A More Explicit Step Two

26 weeks 5 days 

When I was younger, I adored print cartoons like “The Far Side.” They appealed to my quirky, often punny, weirdo sense of humor that was somewhere between intelligent and ridiculous. I felt very sophisticated reading them and understanding the joke (even though, yes, most of them featured talking barn animals. I get it.) 

One of my very favorite cartoons (which I would have sworn was a Far Side until I tried to look it up on the interwebs today, and now I’m not so sure....we’ll call it Gary Larson-esque…) featured two scientists standing in front of a chalk board full of mathematical scribbles. 

On the left hand side of the board: numerical chicken scratches. On the right hand side of the board: an equals sign with more numerical chicken scratches proposing a solution. And right in the middle of the two chalkboards, the phrase:  “Then a miracle occurs.”  The first scientist looks at the second scientist and says (in the very droll voice of all Gary Larson cartoon characters in my head) “I think you should be more explicit here in step two.”

This has been my week regarding life prep for my girl, the River Dancer. 

Because here’s the thing. I’m entering my third trimester. I’m feeling pretty confident that I’ve got this whole pregnancy thing down pat now. I’m enormous. I’m swollen. I’m tired all the time. I lose my balance standing still sometimes.  I can’t sleep worth a damn because there evidently aren’t enough pillows on this planet to build the requisite nest for my slumber nor can our house get cold enough for me to stave off the night sweats.  (Don’t be jealous. I know it sounds super attractive and very glamorous.) I’m getting used to this reality. I don’t much like it, but I get it. I’ve read the books. I’ve kibitzed with my other pregnant girlfriends. This is just my new normal for a while. 

We’ll call pregnancy the left hand side of the above chalkboard. Lots of nonsensical chicken scratches that don’t really make much sense. But there they are anyway, written by very smart people who seem to know what they’re talking about. 

Then, there’s motherhood. I’ve registered for all the stuff. I’ve read the books. I’m prepared for the no-sleep and craziness of those first few months. I’ve been with many of my girlfriends in the first few weeks of motherhood—stayed with them, helped with the dishes and the diapers and all the rest of it—taken care of babies…babysat. I’m pretty maternal. Granted, I know when it’s your own kid things will be vastly different. I’m not trying to pretend like I know what it’s going to be like. But at least I have a frame of reference—in theory, I know what it’s going to take to get the job done. I feel like once Baby Girl arrives, I’ll get the hang of that stuff with her eventually. And we’ll move on to what is our new normal, stumbling through it together.

We’ll call motherhood the right hand side of the cartoon chalkboard. Lots of nonsensical chicken scratches to be sure…but on the OTHER side of the equals sign.   An answer. Something that’s been figured out. A beginning of the next thing;  A starting point for more questions.

The part that no one seems to be prepared for (because no one talks about it) is that whole “miracle occurring” thing in the middle. Not pregnancy. Not motherhood. Not the miracle of life, per se. But rather the miracle of BIRTH, of actually, physically, beyond what is imaginable, expelling the child from your person and into the world.

Now, I do often hear people say things like “Pregnancy is hard. And birth is even harder. But holding your baby for the first time is so so worth all of it, that anything that happens during birth will completely disappear.”

Anything that happens during birth? Hmmmm. Cryptic.

Or maybe it’s that birth is the the shortest of the three stages: 9 months of pregnancy to reflect on; a lifetime of motherhood to reflect on; and a mere (ha!) 2- 24 hours of actual labor leading to birth which happens in just a few minutes. And I guess you’re probably not being super reflective and writing stuff down during that whole person-removal-from-your-lady-parts process. And afterwards, let's be honest...you're wearing some pretty hefty rose-tinted baby goggles (it's like beer goggles...but different.)

Or maybe I’ll be coerced into signing the Secret Pact of Motherhood which requires a Fight Club-esque silence about birth after you’ve participated in it, lest it scare off all potential mothers causing the entire world population to take a dip (First Rule of Birthing: You do not talk about Birthing.)

Or maybe it really is a miracle—a divine intervention that can’t be explained, even if you tried.

MIR-A-CLE from the Latin "Miraculum"; to wonder or marvel at:  an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs

Yeah maybe that’s it. That’s why no one talks about Step Two. Because there are no words of explanation for a miracle. It just sorta happens and you all stand back and marvel at it. I think I like this theory most of all.

As I enter my third trimester, several people have asked me if I’m ready for the big day. I mostly look at them like they’ve got a telephone growing out of their foreheads. What can possibly prepare you for THAT? Of *course* I’m not prepared to push a human being out of my insides. Are you insane?  I literally looked at someone last week who asked me if I was ready for the birthing process and with the drollness of a Gary Larson cartoon character merely asked in return “Are you?” (It was uncomfortable…)

Several people have also asked me if I have written out my birth plan yet. My birth plan? Um…Sure. It goes a little something like this:

Step 1: Have contractions
Step 2: Go to the hospital
Step 3: Get her out of me as quickly and painlessly as possible (i.e. the miracle)
Step 4: Go home and live happily ever after. The end.

(Does this count as a birth plan? Probably not… But wouldn’t it be hilarious if that’s what I showed up with at the hospital? Gah…I just might do it. )

I just think it’s funny that people believe that they can plan for this stuff. I feel like you can’t dictate details when you’re in a moment like that. Birth is Step Two: WHERE a MIRACLE occurs (with the help of doctors and nurses and people that will basically take your birth plan, potentially look at it, and then throw it out the window based on what is actually happening in the room at that time.)

Yet even so, the control freak in me wishes folks could be a *little* more explicit in Step Two, because as much as I want to believe it to be so, I'm pretty sure it isn't actual magic that takes place in the delivery room.

Because of this, J and I will start with the birthing and lactation classes soon (signed up last week!) I’m pretty sure that once we begin with the breathing exercises and the birthing videos in which the magic of birth is broken down for me frame by painful frame, I’m going to take back everything I’ve said here about wanting more information and shall run screaming in the opposite direction like a cartoon chicken with my head cut off.

How about *that* for a Far Side cartoon, Gary Larson.

Lasts and Firsts

24 weeks, 6 days

I hate the phrase “in my opinion.” 

Of *course* it’s your opinion. If it was someone else’s opinion you were spouting, it would be a quote (or plagiarism.) Additionally, tacking “humble” on to this phrase as in, “in my humble opinion” is ridiculous. Anyone who has to throw that in to the conversation probably isn’t really very humble to begin with and is most likely just trying to underline the importance of their point…snarkily (yup, still a word.) 

All opinions are your own, because a person’s opinions are based on one thing only: one’s experiences. At some point, you read something or saw something or did something or felt something or heard something that has lead you to believe what it is you believe. Experience of some kind must precede an opinion. There’s no other way to get one that belongs to you. 

And even then, I’m not sure I trust your opinion if you haven’t actually personally experienced the thing yourself. You can read about mountain climbing or watch people mountain climb or be besties with climbers whilst shopping at REI and wearing a carabineer on your belt at all times (belay on.) Those things will give you opinions on climbing, for sure. But until you’ve actually gone mountain climbing, I don’t think you get to have a legit stance on how hard it is or beautiful or fulfilling. You’re just working from other people’s notes until you’ve done it yourself.

I bring this up as a soon-to-be-first-time-mom because right now, I’m just working from other people’s notes on this whole life as a mother business. I have read things. I have seen things. I can guess based on past experiences how I’m going to react to things. But I don’t get to have a legitimate view on topic yet because I have yet to do it. 

This turns out to be pretty ok, since everyone else on the planet seems to have an opinion that they are dying to share about what it’s going to be like when I am a parent.

Now, first off, don’t get me wrong. I love to hear stories. I appreciate hearing tips. I’ll listen to advice and cautionary tales all day long. Because I myself don’t have any of my own yet. So sure. Give it to me straight, doc. I can take it. 

However. 

It seems like what people *most* like to share regarding what it’s going to be like when I myself am a mom are what I like to call the “List of Lasts.” 

“Enjoy it now, this is the last time you’ll be able to do that (fill in the blank of what “that” is based on whatever conversation you’re having with that someone at that moment.) 

“Ah, if I would have known ahead of time what parenting would be like, I would have done more travel/ eating out/ drinking/ partying/ date nights/ movies/ sleeping/ fill-in-the-blank enjoyable, fairly routine activity, because when you have a kid you won’t be able to do any of that anymore.” 

“Enjoy your alone time with your husband while you can. Once you have a kid that will be the last of that.” 

“Enjoy your beach body while you can…” (Ok, so I’ve never really had a beach body, so I’m feeling alright about this one.) 

“Enjoy being unencumbered while you can…” (Who in the world is really totally unencumbered ever, kids or not? I digress…) 

I even have a small number of single friends (and/ or friends without kids) who have seemingly started to slowly write me off based on their assumptions of how I might deal with The Lasts, assuming that since we soon will have one less thing in common that I won’t want to/ be able to ever go back to doing any of those things on the List of Lasts again. “Can’t talk to her about sleeping in/ traveling/ partying because she’s going to be in mourning for those things for the next 18 years. Best not to include her thus reminding her of her former life…” 

I gotta tell you people, you’re not doing a very good job of selling this whole parenthood thing to those of us who haven’t done it yet. Because for now, your opinions are the only notes I’ve got to work from. And they are bleak. 

Now, I KNOW you’re trying to be helpful and encourage me to take full advantage of the next three months to the best of my ability. And I appreciate the head’s up. But dude. Come on. You’re killing me with regrets I didn’t even know I was supposed to have about a former life I haven’t even left yet. 

Additionally, there is nothing in my past that would indicate to me that having a child is going to keep me from eventually sleeping/ traveling/ having a drink/ playing with my friends in the future. Frequency is probably going to take a hit, for sure. But I don’t feel like I as a person am going to fundamentally change who I am. My ability to get the chance to do the things I love? That’s gonna change, sure. But not the nature of what those things are. Maybe I’m wrong—again, I haven’t been there yet myself. But I just don’t see it happening. And I’d at least like to have the benefit of the doubt until I’ve got some experience proving the contrary. Not a List of Lasts, people. Just a List of Less Frequents. 

All of that said, I do think there’s a silver lining here. I’m pretty confident all you parents out there SECRETLY have another list (but strangely don’t share with newbies): the List of Firsts. 

First sight of your child. Her first smile. First bath. First nap on your chest. First kiss on the cheek. First word. First “ma ma” or “da-da.” First steps. I’m guessing all that stuff is pretty awesome. And totally worth the price of admission. 

Of course, I don’t have frames of reference for those yet because I’ve never experienced them. And maybe that’s why you share your List of Lasts instead—Because I *do* have opinions on those things. But it’s a total downer people, seriously. You gotta learn to spin this thing called parenthood or only the totally boring are going to reproduce.

I blissfully don’t yet know what I’ll miss by being a mom. But here’s what I can tell you from my experience thus far. In the last two weeks, Baby River Dancer (as I like to call her) has started to move constantly. I can feel her now all the time practicing her best Michael Flatley impersonations. Last week, J put headphones on my belly and piped classical music right on in for her and she moved and rolled and kicked the whole time (either a hater or a future Beethoven.) And for the first time this week, I felt her hiccup, which is a strange and alien and amazing feeling. 

These were my Firsts. And they were awesome. And now I get to have an opinion. And based on my experience, these were totally worth any Lasts I might give up for the time being. But then, that’s just one woman’s humble opinion.