Ahhh, circumcision.  You knew it was coming.

I went back and forth on this one earlier on in the pregnancy when we talked about it.  I ultimately told John that I felt this was a decision that should be up to him.  I was  happy to offer input, but that’s a pretty darn sensitive area and I don’t have one.  There is only so much I can understand.  Yes, there are tiny potential medical advantages to having it down, such as reduced UTI rates in the first year and reduced transmission of STDs later on, but who are we kidding.  His mom is Prophilactica.  This kid will know how to put a condom on before he can tie his shoes.  

And I have to say that in nursing school one of the very few things I took part in that made me turn my head and actively try to keep myself standing upright was assisting with a circumcision.  By assisting all I was doing was holding the legs as still as possible and giving sugar water, but it was pretty awful.  I could never watch one again. Let alone know I was doing that to my son.  As we discussed it, John felt, and I agreed, that there was really no particular reason we felt we needed to have it done, but there were definitely many reasons why we didn’t want to have it done.  So for now, our decision is not to do it.

Phew.  One decision down.  Only a few thousand more to make.  And those are just the ones before he’s born.  We’re totally getting a Bogey Dart Board.  We will put whatever life decision we need to make for him on the board and then throw darts at the all the choices.  This is a fail safe plan.