My big fear about having this baby is that I’ll go late and have to have a c-section by default. As a VBAC(and for those who are curious, we found a doula!), I can’t be induced (Pitocin can make the contractions strong enough to increase the risk of a uterine rupture), so if I go late, it’s too bad for me!
So, I asked my OB, “At what point can I start doing the home inducing techniques?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Like what?” she asked. “Like castor oil and stuff.” She laughed at me. “Castor oil can bring on contractions, but it usually doesn’t bring on labor. What it will bring on is diarrhea.” “But will it hurt me?” “No,” she said. “So when can I start?” She laughed again. “At thirty-seven weeks.” Duly noted. At thirty-seven weeks, bring on the diarrhea.
Actually, Tweeds and I took a look at our calendars, and we’ve both decided that the most convenient day for Sugar Face to arrive is August 25. Do you hear that, Sugar Face? You’ve got your first appointment. Mark it in your Outlook calendar.
It’s not enough any more that everything belonging to Doodles is “Mine! Mine! Mine!” Now, it’s also “Not yours!” We’ve been having many meaningful conversations about exactly what Doodles owns in this world.
Doodles has become a garbage man. He loves to pick up garbage whenever we go to the park. He’ll walk as far as it takes to get to a garbage can, except when it’s something that interests him. Shiny silver gum wrappers, for some reason, tend to be “‘tars” that he strums and sings along to. I’m working hard on the “No touch garbage,” but it isn’t working. He’s starting to learn his lesson the hard way, although it grosses me out completely. Adam and I were with him at the park, and Doodles picked up a straw. “Yucky, Doodles!” I said. “Put it down!” “No touch!” Adam added. Doodles took a look at us, grinned, stuck the straw in a pile of dirt, and sucked. Won’t touch rice, but he’ll drink dirt from a used straw. It’s hard to discipline when you’re laughing so hard tears are coming out. From his cries of distress, I don’t think Doodles will be drinking from dirt piles out of dirty straws again.
Of course, Doodles and I won’t be going to the park much any more anyway. Adam took care of that. There is a playground just three blocks from our house that’s just perfect. The play structures are just Doodle-sized, so I don’t feel like I have to constantly chase him. There’s just one big, old-fashioned metal slide that all us moms have agreed not to let our children on, because it’s pretty high with open sides. In other words, a death trap.
So, what do I see when I meet up with Adam and Doodles at the park? Doodles, gleefully gliding down the slide of death. He runs around to the back, heads up the steep stairs, leaning precariously out the side as Adam just smiles on.
Me, yelling: “What are you doing!!! He’s not allowed on that.”
Adam, befuddled: “He’s not?”
Me: “No! You knew that.”
Adam: “You never told me that.”
Me: “I’m sure I told you that. We definitely discussed it.”
Adam: “We never discussed it.”
Me: “Yes, we did. Last fall.”
Adam: “You’re kidding, right? Last fall? But he’s older now.”
Me: “The rules haven’t changed.” [with a whine] “Now he’s always going to want to go on it. And then the other kids will see it and want to go on it. You’ve now ruined it for all the moms!”
Meanwhile, another father was there, laughing at us. He was there with his two-and-a half-year-old son and his twenty-month-old daughter. It was obvious he was taking amusement in our conversation. But, I felt completely validated, when not five minutes later, as his daughter was scaling the slide, a very pregnant woman with a thunderous look on her face approached the park. “Is that your wife?” I asked him. He looked over, immediately a little fearful. “Why yes it is. And she doesn’t look happy.” I didn’t hear all of it, but I did hear, “What is she doing on that slide!” come sternly from the woman.
The slide of death. At least the garbage will distract Doodles from it.
I said to Adam this morning: “My insomnia is getting worse and worse.”
Adam: “Just too uncomfortable to sleep?”
Me: “Yeah, there’s that. But I’m also feeling pretty anxious, and it keeps me awake.”
Adam: “You have anxiety?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Adam: “Really? What are you anxious about?”
Me: “Um, hello? We’re having a baby.”
Adam: “Oh, yeah. Right.”
